Part 15 (1/2)

”I fell asleep,” said Peter, getting to his feet.

Beth laughed. ”Lucky you weren't burnt to death. _Then_ how would the trees get along?”

Peter's toe burrowed after the defunct cigarette.

”I know what I'm about,” he muttered, aware of further loss of dignity.

”Oh, do you? Then which way were you thinkin' of goin' home?”

Peter glanced around, pointed vaguely, and Beth Cameron laughed.

”I guess you'd land in Egg Harbor, or thereabouts.”

Her laugh was infectious and Peter at last echoed it.

”You's better be goin' along with us. Shad asked me to come and get you, didn't you, Shad?”

Peter glanced at the woodsman's black scowl and grinned, recalling his desertion and precipitate disappearance into the bushes.

”I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you both,” said Peter diplomatically.

”But I think I can find my way in.”

”Not if you start for Hammonton or Absecon, you can't. I've known people to spend the night in the woods a quarter of a mile from home.”

”I shouldn't mind that.”

”But Shad would. He'd feel a great responsibility if you didn't turn up for the ghost-hunt. Wouldn't you, Shad?”

Shad wagged his head indeterminately, and spat. ”Come on,” he said sullenly, and turned, leading the way out to the northward, followed by Beth with an inviting smile. She still wore her denim overalls which were much too long for her and her dusty brown boots seemed like a child's. Between moments of avoiding roots and branches, Peter watched her strong young figure as it followed their leader. Yesterday, he had thought her small; to-day she seemed to have increased in stature--so uncertain is the masculine judgment upon any aspect of a woman. But his notions in regard to her grace and loveliness were only confirmed. There was no concealing them under her absurd garments. Her flanks were long and lithe, like a boy's, but there was something feminine in the way she moved, a combination of ease and strength made manifest, which could only come of well-made limbs carefully jointed. Every little while she flashed a glance over her shoulder at him, exchanging a word, even politely holding back a branch until he caught it, or else when he was least expecting it, letting it fly into his face. From time to time Shad Wells would turn to look at them and Peter could see that he wasn't as happy as he might have been. But Beth was very much enjoying herself.

They had emerged at last into the road and walked toward Black Rock, Beth in the center and Peter and Shad on either side.

”I've been thinkin' about what you said yesterday,” said Beth to Peter.

”About----?”

”Singin' like an angel in Heaven,” she said promptly aware of Shad's bridling glance.

”Oh, well,” repeated Peter, ”you do--you know.”

”It was very nice of you--and you a musician.”

”Musician!” growled Shad. ”He ain't a musician.”

”Oh, yes, he is, and he says I've a voice like an angel. _You_ never said that, Shad Wells.”

”No. Nor I won't,” he snapped surlily.

Peter would have been more amused if he hadn't thought that Shad Wells was unhappy.