eyes fascinated when they moved in speech. He watched her, never
thinking of the rudeness of it.

And then he saw her lift her face and look up to the peak, directly at
him, it seemed to him. His face turned hot, and he lowered the glass
guiltily. But of course she could not see him--or if she could, he
looked no more than a speck on the rock. He lifted the telescope
again, and her face jumped into close view. She was still looking up
his way, the little mirror turning idly in her hand. Her face was
thoughtful; almost wistful, he dared to think. Perhaps she was
lonesome, too. She had told him that she had spells of being terribly
lonesome.

Jack had an inspiration. He climbed hurriedly down off the rock, got
his own looking glass and climbed back again. He turned the glass so
that the sun shown on it aslant and threw a glare toward her. Then he
lifted the telescope quickly to see if she noticed the sparkle. After
a moment he decided that she had seen it but did not quite know what
had caused it. At any rate, she was still looking that way, which was
something.

Like the boy he was, he lay down on his stomach, balanced the
telescope across a splintered notch in the rock so that he could
steady it with one hand, and with the other he tilted the mirror;
inadvertently tilted the telescope also, and came near smashing the
mirror before he got the two balanced again. Well, she was still
looking, at any rate. And now she was frowning a little, as though
she was puzzled.

He signalled again, and this time he managed to keep her in the field