In absolute silence he lifted the birch poles from their places. He put a hand to the topmost log. It did not yield to his pull.
“Spiked on the other side.”
He tried the second one.
“Ah!”
It came away. Without a sound he placed it at his feet. A second, a third, fourth, fifth. Still no sound.
An opening three feet wide now lay before him. He put out a hand. It touched some one. Groping about, he found the girl’s hand, then guided her through the opening.
“It is strange,” he thought. “I have never seen this person. Is she dark or fair, beautiful or ugly?”
One or two things he could know. She was short and rather plump. Her muscles were hard. He was surprised at this. He had supposed that rich men’s daughters were always soft and white.
He drew the girl to a place on the bench beside him. She was trembling. As her shoulder pressed against his, he felt the wild beating of her heart. This would never do. She must be calm.
As for his own feelings, he had gone cold all over, just as he had at the beginning of every gridiron battle.