He
wished us good-day.
We left him seated on the pine log, his axe between his knees, his
great, gnarled brown hands hanging idly. After a time we heard the
_whack_ of his implement; then after another long time we heard it
_whack_ again. We knew that those two blows had gone straight and
true and forceful to the mark. So old a man had no energy to expend in
the indirections of haste.
Our elfish guides led us back along the trail to the farmhouse. A girl
of thirteen had just arrived from school. In the summer the little ones
divided the educational advantages among themselves, turn and turn
about.
The newcomer had been out into the world, and was dressed accordingly.
A neat dark-blue cloth dress, plainly made, a dull red and blue checked
apron; a broad, round hat, shoes and stockings, all in the best and
quietest taste--marked contrast to the usual garish Sunday best of the
Anglo-Saxon. She herself exemplified the most striking type of beauty
to be found in the mixed bloods. Her hair was thick and glossy and
black in the mode that throws deep purple shadows under the rolls and
coils. Her face was a regular oval, like the opening in a wishbone. Her
skin was dark, but rich and dusky with life and red blood that ebbed
and flowed with her shyness. Her lips were full, and of a dark cherry
red. Her eyes were deep, rather musing, and furnished with the most
gloriously tangling of eyelashes. Dick went into ecstasies, took
several photographs which did not turn out well, and made one sketch
which did.
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