dimple.

"Well, perhaps you're right. I promise." He flashed up a blue
desperation of young eyes as he asked: "How long will it last, Hugh?"

"Not long. Not long. Surely not long."

"I promise."

"Give me your hand."

They came back down from the hill.




CHAPTER XIII


Pete looked forward with white-hot impatience to the day of his trip
to the trading-station; twelve hours of relief, it would mean, from
the worst pressure of his torment--twelve hours of merciful solitude
in the old, voiceful friendliness of his forest trail. He started
early, at the break of a sweet, singing dawn. The earth was elastic
under his feet, the air tingling and mellow with a taste of growth;
the flooded river chattered loudly like a creature half beside itself
with joy. Pete came out of the dark and silent cabin in which he had
made his tiptoe preparations, and lifted his face, letting the light,
soft fingers of the wind, cooler and softer even than Sylvie's, smooth
out the knots of suffering from his tired brain. He shook his