"When is she coming back?" he asked, awakened to desire further knowledge of the silent girl's aspirations.
"Soon, I reckon. She's been a right smart spell longah now 'n she 'lowed she'd be. Hit's old man Irwin. He's been hurted some way. She went ovah to see could Aunt Sally Carew go an' help Miz Irwin keer fer him—she's a fool thing, don't know nothin'. They sont down fer me—but here I be, so she rode the colt ovah fer Sally."
David wrapped and tied the piece of silver as he had found it. As he replaced it in the box, he discovered the pieces of the broken fiddle loosely tied in a sack, precious relics of a joy that was past. Carefully he locked the box and returned the key, but the books he folded in the strip of gingham and carried away with him.
"I'll be back to-night or in the morning. If she doesn't return, send Hoyle for me. You mustn't be too long alone. Shall I mend the fire?"
He threw on another log, then lifted her a little and brought her a glass of cool water, and climbed back to his cabin, walking lightly and swiftly.
CHAPTER IX
IN WHICH DAVID ACCOMPANIES CASSANDRA ON AN ERRAND OF MERCY
Filled with the enthusiasm of his thoughts, David climbed too rapidly, and now he found he must take the more gradual rise of the mule trail without haste. His cap thrust in his pocket, the breeze lifted his hair and dried the perspiration which would still come with any too eager exertion. But why should he care? Even to be alive these days was joy. This was continually the refrain of his heart, nor had he begun to exhaust his resources for entertainment in his solitary life.