“Well,” she exclaimed positively, if not relevantly, “I’m never going to catch another fish.”
The answer not being just what Dave needed for the support of his advance, he lost courage, and let the conversation drop.
Chapter XVII
In the Roar of the Rapids
A little before noon, when the midsummer heat of the outside world came filtering faintly down even into the cool vistas of the forest, and here and there a pale-blue butterfly danced with his mate across the clear shadow, and the aromatic wood smells came out more abundantly than was their wont, at the lure of the persuasive warmth, the travellers halted for noonmeat. Sitting on a fallen hemlock trunk beside a small but noisy brook, it was a frugal meal they made on the cheese and dark bread which Kirstie had put in Dave’s satchel. Their halt was brief; and as they set out again, Dave said:—
“’Tain’t a mile from here to the Big Fork. Gabe’s canoe’s hid in the bushes just where this here brook falls in. Noisy, ain’t it?”
“I love the sound,” exclaimed Miranda, stepping quickly and gaily, as if the light, musical clamour of the stream had got into her blood.
“Well, the Big Fork’s a sight noisier,” continued Dave. “It’s heavy water, an’ just rapids on rapids all the ways down to Gabe’s clearing. Ye won’t be skeered, Mirandy?”
The girl gave one of her rare laughs, very high-pitched, but brief, musical, and curiously elusive. She was excited at the prospect.
“I reckon you know how to handle a canoe, Dave,” was all she said. The trust in her voice made Dave feel measurably nearer his purpose. He durst not speak, lest his elation should betray itself.
In a little while there came another sound, not drowning or even obscuring the clear prattle of the brook, but serving as a heavy background to its brightness. It was a large, yet soft, pulsating thunder, and seemed to come from all sides at once; as if far-off herds, at march over hollow lands, were closing in upon them. Dave looked at Miranda. She gave him a shining glance of comprehension.