Harriet saw him first, gently pressed Stuart's hand and whispered:
"Look, Jim."
As Stuart turned his head, the bird rose with a roar that brought a cry of terror to the girl's lips. Involuntarily she gripped his hand and nestled closer.
"Scared you out of a year's growth, didn't he?"
"He certainly did."
"What a flood of memories the whir of those wings brings back to my tired soul," Stuart dreamily cried; "of woods and fields and hills and valleys of the South, where men and women yet live a sane human life! I'd begun to forget there were any hills and fields."
"I wish I lived down South, Jim!"
"Why?"
"I don't know, it's just an idea of mine. I suppose I get it from hearing you tell about their old-fashioned ways, their neighbourly habits and the sweet home life."
The man was silent. The deep soft note of a mallard drake far above the treetops caused him to look up.