"Won't you be my sweetheart?" he asked, smiling. He saw the crimson creep to her face and she lowered her head.
"Ye didn't answer my question," she said softly, head still drooping.
"I have not. I have no sweetheart anywhere. Women never cared for me"—sorrowfully.
The little brown poppies waved their heads in wild delight, while the chirping birds sang songs of rejoicing from the treetops, as they looked upon this peculiar mountain scene.
"What did ye come into this country for?" she asked abruptly.
He smiled.
"You don't believe me. If I should say I came here to rid the country of the terrible band of destructive Nightriders, would you believe it?"
She started violently.
"Don't say that," she said; "don't ye do it."
"Why not? If I tell you I am here for my health, you don't believe that. Why not say something equally as ridiculous?"