"I never weary of looking," she breathed.
"I think—I never should, either," he declared, and looked—at her!
Unconscious of his gaze, she absently jogged the carriage while the baby slept, and Arthur, holding Danvers' hand, waited his turn.
"Mamma hates Helena," was his contribution.
"Sh-h-h!" warned Winifred.
"Then if I can't talk, make Uncle Phil show us a good time." The lad turned appealing, beautiful eyes toward Danvers, so like his father's that Philip drew him closer. "Tell us about the Crow Indians stealing the Blackfeet ponies." This was a favorite story.
"Not to-day, laddie," refused Philip, gently. "Miss Blair would not——"
"Yes, I should," contradicted Winifred.
"Aunt Winnie will just love to hear that story," affirmed Arthur. "I do! She tells me lots of stories. She was telling one when you came—the one I like the best of all. It had a be-u-ti-ful trooper in it who rescued her from a water-y grave!" The child's recital was as melodramatic as his words. "He held her just so!" Arthur illustrated by a tight clasp of the embarrassed girl. "Now, you tell one."
Philip saw that Winifred had a real interest in the old days, and while relieving her embarrassment by gratifying the little story-teller, he spoke of the Whoop Up Country.