leamed and danced in the
sky and swept the forest world with mystery.

XII

Virginia found the days much happier than she had hoped. She took a
real interest in caring for their little cabin, cooking the meals, even
mending Bill's torn clothes. She had a natural fine sense of flavors,
and out of the simple materials that they had in store she prepared
meals that in Bill's opinion outclassed the finest efforts of a French
chef. He would exult over them boyishly, and she found an unlooked-for
joy in pleasing him. She had made delicious puddings out of rice and
canned milk and raisins, she knew just the identical number of minutes
it required to broil a moose porterhouse just to his taste, and she
could fry a grouse to surpass the most succulent fried chicken ever
served in a southern home. All these things pleased her and occupied
the barren hours. She learned to sew on buttons, wash her own clothes,
and keep the cabin clean and neat as a hospital ward.

She liked the hours of sober talk in the evenings. Sometimes they would
play through the records, and so well had Bill made his selections that
she never tired of them. His preference tended toward melodies in the
minor, wailing things that to him vaguely reflected the voices of the
wild things and the plaintive utterances of the forest: she liked the
soul-stirring, emotional melodies. They worked up a rare comradeship
before the first week was done. She had never known a human being to
whom she opened her thoughts more freely.

She had her lonesome hours, but not so many as she had expected. When
time hung heavy on her hands she would take out one of the old magazines
that Bill had brought up to read on the winter nights, and devour it
from cover to cover. She had abundant health. The experience seemed to
build her up, rather than injure her. Her muscles developed, she
breathed deep of the cold, mountain air, and she had more energy than
she could easily spend.

She fought away the tendency to grow careless in dress or appearance.
She kept her few clothes clean and mended, she dressed her hair as
carefully as in her city house. Her skin was clear and soft, but she
didn't know how the wilderness life was affecting her beauty. What Bill
observed he did not tell her. Often the words were at his lips, but he
repressed them. In the first place he was afraid of speaking too
feelingly and giving away his heart's secret; in the second he had a
ridicul