Johnny caught his breath. He had thought she was about to reveal a secret, and didn’t more than half want to hear it. A mystery half ripened is no mystery at all. He need not have feared.
“To-morrow,” she said, “we will go farther north.”
“Why?” The word slipped out unguarded.
She looked at him in silence, then said quite calmly, “I don’t know why, not quite all together. This year Grandfather acts quite strangely. He tells me he sees signs.”
“Of what?”
“He—he doesn’t tell me that. Perhaps he doesn’t quite know. He is very old; yet his mind is bright, clear as a bell. He—”
Suddenly the girl put out a hand to touch Johnny’s lips. She had caught a sound that had escaped him. The old man was returning. Ten seconds later he came tramping in through the brush.
“Everything is splendid,” he beamed. “Been five miles downstream. The trail is good. Country is opening up. To-morrow we will go on.
“Ah!” he sighed as he dropped on a bed of pine needles. “You know how to make a fire, you two. It feels good!” He rubbed his hands together with great satisfaction.
That night, ere he made up his bed of pine needles before the fire and rolled up in his blanket for a few hours of perfect repose, Johnny witnessed a curious and impressive ceremony.