"Well, I'll be a heathen, too, if you'll show me how; if you think I'd pass for one. I've done a lot of heathen things in my time."
She gave him her hand to say good-bye. "Mayn't I go with you?" he asked.
"'I must finish my journey alone,'" she answered slowly, repeating a line from the first English book she had ever read.
"That's English enough," he responded with a laugh. "Well, if I mustn't go with you I mustn't, but my respects to Robinson Crusoe." He slung the gun into the hollow of his arm. "I'd like much to go with you," he urged.
"Not to-day," she answered firmly.
Again the voice came through the woods, a little louder now.
"It sounds like a call," he remarked.
"It is a call," she answered—"the call of the heathen."
An instant after she had gone on, with a look half-smiling, half- forbidding, thrown over her shoulder at him.
"I've a notion to follow her," he said eagerly, and he took a step in her direction.