“She’s here,” said the game-warden, soberly.
But McCloud had started talking and muttering to himself.
Towards midnight the whippoorwill began a breathless calling from the garden.
McCloud opened his eyes.
“Who is that?” he asked, irritably.
“He’s looney,” whispered Tansey; “he gabbles to hisself.”
The little path-master knelt beside him. He stared at her stonily.
“It is I,” she whispered.
“Is it you, little path-master?” he said, in an altered voice. Then something came into his filmy eyes which she knew was a smile.
“I wanted to tell you,” he began, “I will work out my taxes—somewhere—for you—”