rocks. It was their "secret place," and Peter had come to sense
the fact that its mystery was not to be disclosed. Here Nada had
made her little bower, and she sat down now upon a thick rug of
balsam boughs, and held Peter out in front of her, squatted on his
haunches. A new light had come into her eyes, and they were
shining like stars. There was a flush in her cheeks, her red lips
were parted, and Peter, looking up--and being just dog--could
scarcely measure the beauty of her. But he knew that something had
happened, and he tried hard to understand.

"Peter, he was here ag'in today--Mister Roger--Mister Jolly
Roger," she cried softly, the pink in her cheeks growing brighter.
"And he told me I was pretty!"

She drew a deep breath, and looked out over the rocks to the
valley and the black forest beyond. And her fingers, under Peter's
scrawny armpits, tightened until he grunted.

"And he asked me if he could touch my hair--mind you he asked me
that, Peter!--And when I said 'yes' he just put his hand on it, as
if he was afraid, and he said it was beautiful, and that I must
take wonderful care of it!"

Peter saw a throbbing in her throat.

"Peter--he said he didn't want to do anything wrong to me, that
he'd cut off his hand first. He said that! And then he said--if I
didn't think it was wrong--he'd like to kiss me--"

She hugged Peter up close to her again.