At length they came to another stream, a rushing mill-race this time, with an old mill, moss-covered and fallen into decay beside it, 31and by tacit consent they sank down on the worn step.
“I don’t believe we can go any farther,” Jim panted. “I guess this is as good a place as any to camp for the night, and you can sleep in there.”
He indicated the sagging door behind him, and Lou followed his gesture with a reluctant eye. Jim noted the glance and, misunderstanding it, added hastily:
“I don’t believe there are any rats in there, but if you’ll lend me your matches I’ll see.”
“Rats!” she repeated in withering scorn. “There was plenty of them in the insti–where I come from. I was just thinkin’ maybe somebody else was sleepin’ there already.”
She handed over the matches and Jim pushed open the door and entered, feeling carefully for rotten boards in the decayed flooring. A prolonged survey by the flickering light of the matches assured him that the ancient, cobwebbed place was deserted, and he turned again to the door, but its step was unoccupied and nowhere in the starlight 32could he discern a flutter of that blue-and-white striped dress.
Could she have run away from him? At the thought a forlorn sense of loneliness swept over him greater than he had known since he had started upon his tramp. She was tired out; could he in some way have frightened her, or had a mad spirit of adventure sent her on like a will-o’-the-wisp into the night?
“Lou!” he called, and his voice echoed back. “Lou!”
All at once he noticed what he had not observed before–a single light by the roadside in a clearing ahead. Perhaps she had gone there for more secure shelter.
His cogitations were abruptly interrupted by a dog’s excited barking, subdued by distance, but deep-throated. The sound came from the direction of the clearing, and, taking up his heavy stick, Jim hobbled to the road. If Lou had got into any trouble─