"Nope, ye got to go back, and turn to the right at the top of the hill.
Ye can't go round the shore from here; the water's too high."

This impulsive desire to choose her words and to modulate her voice came
from a sudden realization that there lived another class of people
outside the squatter settlement of whom she knew little.

"Thank you very much," replied the questioner. "Now I understand that if
I ride to the top of the hill and turn to the right, I'll reach
Glenwood?"

"Yep," answered Flea.

Her embarrassment caused her lips to close over the one word.
Wonderingly she watched the man ride away until the sight of his dark
horse was lost in the trees above the tracks.

"It were a prince," she stammered in a low tone, "a real live prince!"

Flea contemplated the darkening hills with moody eyes. She counted
slowly one by one the towers of the university buildings. This she did
merely from habit; for the expression remained unchanged on her
melancholy face. At length the gray eyes dropped to the water and fixed
their gaze upon a fishing boat turning toward the shore. A few moments
before it had been but a black speck near the lighthouse; but as it came
nearer Flea distinctly saw the two men and the boy in it. Upon the bow
of the boat was perched Snatchet, a yellow terrier, his short ears
perked up with happiness at the prospect of supper. When the craft
touched shore the girl rose and ran toward it. Almost in fear, she
searched the face of the youth at the rudder with eyes so like his own