“Yes.”
When they got back to camp the afternoon was closing, and it was exceedingly sultry. Not a breath of air stirred the aspen leaves, and when these did not quiver the air was indeed still. The dark-purple clouds moved almost imperceptibly out of the west.
“What have we for supper?” asked Bess.
“Rabbit.”
“Bern, can’t you think of another new way to cook rabbit?” went on Bess, with earnestness.
“What do you think I am—a magician?” retorted Venters.
“I wouldn’t dare tell you. But, Bern, do you want me to turn into a rabbit?”
There was a dark-blue, merry flashing of eyes and a parting of lips; then she laughed. In that moment she was naive and wholesome.
“Rabbit seems to agree with you,” replied Venters. “You are well and strong—and growing very pretty.”
Anything in the nature of compliment he had never before said to her, and just now he responded to a sudden curiosity to see its effect. Bess stared as if she had not heard aright, slowly blushed, and completely lost her poise in happy confusion.