“Yes, but it’s a very dark daylight. Don’t leave your warm bed for the dampness and cold out here; stay where you are; I’ll get breakfast.”
“How are you this morning? Did you sleep?”
“Fine!”
“I’m afraid you had a bad night,” she insisted, in a tone which indicated her knowledge of his suffering.
“Camp life has its disadvantages,” he admitted, as he put the coffee-pot on the fire. “But I’m feeling better now. I never fried a bird in my life, but I’m going to try it this morning. I have some water heating for your bath.” He put the soap, towel, and basin of hot water just inside the tent flap. “Here it is. I’m going to bathe in the lake. I must show my hardihood.”
He heard her protesting as he went off down the bank, but his heart was resolute. “I’m not dead yet,” he said, grimly. “An invalid who can spend two such nights as these, and still face a cold wind, has some vitality in his bones after all.”
When he returned he found the girl full dressed, alert, and glowing; but she greeted him with a touch of shyness and self-consciousness new to her, and her eyes veiled themselves before his glance.
“Now, where do you suppose the Supervisor is?” he asked.
“I hope he’s at home,” she replied, quite seriously. “I’d hate to think of him camped in the high country without bedding or tent.”
“Oughtn’t I to take a turn up the trail and see? I feel guilty somehow—I must do something!”