"Then—you've come right from Second Westings!" he exclaimed.
"Right from Second Westings."
"All that distance since this morning?" he persisted.
She nodded impatiently.
"Through those woods—through the rapids—all alone?"
"Yes, all alone!" she answered, a little crisply. She was annoyed.
In his astonishment he laid down his paddle and leaned forward, scanning her face.
"But—" said he, embarrassed, "forgive me! I know it is none of my business,—but what does it mean?"
"Go on paddling," commanded Barbara. "Did you not promise you would obey me? I know what it means!" And she laughed, half maliciously. The boy looked worried,—and it was great fun to bring that worried look to his face.
He resumed his paddling, though much less vigorously, while she evaded his gaze, and a wilful smile clung about her lips. The current was swift, and they had soon left the imposing white columns of Gault House far behind. A tremendous sense of responsibility came over the boy, and again he stopped paddling.