It was full of craft. He would seek Maisie on a week-day,-
-would suggest an excursion, and would take her by train to Fort Keeling, over
the very ground that they two had trodden together ten years ago.
"As a general rule," he explained to his chin-lathered reflection in the
morning, "it isn't safe to cross an old trail twice. Things remind one of
things, and a cold wind gets up, and you feel sad; but this is an exception to
every rule that ever was. I'll go to Maisie at once."
Fortunately, the red-haired girl was out shopping when he arrived, and Maisie
in a paint-spattered blouse was warring with her canvas. She was not pleased to
see him; for week-day visits were a stretch of the bond; and it needed all his
courage to explain his errand.
"I know you've been working too hard," he concluded, with an air of authority.
"If you do that, you'll break down. You had much better come."
"Where?" said Maisie, wearily. She had been standing before her easel too long,
and was very tired.
"Anywhere you please. We'll take a train tomorrow and see where it stops. We'll
have lunch somewhere, and I'll bring you back in the evening."
"If there's a good working light tomorrow, I lose a day." Maisie balanced the
heavy white chestnut palette irresolutely.
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