And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall we see
No enemy,
But winter and rough weather."
He smiled to himself, and a soft look came into his eyes. The girl was making a jest of a situation that would have appalled multitudes of her over-civilized sisters, and he marvelled at her courage. The glow in his eyes grew brighter as he stared into vacancy. Some day-dream softened the stern lines in his face, and for a few minutes the spell of it held him. Then suddenly he frowned, and a little harsh laugh broke from his lips.
"You fool!" he whispered to himself. "You fool!"
A moment later the girl entered the tent again. In her hand she carried a rather decrepit hussif and a hank of strong linen thread. She held them down for him to see.
"I am making free with your possessions, Mr. Stane, but there's no help for it. I simply must repair these rags of mine."