"Yes, anything you ask me I'll do," she answered, and then added quickly,
"For you won't ask me to do anything I don't want to do. That's the
difference. You understand, Orlando."

A few minutes later he had found a suitable place to make a kind of bed
of grass for her, and had prepared it, with his knife, cutting the
branches of small shrubs and grass and the scanty branches of the pine.
When it was finished, he came to her and said:

"It's all ready. Come and lie down, and I'll cover you up."

She got to her feet slowly, for she was in pain greater than she knew, so
absorbed was her mind in this new life suddenly enveloping her, and then
she said in a low voice: "No, not yet; I can't yet. I want to sit here.
I've never felt the night like this before. It's wonderful, and I'm not
nearly so cold now. I know I oughtn't to be cold at all, in the middle
of summer like this." She paused, and seemed lost in contemplation of
the sky. After a moment she added: "I never knew I could feel so far
away from all the world as I do tonight. But the sky seems so near, and
the moon and the stars so friendly."

"You haven't slept out of doors as I have hundreds of times," he
answered. "The night and I are brothers; the stars are my little
cousins; and the moon"--he giggled in his boyish way--"is my maiden aunt.
She's so prudish and so kind and friendly, as you say. She's like an
aunt I had--Aunt Samantha. She was my father's sister. I used to love
her to visit my mother. She always brought me things, and she gave them
to me as if they were on silver dishes--like a ceremony. She was so
prim, I used to call her Aunt Primrose. She made me feel as if I could