“Since—oh, I began it about the time Joey was lost,” I answered.
She looked at me curiously.
“Wanza is very lovely in that picture.”
“She is. She is growing more beautiful every day,” I answered thoughtfully; “her soul shines in her face. I realize each time I see her how her character is rounding—how sturdy and fine she is in her trouble.”
After Haidee had gone I recalled the look she had flung at me as she turned and went down the steps, saying:
“Wanza is very fortunate to have you for a friend, very fortunate indeed.”
I asked myself what her look had meant.
Another week passed. I finished my novel. And one day soon after I rode to Roselake, expressed the manuscript to a publishing firm, and rode homeward feeling that my affairs were on the knees of the gods.
Not far from Cedar Dale I left the road and took the trail that led through the woods. In the woods I dismounted and went forward slowly, my horse’s bridle on my arm. It was a gray day, lightened by a yellow haze. I was enraptured with the peculiar light that came through the trees. The foliage about me was copper and flame. Presently I heard voices, and looking through the trees I saw Haidee and Joey. They were kneeling in a little open space, gathering pine cones. Haidee was bareheaded and her sleeves were rolled back, exposing her round, white arms. Her figure was lithe and supple as she knelt there, her drooping face full of witchery and charm.
I had an opportunity to observe Joey well. His face was thinner, his carriage not so gallant as formerly. There was less buoyancy in his voice. Something sprightly was missing in his whole aspect,—a certain confidence and dare. He was not the Cedar Dale elf I had known. What had changed him so?