"Strawberries," she stammered. "I was looking for strawberries." Then she added so low that he scarcely heard her, "Lew?"
"Nat!" cried Lewis. "It is Nat!"
Natalie swayed toward him. He caught her by the arms. She looked at him and tried to smile, but instead she crumpled into a heap on a rock and cried—cried as though her heart would break.
Lewis sat down beside her and put one arm around her.
"Why, Nat, aren't you glad to see me? Nat, don't cry! Aren't you glad
I've come?"
Natalie nodded her head hard, but did not try to speak. Not till she had quite finished crying did she look up. Then her tear-stained face broke into a radiant smile.
"That's—that's why I'm crying," she gasped; "because I'm so glad."
So there they sat together and talked about what? About strawberries. Lewis said that he had walked miles across the fields, and seen heaps of blossoms but no berries. He didn't think the wild ones had berries. Which, Natalie said, was nonsense. Of course they had berries, only it was too early. She had found three that were pinkish. She pointed to them where they had rolled from the little tin pail. Lewis picked one up and examined it.
"You're right," he said gravely, "it's a strawberry."
Then silence fell upon them—a long silence, and at the end Lewis said: