"We will see." On the next day, and the next, the _rencontre_ seemed to be forgotten.
The herbarium was already filled with rare specimens.

Teresa had even overcome her feminine repugnance to "bugs" and creeping things so far as to assist in his entomological collection.

He had drawn from a sacred _cache_ in the hollow of a tree the few worn textbooks from which he had studied.
"They seem very precious," she said, with a smile.
"Very," he replied gravely.

"There was one with plates that the ants ate up, and it will be six months before I can afford to buy another." Teresa glanced hurriedly over his well-worn buckskin suit, at his calico shirt with its pattern almost obliterated by countless washings, and became thoughtful.
"I suppose you couldn't buy one at Indian Spring ?" she said innocently.
For once Low was startled out of his phlegm.

"Indian Spring!" he ejaculated; "perhaps not even in San Francisco.