When noon came, Levi led the way into a lagoon; in a secluded spot at its head dinner was cooked, and when the sun was well down and a tributary stream was reached, he turned into it, and halted not for the night camp until a full half-mile separated them from the river.
A certain vague sense of impending danger began to impress both Martin and his wife, and the woods seemed to hold a one-eyed, malicious villain who might appear at any moment. A danger which we know actually exists, we can avoid or meet squarely; but one merely imaginary becomes irksome and really more annoying.
No hint of this was dropped by the three older ones, and when the tents were pitched, long before twilight, and Martin and Ray had captured a goodly string of trout and the camp-fire was alight, this wildwood life seemed absolutely perfect, to the young folks at least.
Chip also showed one of the best features of her training. She wanted to help everybody and do everything, and Levi, who always did the cooking, was importuned to let her help. Strong as a young Amazon, she fetched and carried like a man, and the one thing that gladdened her most was permission to work.
When supper was over came the lounging beside the cheerful fire, and as the shadows thickened, forth came Ray’s banjo once more, and with it the light of admiration in Chip’s eyes.
All that day he had been her charming companion; his open, manly face, his bright brown eyes, had been ever before her. His well-bred ways, so unlike all the men at Tim’s Place, had impressed her as those of a youth of eighteen will a maid of sixteen; and now, with his voice appealing to the best in her, he seemed like Pan of old, once more wooing a nymph with his pipes.
No knowledge of this was hers, no consciousness of why she was happy came to her. She knew what spites were; but the god Pan and Apollo with his harp were unknown forms.
Neither did she realize that born in her soul that day, on the broad shining river, was a magic impulse woven out of heart throbs, and destined to mete out to her more sorrow than all else in her life combined.
She had entered the wondrous vale of love whose paths are flower-strewn, whose shores are rippled with laughter, and whose borders, alas! are ever hid in the midst of tears.