He touched the shell strung up on her sea-weed dress. They looked all over the beach, and at last they found another shell with a hole all the way through. Then he was entirely content.
They went into the woods together and picked flowers, and Eepersip showed him how to make fern dresses and how to weave wreaths of flowers. They went into a grove of sunlit white pines and danced there together. Finally the little boy said: “I’m hungry, Eeserpip.”
“It’s Eepersip,” she said, “but it doesn’t matter much. I’ll find you something to eat.” After a while they found some flame-coloured berries, and then Eepersip dug up some white roots of which she was fond.
The boy said: “This is jolly, it is. Is this the way you get your food?”
“Always,” she said.
They played a while longer, and then someone called.
Eepersip had a strange feeling at that moment. She could not help feeling a certain reluctance when she had first played with him; then she had decided that he could not have anything to do with the civilized people she hated so. He must be separate from them, perhaps even a wild thing like herself. She felt a sensation of horror when the strange voice sounded. Then he was not alone—then he lived in a house with other people!
Startled, she cried: “Who’s that?”
“My mother,” he answered.
“Then you don’t live here all by yourself?” She had a bitter feeling of disappointment.