cringe and hide herself at the vile cursing and witch-like voice
of the man and woman back in the other cabin. But there was
nothing like that in Jolly Roger's company. He had two eyes, and
he was not always cursing, and he did not pull Nada's hair--and
Peter loved him from the bottom of his soul. And he knew that his
mistress loved him, for she had told him so, and there was always
a different look in her eyes when she was with Jolly Roger, and it
was only then that she laughed in that glad little way--as she was
laughing now.

Jolly Roger was seated at the table, and Nada stood behind him,
her face flushed joyously at the wonderful privilege of pouring
his coffee. And then she sat down, and Jolly Roger gave her the
nicest of the partridge breasts, and tried hard to keep his eyes
calm and quiet as he looked at the adorable sweetness of her
across the table from him. To Nada there was nothing of shame in
what lay behind the happiness in the violet radiance of her eyes.
Jolly Roger had brought to her the only happiness that had ever
come into her life. Next to her God, which Jed Hawkins and his
witch-woman had not destroyed within her, she thought of this
stranger who for three months had been hiding in Indian Tom's
cabin. And, like Peter, she loved him. The innocence of it lay
naked in her eyes.

"Nada," said Jolly Roger. "You're seventeen--"

"Goin' on eighteen," she corrected quickly. "I was seventeen two
weeks ago!"

The quick, undefined little note of eagerness in her voice made