and I are as unfitted as you for this life; but we must cling to our uncle because he is the only relative we have.  He has come out here to join the Moravians, and to preach the gospel to these Indians.  We shall share his life, and help him all we can.  You have been telling me you—­you cared for me, and now that we are about to part I—­I don’t know what to say to you—­unless it is:  Give up this intention of yours to seek adventure, and come with us.  It seems to me you need not hunt for excitement here; it will come unsought.”

“I wish I were Jim,” said he, suddenly.

“Who is Jim?”

“My brother.”

“Tell me of him.”

“There’s nothing much to tell.  He and I are all that are left of our people, as are you and Kate of yours.  Jim’s a preacher, and the best fellow—­oh!  I cared a lot for Jim.”

“Then, why did you leave him?”

“I was tired of Williamsburg—­I quarreled with a fellow, and hurt him.  Besides, I wanted to see the West; I’d like to hunt deer and bear and fight Indians.  Oh, I’m not much good.”

“Was Jim the only one you cared for?” asked Nell, smiling.  She was surprised to find him grave.

“Yes, except my horse and dog, and I had to leave them behind,” answered Joe, bowing his head a little.

“You’d like to be Jim because he’s a preacher, and could help uncle convert the Indians?”

“Yes, partly that, but mostly because—­somehow—­something you’ve said or done has made me care for you in a different way, and I’d like to be worthy of you.”

“I don’t think I can believe it, when you say you are ‘no good,’” she replied.

“Nell,” he cried, and suddenly grasped her hand.

She wrenched herself free, and leaped away from him.  Her face was bright now, and the promise of smiles was made good.

“Behave yourself, sir.”  She tossed her head with a familiar backward motion to throw the chestnut hair from her face, and looked at him with eyes veiled slightly under their lashes.  “You will go with Kate and me?”

Before he could answer, a cry from some one on the plain below attracted their attention.  They turned and saw another wagon-train pulling into the settlement.  The children were shooting and running alongside the weary oxen; men and women went forward expectantly.

“That must be the train uncle expected.  Let us go down,” said Nell.

Joe did not answer; but followed her down the path.  When they gained a clump of willows near the cabins he bent forward and took her hand.  She saw the reckless gleam in his eyes.

“Don’t.  They’ll see,” she whispered.

“If that’s the only reason you have, I reckon I don’t care,” said Joe.

“What do you mean?  I didn’t say—­I didn’t tell—­oh! let me go!” implored Nell.

She tried to release the hand Joe had grasped in his broad palm, but in vain; the more she struggled the firmer was his hold.  A frown wrinkled her brow and her eyes sparkled with spirit.  She saw the fur-trader’s wife looking out of the window, and remembered laughing and telling the good woman she did not like this young man; it was, perhaps, because she feared those sharp eyes that she resented his audacity.  She opened her mouth to rebuke him; but no words came.  Joe had bent his head and softly closed her lips with his own.