He lay there beating out the melody with his fingers. A musing look came in his eyes that remained there when once more the sound of her ax came through the forest stillness. Then it died away and his face grew grim.
"It's nonsense, the merest madness!" he whispered to himself. "And even if it were not—a man can't take advantage of such circumstances. It would be too caddish for words——"
For a long time he lay there listening to the sound of her movements, which told him when she was near and when further away, and presently he heard her fixing the lean-to of her improvised hut. She worked steadily, sometimes singing to herself, but she did not enter the tent again until noon, when she came in to inquire if he were comfortable and to say that a meal would be ready shortly.
"How does the hut go?" he asked.
"Oh, finely!" she cried with enthusiasm. "The framework is up, though I've used all the pack-ropes over the job. I wish I had some nails. I'm sure I could drive them straight."
"I'm sure you could," he replied laughingly.
"Girls are not nearly so incapable as they let men make them out to be. I never built a house before, but I am sure this one of mine is going to be a success. After we have eaten I am going to look for birch-bark to make the covering, but there's one thing that is worrying me."
"What is that?" he asked.
"I am wondering how to fasten the bark together. I shall have to get it in strips, I know, and the strips will have to be sewn together. I know that, but the question is—how? If I had stout twine and a packing needle it would be easy, but——"
"It is still easy," he interrupted. "You will have to get the roots of the white spruce, and sew with that, as a cobbler sews, using a knife for awl."