He finished eating, then sat staring dreamily at the smoke of his cigarette as it circled about his head. Andy discoursed lightly on various subjects, but Donald did not seem to hear him. After he left Andy heard him singing merrily in his cabin.
“Strike me pink, but I do ’ope Donnie has waked up! What a pair, what a pair!” he said to himself.
In the morning Donald rode north on the gas-car to the scene of logging operations near the upper lake. He left orders with the men to bring Wainwright’s baggage to the station. What Connie’s absence would mean was brought forcibly to him as he met the trapper leading Pegasus and her pet deer down the trail to his cabin.
Two hours later Connie and her father stood on the station platform. Connie was dressed in an inexpensive blue suit, and wore a neat blue hat with a jaunty feather. Her golden hair was piled high in loops and coils that held a sheen of brightness like the shine of metal where the sun touched it. She appeared mystified and confused as the time for the train to pull out drew near. Andy, standing by her side, cursed softly as he saw her looking toward the mill, a look of poignant disappointment in her eyes.
“Donald ’ad to go up the line, Connie; guess something ’as ’appened,” he mumbled.
At that moment Donald was heaping opprobrium on a recalcitrant gas-car that had died on his hands.
The conductor called “All aboard!” Connie turned to Andy. “Good-bye, Andy,” she said sweetly, her eyes swimming with tears.
Andy took her gloved hand. “Good-bye, Connie,” he returned, attempting a brave smile. “When are you coming back?”
“Maybe never.” She choked as she stumbled up the car steps.
As the train started to move Connie came to the rear platform. A small, pathetic figure she seemed to Andy as she strained her eyes toward the north in a vain hope that she would see Donald. Andy stood in the centre of the track waving his hat until the flutter of Connie’s little handkerchief vanished around a curve.