and forth, singing and croaking, until, at last, as Pearl had predicted,
Bob Flick appeared, a fact not unheralded by Lolita's cries; but Pearl
did not alter her languid pose, nor even turn her head to greet him. She
was watching a whirling column of sand, polished and white as a colossal
marble pillar.

"It's kind of early for them to begin, ain't it, Bob?" she remarked
casually.

"Yes." He paused by the gate, leaning one arm on it, and in the swift
glance she cast at him from the corners of her eyes she could see that
his expressionless face looked worn, the lines about the mouth seemed
to have deepened and the eyes were heavy, as if he had not slept.

Lolita had, as usual, perched upon his shoulder, and was murmuring in
his ear.

"Say, Pearl," Flick spoke again after an interval of silence, "I wish
you'd take a walk with me. I--I got something on my mind that I want to
talk about."

"All right," she acquiesced readily, the nicker of a smile about her
lips quickly suppressed. "I'll be ready in a minute, as soon as I get my
hat."

They walked through the village, the great broken wall of the mountains
rising before them, deceptively near, and yet austerely remote, dazzling
snow domes and spires crowning the rock-buttressed slopes and appearing
sometimes to float, as unsubstantial clouds, in an atmosphere of all
commingling and contrasting blues and purples. Presently they turned