Pierre continued: "But then women are strange. What you expect they will
not--no. Riches?--it is nothing; houses like that on the hill, nothing.
They have whims. The hut is as good as the house, with the kitchen in the
open where the river welts and washes, and a man--the great man of the
world to them--to play the little game of life with. . . . Pshaw! you are
idle: move; you are thick in the head: think hard; you like the girl:
speak."

As he said this, there showed beneath them the front timbers of a small
crib of logs with a crew of two men, making for the rapids and the slide
below. Here was an adventure, for running the rapids with so slight a
craft and small a crew was smart work. Pierre, measuring the distance,
and with a "Look out, below!" swiftly let himself down by his arms as far
as he could, and then dropped to the timbers, as lightly as if it were a
matter of two feet instead of twelve. He waved a hand to Brydon, and the
crib shot on. Brydon sat eyeing it abstractedly till it ran into the
teeth of the rapids, the long oars of the three men rising and falling to
the monotonous cry. The sun set out the men and the craft against the
tall dark walls of the river in strong relief, and Brydon was carried
away from what Pierre had been saying. He had a solid pleasure in
watching, and he sat up with a call of delight when he saw the crib drive
at the slide. Just glancing the edge, she shot through safely. His face
blazed.

"A pretty sight!" said a voice behind him.

Without a word he swung round, and dropped, more heavily than Pierre,
beside Judith.

"It gets into our bones," he said. "Of course, though it ain't the same