"I guess you know your way," Tom replied. "And, Donelle, I want to tell you, I'm not going to live with my father. I couldn't. Here, can you see that little hut down there?"
Donelle bent and peered through the trees.
"Yes," she said.
"Well, I'm going to clean that up and live there. It has a chimney, and the windows look right on the river. When you open the wide door it's almost as good as being out under the sky. That's where I'm going to set up housekeeping."
"How wonderful, Tom! And Mamsey and I will help you. We'll make rugs and curtains. We'll make it like a home."
"It will be the first, then, that I've ever had." Tom did not say this bitterly, but with a gentle longing that touched Donelle.
"I'll come and see you, sometimes, Tom. Mamsey and I. It will be great fun to sit by your fire and hear about your roads."
"And you'll fiddle, Donelle?"
"Oh! yes, I'll fiddle until you tell me to stop." Then suddenly Donelle grew grave. "Tom, do you think you can keep your father straight if you are so far away?"
"I'll keep him quiet!" Tom answered. "I'll see to that."