“We are about to descend on a single cord from the summit of a lofty crag, our sole chance of escape (and a frightfully small chance at that) from the roving band of Apaches.

“With my eye I measured the fearsome descent below us.

“‘Hold fast to the line, Miss Middleton,’ I said as I set my foot against a projecting rock. (Please note that the Air-and-Grass Hero in these stories always calls the Heroine Miss Middleton right up to the very end.)

“The noble girl seized the knotted end of the buckskin line.  ‘All right, Mr. Smith,’ she said with quiet confidence.

“I braced myself for the effort.  My muscles like tempered steel responded to the strain.  I lowered a hundred fathoms of the line.  I could already hear the voice of Kate far down the cliff.

“Don’t let go the line, Miss Middleton,’ I called. (Here was an excellent piece of advice.)

“The girl’s clear voice floated up to me...  ’All right, Mr. Smith,’ she called, ‘I won’t.’”

Of course they landed safely at the foot of the cliff, after the manner of all heroes and heroines.  And here it is that Kate in her turn comes out strong, at the evening encampment, frying bacon over a blazing fire of pine branches, while the firelight illuminates her leather leggings and her rough but picturesque costume.

The circumstances might seem a little daring and improper.  But the reader knows that it is all right, because the hero and heroine always call one another Miss Middleton and Mr. Smith.

Not till right at the end, when they are just getting back again to the confines of civilization, do they depart from this.

Here is the scene that happens...  The hero and heroine are on the platform of the way-side depot where they are to part...  Kate to return to the luxurious home of her aunt, Mrs. van der Kyper of New York, and the Air-and-Grass Man to start for the pampas of Patagonia to hunt the hoopoo.  The Air-and-Grass Man is about to say goodbye.  Then... “‘Kate,’ I said, as I held the noble girl’s gloved hand in mine a moment.  She looked me in the face with the full, frank, fearless gaze of a sister.

“‘Yes?’ she answered.

“‘Kate,’ I repeated, ’do you know what I was thinking of when I held the line while you were half way down the cliff?’

“‘No,’ she murmured, while a flush suffused her cheek.

“‘I was thinking, Kate,’ I said, ’that if the rope broke I should be very sorry.’

“‘Edward!’ she exclaimed.

“I clasped her in my arms.

“‘Shall I make a confession,’ said Kate, looking up timidly, half an hour later, as I tenderly unclasped the noble girl from my encircling arms, ...’I was thinking the same thing too.’”

So Kate and Edward had their day and then, as Tennyson says, they “passed,” or as less cultivated people put it, “they were passed up in the air.”

As the years went by they failed to please.  Kate was a great improvement upon Madeline.  But she wouldn’t do.  The truth was, if one may state it openly, Kate wasn’t tough enough.  In fact she wasn’t tough at all.  She turned out to be in reality just as proper and just as virtuous as Madeline.