For a little while all was quiet but for the chattering of the river as it hurried on down to sea. The wind freshened in the trees. Messages were passing above us. Jim brought a bundle of fresh wood and the fire leaped into a cheerful blaze. There was not any more that needed to be said. We both made an effort to shake off the sadness and fell to talking of the weight of the day's salmon catch, as we undressed. We carried but one little tent and slept together. Some hour after we had gone to bed, I imagined Jim was trying to find out if I was asleep without disturbing me. At last he decided that I was awake and said:
"I'm sure it's all right about little Peter. We're out of the valley now and are finding again the sunny plain."
[CHAPTER XIII]
THE QUEER ONE
"Sartin sure! By the big dipper, it's sartin shame!" Bob McCartney stood at my door all excitement as he delivered himself of these explosives.
Bob is a short man and middle-wide, and he is on the increase. This particular morning he stood on my stoop, the very personification of heat. He took off his hat and mopped his head and his red face and without waiting went on with his message.
"The Missus Jim is took sudden and terrible sick. Doc Withers is there and don't know what ails her. Think of anything she could take? Anything you know of she could do? Everybody is suggestin'! Neighbors comin' an' goin' all the while, tryin' to do something for the Missus Jim. Didn't seem to be anything more I could do. You can't try everything to onct, so think's I, I'll go and see him. He comes from New York an' mebbe he'll have a new idea."
"It might be a good thing to let one or two ideas have a chance," I replied. "I've noticed that ideas that get rushed and crowded don't do as well."