Rosalind remained silent.
The boatman whispered something to the dog, then arose lazily and walked over to the shack. Rosalind saw him disappear within the door. She made a second tentative move toward descent. The dog, which lay watching her with his nose between his paws, sprang up and snarled.
A moment afterward Sam emerged from the cabin, staring ruefully at the sheet of paper that was in his hand.
"You tore down my picture-gallery," he said reproachfully. "Why did you do that?"
Rosalind flushed and compressed her lips.
"I thought quite a lot of that picture," he mused, seating himself again. "It seemed like such a good likeness."
"You beast!"
"That's not the way to make friends with him," cautioned the boatman.
"I mean you!"
"Oh! Well, that's not the way to make friends with me, either. Didn't you like my portrait of a lady?"