“Not unless you want to, Donald,” she said quietly; “not unless you think you would rather.”
Donald scraped a fish vigorously. Linda sat watching him. Presently the tense lines around his eyes vanished. A faint red crept up his neck and settled on his left cheek bone. A confused grin slowly widened his naturally wide mouth.
“Then it’s me for the top crust,” he said conclusively.
“Then it’s me for you,” answered Linda in equally as matter-of-fact tones; and rising, she gathered up the fish and carried them to Katy while Donald knelt beside the chilly stream and scoured his face and hands, after which Linda whipped away the scales with an improvised brush of willow twigs.
It was such a wonderful day; it was such an unusual and delicious feast. Plump brook trout, fresh from icy water, delicately broiled over searing wood coals, are the finest of food. Through the meal to the point where Donald lay on his back at the far curve of the canyon wall, nibbling a piece of cactus candy, everything had been perfect. Nine months would be a long time to be gone, but Linda would wait for him, and she would write to him. He raised his head on his elbow and called across to her: “Say, Linda, how often will you write to me?”
Linda answered promptly: “Every Saturday night. Saturday is our day. I’ll tell you what has happened all the week. I’ll tell you specially what a darned unprofitable day Saturday is when you’re three thousand miles away.”
Bending over the canyon fireplace, her face red with heat and exertion, Katherine O’Donovan caught up her poker and beat up the fire until the ashes flew.
“Easy, Katy, easy,” cautioned Linda. “We may want to bury those coals and resurrect them to warm up what is left for supper.”
“We’ll do no such thing,” said Katy promptly. “What remains goes to feed the fish. Next time it’s hungry ye are, we’re goin’ to hit it straight to Lilac Valley and fill ourselves with God’s own bread and beefsteak and paraties. Don’t ye think we’re goin’ to be atin’ these haythen messes twice in one day.”
To herself she was saying: “The sooner I get you home to Pater Morrison, missy, the better I’ll be satisfied.”