“Yes, father, I’ve got a tent and two pairs of Hudson Bay blankets, waterproof boots, stout netting—for the mosquitoes, you know. Oh, I have heard all about those mosquitoes! I’ve got a canvas knapsack and an oil-stove, and oceans of oil, and a pistol and plenty of chocolates and six weeks’ provisions.” With a little encouragement she would have told him every item in that six weeks’ provision. She was distinctly proud of her list. Many people on the Los Angeles had complimented her upon its judicious selection.
But Nathaniel Mar’s face showed no pride—showed something even like horror. “I can’t think what you were about, Cheviot,” he said almost sharply.
Hildegarde was still incredulous that Louis had been able to resist the natural temptation of “telling on her,” and saving his own credit. “Doesn’t father know—anything?”
“Oh, yes, I told him—about us.”
“It’s the one redeeming feature in the present situation,” said Mr. Mar.
“Father!” She was really wounded by that.
“But as I’ve told you already”—he turned his melancholy eyes on the young man—“I’d take more comfort in the intelligence if you hadn’t brought her up here!”
“Does he say he brought me?”
“He can’t say he prevented you.”