Part 7 (2/2)
A hail from the bank above broke upon her reverie, but when she saw it was David, she sat up smiling. That he should find out her hiding place without word or sign from her was an action right and fitting.
It was a move in the prehistoric game of flight and pursuit, in which they had engaged without comprehension and with the intense earnestness of children at their play. David dropped down beside her, a spray of wild roses in his hand, and began at once to chide her for thus stealing away. Did she not remember they were in the country of the p.a.w.nees, the greatest thieves on the plains? It was not safe to stray alone from the camp.
Susan smiled:
”The p.a.w.nees steal horses, but I never heard anyone say they stole girls.”
”They steal anything they can get,” said the simple young man.
”Oh, David,”--now she was laughing--”so they might steal me if they couldn't get a horse, or a blanket, or a side of bacon! Next time I go wandering I'll take the bacon with me and then I'll be perfectly safe.”
”Your father wouldn't like it. I've heard him tell you not to go off this way alone.”
”Well, who could I take? I don't like to ask father to go out into the sun and Daddy John was asleep, and Leff--I didn't see Leff anywhere.”
”I was there,” he said, dropping his eyes.
”You were under the wagon reading Byron. I wouldn't for the world take you away from Byron.”
She looked at him with a candid smile, her eyes above it dancing with delighted relish in her teasing.
”I would have come in a minute,” he said low, sweeping the surface of the spring with the spray of roses. Susan's look dwelt on him, gently thoughtful in its expression in case he should look up and catch it.
”Leave Byron,” she said, ”leave the Isles of Greece where that lady, whose name I've forgotten, 'loved and sung,' and walk in the sun with me just because I wanted to see this spring! Oh, David, I would never ask it of you.”
”You know I would have loved to do it.”
”You would have been polite enough to do it. You're always polite.”
”I would have done it because I wanted to,” said the victim with the note of exasperation in his voice.
She stretched her hand forward and very gently took the branch of roses from him.
”Don't tell stories,” she said in the cajoling voice used to children.
”This is Sunday.”
”I never tell stories,” he answered, goaded to open irritation, ”on Sunday or any other day. You know I would have liked to come with you and Byron could have--have----”
”What?” the branch upright in her hand.
”Gone to the devil!”
”David!” in horror, ”I never thought _you'd_ talk that way.”
She gave the branch a shake and a shower of drops fell on him.
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