idleness she had ample time for reflection and opportunity to inquire into the
perplexed state of her mind.

The small room, which Betty called her own, faced the river and fort. Most of
the day she lay by the window trying to read her favorite books, but often she

gazed out on the quiet scene, the rolling river, the everchanging trees and
the pastures in which the red and white cows grazed peacefully" target="_blank" title="ad.平静地；安宁地">peacefully; or she would

watch with idle, dreamy eyes the flight of the crows over the hills, and the
graceful motion of the hawk as he sailed around and around in the azure sky,

looking like a white sail far out on a summer sea.
But Betty's mind was at variance with this peaceful scene. The consciousness

of a change, which she could not readilydefine, in her feelings toward Alfred
Clarke, vexed and irritated her. Why did she think of him so often? True, he

had saved her brother's life. Still she was compelled to admit to herself that
this was not the reason. Try as she would, she could not banish the thought of

him. Over and over again, a thousand times, came the recollection of that
moment when he had taken her up in his arms as though she were a child. Some

vague feeling stirred in her heart as she remembered the strong yet gentle
clasp of his arms.

Several times from her window she had seen him coming across the square
between the fort and her brother's house, and womanlike, unseen herself, she

had watched him. How erect was his carriage. How pleasant his deep voice
sounded as she heard him talking to her brother. Day by day, as her ankle grew

stronger and she knew she could not remain much longer in her room, she
dreaded more and more the thought of meeting him. She could not understand

herself; she had strange dreams; she cried seemingly without the slightest
cause and she was restless and unhappy. Finally she grew angry and scolded

herself. She said she was silly and sentimental. This had the effect of making
her bolder, but it did not quiet her unrest. Betty did not know that the

little blind God, who steals unawares on his victim, had marked her for his
own, and that all this sweet perplexity was the unconsciousawakening of the

heart.
One afternoon, near the end of Betty's siege indoors, two of her friends,

Lydia Boggs and Alice Reynolds, called to see her.
Alice had bright blue eyes, and her nut brown hair hung in rebellious curls

around her demure and pretty face. An adorable dimple lay hidden in her rosy
cheek and flashed into light with her smiles.

"Betty, you are a lazy thing!" exclaimed Lydia. "Lying here all day long doing
nothing but gaze out of the window."

"Girls, I am glad you came over," said Betty. "I am blue. Perhaps you will
cheer me up."

"Betty needs some one of the sterner sex to cheer her," said Alice,
mischievously, her eyes twinkling. "Don't you think so, Lydia?"

"Of course," answered Lydia. "When I get blue--"
"Please spare me," interrupted Betty, holding up her hands in protest. "I have

not a single doubt that your masculine remedies are sufficient for all your
ills. Girls who have lost their interest in the old pleasures, who spend their

spare time in making linen and quilts, and who have sunk their very
personalities in a great big tyrant of a man, are not liable to get blue. They

are afraid he may see a tear or a frown. But thank goodness, I have not yet
reached that stage."

"Oh, Betty Zane! Just you wait! Wait!" exclaimed Lydia, shaking her finger at
Betty. "Your turn is coming. When it does do not expect any mercy from us, for

you shalt never get it."
"Unfortunately, you and Alice have monopolized the attentions of the only two

eligible young men at the fort," said Betty, with a laugh.
"Nonsense there plenty of young men all eager for our favor, you little

coquette," answered Lydia. "Harry Martin, Will Metzer, Captain Swearengen, of
Short Creek, and others too numerous to count. Look at Lew Wetzel and Billy

Bennet."
"Lew cares for nothing except hunting Indians and Billy's only a boy," said

Betty.
"Well, have it your own way," said Lydia. "Only this, I know Billy adores you,

for he told me so, and a better lad never lived."
"Lyde, you forget to include one other among those prostrate before Betty's

charms," said Alice.
"Oh, yes, you mean Mr. Clarke. To be sure, I had forgotten him," answered

Lydia. "How odd that he should be the one to find you the day you hurt your
foot. Was it an accident?"

"Of course. I slipped off the bank," said Betty.
"No, no. I don't mean that. Was his finding you an accident?"

"Do you imagine I waylaid Mr. Clarke, and then sprained my ankle on purpose?"
said Betty, who began to look dangerous.

"Certainly not that; only it seems so odd that he should be the one to rescue
all the damsels in distress. Day before yesterday he stopped a runaway horse,

and saved Nell Metzer who was in the wagon, a severe shaking up, if not
something more serious. She is desperately in love with him. She told me Mr.

Clarke--"
"I really do not care to hear about it," interrupted Betty.

"But, Betty, tell us. Wasn't it dreadful, his carrying you?" asked Alice, with
a sly glance at Betty. "You know you are so--so prudish, one may say. Did he

take you in his arms? It must have been very embarrassing for you, considering
your dislike of Mr. Clarke, and he so much in love with--"

"You hateful girls," cried Betty, throwing a pillow at Alice, who just managed
to dodge it. "I wish you would go home."

"Never mind, Betty. We will not tease anymore," said Lydia, putting her arm
around Betty. "Come, Alice, we will tell Betty you have named the day for your

wedding. See! She is all eyes now."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The young people of the frontier settlements were usually married before they
were twenty. This was owing to the fact hat there was little distinction of

rank and family pride. The object of the pioneers in moving West was, of
course, to better their condition; but, the realization of their dependence on

one another, the common cause of their labors, and the terrible dangers to
which they were continually exposed, brought them together as one large

family.
Therefore, early love affairs were encouraged--not frowned upon as they are

to-day--and they usually resulted in early marriages.
However, do not let it be imagined that the path of the youthful swain was

strewn with flowers. Courting or "sparking" his sweetheart had a painful as
well as a joyous side. Many and varied were the tricks played on the fortunate

lover by the gallants who had vied with him for the favor of the maid. Brave,
indeed, he who won her. If he marched up to her home in the early evening he

was made the object of innumerable jests, even the young lady's family
indulging in and enjoying the banter. Later, when he come out of the door, it

was more than likely that, if it were winter, he would be met by a volley of
water soaked snowballs, or big buckets of icewater, or a mountain of snow

shoved off the roof by some trickster, who had waited patiently for such an
opportunity. On summer nights his horse would be stolen, led far into the

woods and tied, or the wheels of his wagon would be taken off and hidden,
leaving him to walk home. Usually the successful lover, and especially if he

lived at a distance, would make his way only once a week and then late at
night to the home of his betrothed. Silently, like a thief in the dark, he

would crawl through the grass and shrubs until beneath her window. At a low
signal, prearranged between them, she would slip to the door and let him in

without disturbing the parents. Fearing to make a light, and perhaps welcoming
that excuse to enjoy the darkness beloved by sweethearts, they would sit

quietly, whispering low, until the brightening in the east betokened the break
of day, and then he was off, happy and lighthearted, to his labors.

A wedding was looked forward to with much pleasure by old and young.
Practically, it meant the only gathering of the settlers which was not

accompanied by the work of reaping the harvest, building a cabin, planning an
expedition to relieve some distant settlement, or a defense for themselves.

For all, it meant a rollicking good time; to the old people a feast, and the
looking on at the merriment of their children--to the young folk, a pleasing

break in the monotony of their busy lives, a day given up to fun and gossip, a
day of romance, a wedding, and best of all, a dance. Therefore Alice Reynold's

wedding proved a great event to the inhabitants of Fort Henry.
The day dawned bright and clear. The sun, rising like a ball of red gold, cast

its yellow beams over the bare, brown hills, shining on the cabin roofs white
with frost, and making the delicate weblike coat of ice on the river sparkle

as if it had been sprinkled with powdered diamonds. William Martin, the groom,
and his attendants, met at an appointed time to celebrate an old time-honored

custom which always took place before the party started for the house of the
bride. This performance was called "the race for the bottle."

A number of young men, selected by the groom, were asked to take part in this
race, which was to be run over as rough and dangerous a track as could be