“I reckon she’s beginning to understand herself, too,” said Hoskins.  “Golly! wait till ye see her.”

The doctor did see her, but with what feelings he did not as frankly express.  She was not at the cabin when they arrived, but presently appeared from the direction of the spring where, for reasons of her own, she had evidently made her toilet.  Doctor Ruysdael was astounded; Hoskins’s praise was not exaggerated; and there was an added charm that Hoskins was not prepared for.  She had put on a gown of her own making,—­the secret toil of many a long night,—­amateurishly fashioned from some cheap yellow calico the doctor had sent her, yet fitting her wonderfully, and showing every curve of her graceful figure.  Unaccented by a corset,—­an article she had never known,—­even the lines of the stiff, unyielding calico had a fashion that was nymph-like and suited her unfettered limbs.  Doctor Ruysdael was profoundly moved.  Though a philosopher, he was practical.  He found himself suddenly confronted not only by a beautiful girl, but a problem!  It was impossible to keep the existence of this woodland nymph from the knowledge of his distant neighbors; it was equally impossible for him to assume the responsibility of keeping a goddess like this in her present position.  He had noticed her previous improvement, but had never dreamed that pure and wholesome living could in two months work such a miracle.  And he was to a certain degree responsible, he had created her,—­a beautiful Frankenstein, whose lustrous, appealing eyes were even now menacing his security and position.

Perhaps she saw trouble and perplexity in the face where she had expected admiration and pleasure, for a slight chill went over her as he quickly praised the appearance of the stock and spoke of her own improvement.  But when they were alone, he turned to her abruptly.

“You said you had no wish to go to San Jose?”

“No.”  Yet she was conscious that her greatest objection had been removed, and she colored faintly.

“Listen to me,” he said dryly.  “You deserve a better position than this,—­a better home and surroundings than you have here.  You are older, too,—­a woman almost,—­and you must look ahead.”

A look of mingled fright, reproach, and appeal came into her eloquent face.  “Yer wantin’ to send me away?” she stammered.

“No,” he said frankly.  “It is you who are growing away.  This is no longer the place for you.”

“But I want to stay.  I don’t wanter go.  I am—­I was happy here.”

“But I’m thinking of giving up this place.  It takes up too much of my time.  You must be provided”—­

“You are going away?” she said passionately.

“Yes.”

“Take me with you.  I’ll go anywhere!—­to San Jose—–­wherever you go.  Don’t turn me off as dad did, for I’ll foller you as I never followed dad.  I’ll go with you—­or I’ll die!”