"Are you mostly on the roads?" Donelle asked presently. Nick was growing restless under her hands.
"Yes, when I'm not somewhere else. I fish some, and Father Mantelle teaches me and I read a lot, but I'm on the road a good deal."
"I think," Donelle beamed, "I think your Father Mantelle is going to teach me. I heard Mamsey talking about it. Does he keep school?"
"No. He's the curé. He teaches only a few. He knows everything in the world. He once lived in Quebec. He's old so they sent him here."
"Well!" Donelle suddenly turned. "I'm going now, but I shall often walk on the road." She flung this back mischievously. At a distance her shyness disappeared.
A few days later she met Tom again, this time she was more at her ease. They were young, lonely, and the spring helped thaw the superficial crust of convention.
It was after they had seen each other several times that Tom confided to Donelle his feeling about roads.
"They're like friends," he said, blushing and laughing.
"A road doesn't mean anything to me," Donelle replied, "but something to walk or ride on, something that gets you somewhere."
"Yes, it does get you somewhere, but you don't always have to ride or walk on it. If you think about it, it gets you somewhere," said Tom.