high buildings, and restaurants. Chop down a few trees and fry your own bacon, and make your own camp, and saddle your own horses — that’s what I call living. I’m going back to it some day, see if I don’t.”

Myra looked down at her own delicate wrists, with the blue veins so exquisitely etched against the white flesh. A little look of terror and hopelessness came into her eyes.

“I — I couldn’t chop down a tree,” she said. She was panting a little in keeping up with him, for he was walking very fast. “I’d be afraid to saddle a horse. You have to stand right next to them, don’t you? Most girls can’t chop — — ”

Florian smiled a little superior smile. “Miss Jessie Heath can.”