She stood up, and shook out her half dry hair, and then picked up
Peter--and winced when he gave a little moan.

"He'll fix you, Peter," she comforted. "An' it'll be so nice over
here--with him."

Her eyes were looking ahead, down through the glory of the sun-
filled forest, and the song of birds and the beauty of the world
filled her soul, and a new and wonderful freedom seemed to thrill
in the touch of the soft earth under her feet.

"Flowers," she cried softly. "Flowers, an' birds, an' the sun,
Peter--" She paused a moment, as if listening to the throb of
light and life about her. And then, "I guess we'll go to Mister
Jolly Roger now," she said.

She shook her hair again, so that it shone in a soft and
rebellious glory about her, and the violet light grew a little
darker in her eyes, and the color a bit deeper in her cheeks as
she walked on into the forest over the faintly worn foot-trail
that led to the old cabin where Jolly Roger was keeping himself
away from the eyes of men.





CHAPTER III