He sat up in bed listening. Clink, clink. He went to the window, leaned out, and gazed directly down into the dusky face of Swickey.
Without preamble she began.
“I shot a b’ar yest’day.”
“You did! Well, that’s pretty good for a girl.”
“My Pop guv me the money fur the ile.”
“Yes, but why did you come out to-night to tell me? Aren’t you afraid?”
“Afraid of what?” she asked, with an innocence that despite itself was ironical.
“That’s so. There’s nothing to be afraid of, is there?”
She hesitated, drawing the blanket closer about her.
“Nothin’—’cept you.”