The young man thought a moment. She turned suddenly and looked up at him.
"I know you are one of the good men," she declared.
"I am at least harmless," he answered, with a smile, "and—and you will make me happy if you will let me be your friend."
"Tut, tut!" said the little crow as he flew into the tree above her head.
"I would try to make you happier," the young man urged.
"How?" she asked.
"I could tell you about many wonderful things. You ought not to stay here in the woods," he went on. "Do you never think of the future?"
She turned with a serious look in her eyes.
He continued: "You cannot always live at Buckhorn. Your father is growing old."
"And he is well," said she. "My father has always taught me that Death comes only to those who think of him."