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"Plenty of time to make those pine-needle pillows for the girls at Briarwood, if we have a stormy day," quoth Helen Cameron. "We mustn't mope before the fire this evening. The moon is coming up big as a bushel and red as fire! Oh, we'll have some fun this night." "What now?" demanded Madge Steele. "I see the boys have stolen out after supper. A sleigh ride?"
She had a guilty conscience that no strange thrills could silence. It would be fun to see him, to watch him, to let him wait for her, to fool him. Like an Indian, she chose the soft pine-needle mats to tread upon, and her light-moccasined feet left no trace.
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