“A picture,” said Steinmetz to himself with Teutonic deliberation. “Gott im Himmel! what a pretty picture to make an old man young!”
Then his gray eyes opened suddenly and he rose to his feet.
“Coloss-a-al!” he muttered. He dragged from his head a lamentable old straw hat and swept a courteous bow.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, “ah, what happiness! After three years!”
Maggie stopped and looked at him with troubled eyes; all the color slowly left her face.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. And there was something like fear in her voice.
“No harm, mademoiselle, but good. I have come down from big game to vermin. I have here a saloon rifle. I wait till a water-rat comes, and then I shoot him.”
The canoe had drifted closer to the land, the paddle trailing in the water.
“You are looking at my white hairs,” he went on, in a sudden need of conversation. “Please bring your boat a little nearer.”
The paddle twisted lazily in the water like a fish’s tail.