"I shouldn't like to keep Nellie there," said Anthea. "Still, I scarcely think they would wait long."
"Of course not," said Jimmy. "Tom is as careful of her as if she were his sister, and they wouldn't worry about our not turning up to go off with them. They're probably getting used to it by this time."
He realized next moment that this was, perhaps, not a particularly tactful observation; but he could not see his companion's face, and, as had happened before, he had sense enough not to make things worse by any attempt to explain it, which Anthea Merril, who recognized that he had spoken unreflectively, of course, noticed. What she thought of him—and she had, naturally, formed certain opinions—did not appear until some time later.
In a few minutes he stopped abruptly where the trail wound round a screen of salmon-berry, for a creek came splashing down across their way. It appeared to be at least two feet deep, and when his companion saw it she turned to him with a little exclamation.
"Oh!" she said, "how are we going to get across? We certainly can't go back."
"I'm afraid not;" and Jimmy glanced dubiously at the sliding water. "It will be dark in half an hour, and this bush is bad enough to get through in the daylight. I'll go in anyway, and see how deep it is."
He plodded through rather above his knees in water, which was mostly freshly melted snow, and then turned and looked at the girl as she stood regarding him somewhat curiously from the opposite bank. The light had not quite gone yet, and he could see her standing, tall and supple and shapely, with her white serge skirt gathered in one hand, and a patch of crimson wine-berries at her feet. The great brown-and-gray trunk of a redwood behind her forced up the fine outline of her figure, and made a fitting background for the delicate coloring of the face that was turned toward him. Then, as had happened once or twice before, a little thrill ran through the man, and he glanced down at the sliding water.
"You can't wade through, and there's no use trying to look for a spot where it's not running quite so fast. I don't think a Siwash could get through this bush," he said.
He stopped somewhat abruptly, and was glad that the girl met his glance without wavering, as she said, "Well?"
Jimmy's tone was deprecatory. "There's only one way, Miss Merril. I must carry you over."