"Towers. They ought to be built—with telephone connection to headquarters."
"D'ye think the old man will stand for that?"
"He ought to. It's insurance."
"Oh!"
"It looks to me, Wells," said Peter after a pause, "that a good 'crown' fire and a high gale, would turn all this country to cinders—like this."
"It's never happened yet."
"It may happen. Then good-by to your jobs—and to Black Rock too perhaps."
"I guess Black Rock can stand it, if the old man can."
They walked around the charred clearing and mounted a high sand dune, from which they could see over a wide stretch of country. With a high wooden platform here the whole of the Upper Reserve could be watched. They sat for a while among the sandwort and smoked, while Peter described the work in the German forests that he had observed before the war. Shad had now reached the point of listening and asking questions as the thought was more and more borne into his mind that this new superintendent was not merely talking for talk's sake, but because he knew more about the woods than any man the native had ever talked with, and wanted Shad to know too. For Peter had an answer to all of his questions, and Shad, though envious of Peter's grammar—for he had reached an age to appreciate it—was secretly scornful of Peter's white hands and carefully tied black cravat.
This dune was at the end of the first day's "cruise" and Shad had risen preparatory to returning toward Black Rock when they both heard a sound,—away off to their right, borne down to them clearly on the breeze—the voice of a girl singing.