Clark chuckled. "Am I so formidable?"
"Not to me any more. Perhaps it is because we understand the same things." She pointed to the rapids. "This, for instance."
"Would you tell me just what you hear out there."
She shook her head doubtfully. "There are no words for most of it, but I seem to catch the voices of things that want to be expressed somehow." Then, with sudden breathlessness, "It's a universal language—like music."
"That's it," he said soberly, "it has all the majors and minors." He regarded the girl with quickening interest. What was the elemental note in her that responded to this thundering diapason?
"It's a voice crying in the wilderness," she continued in the same low tone, then, with a smile, "at least it was a wilderness before you came. I wonder if you would do—" she broke off suddenly, her eyes brilliant.
"Tell me, and I'll do it."
She clapped her hands. "I wish you would visit us all when we go camping next month; you'd like it."
"I'm sure I would, but—"
"But what? I knew there'd be something."