They looked at each other, and the skies cleared. Nothing was said; nothing needed to be said. It was enough for Jack that Mary did not despise him, and it was enough for Mary that he did not hate her. They were together, and the sun was shining on a sea of green grass. Their spirits soared. Troubles and heartaches vanished like steam in the sunshine. Breakfast became a feast of laughter, and Davy was enraptured.
"Blest if I can understand you two," the boy said with an unconscious imitation of his hero's casual manner that made Mary laugh again. "One minute you're as dumb as owls in the daytime, and the next you're laughing like a pair of loons at nothing at all."
They justified it by laughing afresh. "Oh, the loon's a much-abused bird, Mr. Davy," sang Jack. "He's not nearly as loony as his name. I think I'll adopt a loon for my crest."
"What's a crest?" Davy wanted to know.
"Oh, it's what you have on your note-paper," Jack said vaguely. "And they carve it on rings for you to seal your letters with."
Davy looked blank.
"It's a gentleman's private sign," said Mary. "His totem."
"Sure," said Jack with a surprised look. "How clever you are!"
Mary blushed to the eyes.
They packed and rode on, a cheerful trio on the trail. Jack to all appearances was his old, off-hand self, but he had stored away his lesson, and he never looked, or seemed never to look, at Mary. From her glance at him when she was unobserved one would have said she was sorry he obeyed her so well.