"But I have lived here like a wild man," argued Mr. Starr, "in fact I fear I have grown to be one in ways and manners. Solitude may be good for some, but for those in distress—"
"Exactly. But you are not going to have any more solitude. You see we have invaded your camp, and when my sister Cora makes a discovery she always insists upon developing it. I never did see the beat of Cora for finding things out," and the pride in Jack's voice matched the toss of his handsome head.
"And my little girl will have a friend," mused the elder man. "Well, in moments when I could think, that torturing thought of my dragging her down with me was too much. It drove me back always to the old, old despair." The look of terror, that Jack noticed before came back into the haggard face. It was as if he feared to hope.
Laurel was at the door. Her face was a picture of happiness as she stood there gazing at her father. Her skin was as dark as the leaves that outlined the entrance to the hut; her eyes lighted up the rude archway: and her lithe figure completed the bronze statuette.
Jack's eyes fell upon her in unstinted admiration. Generations of culture are not easily undone even by the wild life of a forest.
"You are better every minute, father," she said simply, "I think the cure you need comes from pleasant company."
"None could be more pleasant than your own, my dear," he answered, "but now I want to go and see my birds. And I must feed that cripple rabbit. He was shot," to Jack, "but the leg is mending nicely. I missed him so, for he knew us so well and would eat from our hands. You see we established a little kingdom here. Laurel was queen and we, the birds and other life creatures, were all her subjects."
Laurel blushed through her tan. "Yes, he had to do something," she said, "else the days would have been too long."
The chug of a motor-boat interrupted them. "That's Cora," said
Jack, and so it was.