“No, she doesn’t; but she is just as anxious as if she did. She can’t think what in the world keeps you.”
“She doesn’t realise,” said the artist, “what strong attractions the Shawenegan Falls have for people alive to the beauties of nature.”
“Well,” said Mason, “we mustn’t stand here talking. You must be about frozen to death.” Here he shouted to one of the men to come up and put out the fire.
“Oh, don’t bother,” said the artist; “it will soon burn out.”
“Oh yes,” put in Ed. Mason; “and if a wind should happen to rise in the night, where would my pine forest be? I don’t propose to have a whole section of the country burnt up to commemorate the quarrel between you two.”
The half-breed flung the biggest brand into the river, and speedily trampled out the rest, carrying up some water in his hat to pour on the centre of the fire. This done, they stepped into the canoe and were soon on their way down the river. Reaching the landing, the artist gave his hand to Miss Sommerton and aided her out on the bank.
“Miss Sommerton,” he whispered to her, “I intended to sail to-morrow. I shall leave it for you to say whether I shall go or not.”
“You will not sail,” said Miss Sommerton promptly.
“Oh, thank you,” cried the artist; “you do not know how happy that makes me.”
“Why should it?”