“Lost the others yesterday in the river. It was deeper and swifter than I thought.”
Rising, she went into the birchbark cabin. She returned at once with an arrow. She held it out to him.
“This,” she said, “I believe is yours.”
“Yes,” said Johnny in great surprise. “You found it.”
“It came bobbing along to me on the surface of the river. It’s a fine arrow. I’ve asked the fairies of this northwood to bless it. Take it back; it may bring you good luck.”
“So that—” Johnny broke off abruptly. He was about to say, “So that is how you knew I was near?” He would make no attempt to surprise these new friends into divulging their strange secret. No. He would try to prove himself worthy of their friendship and confidence.
As if conscious of that which went on within his mind, the girl lapsed again into silence.
When at last she spoke again her tones were deep and mellow like the low notes of a cello.
“Grandfather and I,” she said, “have gone into the woods every year since I was ten. The bow and arrow are his hobby. They have become mine. He never uses firearms. He has dreadfully sensitive ears. The explosion of a shotgun drives him frantic.
“Always before,” she went on after a pause, “we have come to the wilderness for pure pleasure, the joy of the out-of-doors. But this year—” She paused again as if for reflection. “This year we have gone farther than before.”