"But you mustn't stay here for me, Tom. I couldn't bear that."
"See here, Donelle. If you have turned back, so will I. I had my choice of going to the States or overseeing some work back in the hills here. I have chosen."
"But, Tom, you mustn't turn back."
"Perhaps neither of us has turned back," Tom's dark face relaxed. "When things make you dizzy you cannot always tell which is back or forward. I wish you would play your fiddle."
Donelle looked up at him with a kind of glory in her eyes.
"I will," she said; "and after, you must tell me about your roads, the roads that you can see when there are no roads!"
"It's a bargain."
So Tom sat down upon a rock and Donelle paced to and fro on the leafy path and, as she played and played, she smiled contentedly at Tom over her bow. When she was tired she dropped beside him and leaned against a tree.
"Now," she whispered; "I want to hear about your roads."
"It's splendid work," said Tom. "You can imagine such a lot. Someone wants a road built; you go and see only woods or rocks or plains, then suddenly, you see the road—finished! You set to work overcoming the obstacles, getting results with as little fuss as possible, always seeing that finished road! It's great!"