A flush crept into the girl’s face, and she looked at him reproachfully.
“How could I stay here alone?” she asked. “Don’t say those foolish things. Come in out of the rain.”
The bark shelter would just hold the two of them, and Nasmyth, dripping, sat down close beside her. She looked very forlorn.
“I’m sorry for you,” he said awkwardly.
The girl showed faint signs of temper. “You have told me that before. Why don’t you do something? You said you had lived in the Bush, and now you have only been a few hours in it. It was seven o’clock when we had breakfast. Can’t you even make a fire?”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” answered Nasmyth deprecatingly. “You see, one has usually an axe and some matches, as well as a few other odds and ends, when one lives in the Bush. A man is a wretchedly helpless being when he has only his hands.”
The fact was borne in upon Violet forcibly as she glanced out at the wet beach, tumbling sea, and dreary, dripping Bush. The Bush rolled back, a long succession of straggling pines that rose one behind the other in sombre ranks, to the rugged hills that cut against the hazy sky. There was, no doubt, all that man required to provide him with warmth and food and shelter in that forest, but it was certain that it was only by continuous and arduous toil that he could render it available. Indeed, since he could not make himself an axe or a saw or a rifle, it was also evident that his efforts would be fruitless unless backed by the toil of others who played their part in the great scheme of human co-operation.
It is, however, probable that Violet did not concern herself with this aspect of the matter, but she had led a sheltered life, and it was curiously disconcerting to find herself brought suddenly face to face with primitive realities. She was wet through and worn out, and although evening was not far away, she had eaten nothing since 182 seven o’clock that morning. The momentary petulance deserted her.
“Oh!” she cried, “they mayn’t be able to send off for us for perhaps a day or two.”