The broad, evenly graded road wound away before them, and the double rank of trees followed its course on either side.
"I used to camp out here summers, when I was a boy. You've read Cooper's novels?"
"'Deerslayer' and all those? Oh, yes."
"Their scene was not so far away from here, you know; only a few score miles."
"There must be all sorts of stories about here, too?"
"Did you ever hear tell of the Old White Woman?"
"No."
"She lived around here. She was stolen by the Indians and grew up and married one."
"How interesting! I wonder how it would seem to really love an Indian?" Then Lassie choked—blushing furiously at this approach of the painful subject.
"You speak as one who has had a wide experience with white men." (Ingram felt this to be fearfully daring.)