The Girl nodded, flushing. It was very hot, and she was beginning to feel just a wee bit faint and hungry and irritable.
"Yes, I saw your brother," she reiterated, "but I didn't seem to care for him. I rode by mistake right into the picture he was painting. There's probably paint all over me. It was very awkward, and he didn't do a thing to make it easier. I abominate that kind of person. If a man can't do anything else he can always ask you if you wouldn't like a drink of water!" She scowled indignantly. "It was the Road's fault anyway! I was just exploring, and the Road cried 'Follow me,' and I followed—a little faster than I meant to—and the Road ran right into your house and shut the door. Oh, slammed the door right in my face!"
"Would you like a drink of water, now?" suggested the Youngish Man.
"No, I thank you," said the Girl, with stubborn dignity, and then weakened to the alluring offer with "But my White Pony is very cruelly thirsty."
Both adventurers looked pretty jaded with heat and dust.
The Youngish Man led the way into a tiny, pungent wood-path that ended in a gurgling spring-hole, where the White Pony nuzzled his nose with deep-breathed, dripping satisfaction, while the Girl kept to her saddle and looked down on the Youngish Man with frank interest.
He looked very picturesque and brown and clever in his khaki suit with a game bag slung across his shoulder.
"You're not a hunter," she exclaimed impulsively. "You're not a hunter—because you haven't any gun."
"No," said the Man, "I'm a collector."
The Girl cried out with pleasure and clapped her hands. "A collector?—oh, goody! So am I! What do you collect? Minerals? Oh—dear! Mine is lots more interesting. I collect adventures."