“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping across the porch and to the path. He had gone as far as the end of the camp when she called.
“D—Dave!”
He came back to her, an amused light in his eyes.
“I lied, I did. ’Tain’t Smoke—it’s you, too,” she cried, the tears welling to her eyes.
“Me?” he exclaimed. Then he understood. “You poor youngster. There, don’t cry. I’m coming back and, by crickey! I’ll bring Smoke, too, if it’s possible.” He drew nearer to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got your father, and there isn’t a finer man on earth than he. Besides, I won’t be away so very long if I can help it.”
But David’s words failed to comfort her.
“’Tain’t Pop I want,” she sobbed, “like I want you.”
“But, Swickey—”
She came close, pressing her face against him. Suddenly she flung her arms about his neck, her tempestuous affection striking a thrill through his body as her warmth crept to him. Despite the many interests of his new life, he had been lonely and she brought it home to him in her own abrupt way.
“Why, Swickey, I didn’t know you cared so much. Come! I’ll promise to come back just as soon as I can, and we’ll have some new books, and glorious winter evenings together to read and talk and study.”