was traveling faster than Peter.

Half way between himself and the bow of that canoe McKay could dimly
make out Nada's pale face in the star glow that filtered like a mist
through the tops of the close-hanging trees.

Scarcely above his breath he laughed in joyous confidence.

"At last my dream is coming true, Nada," he whispered. "You are mine.
And we are going into another world. And no one will ever find us
there--no one but Father John, when we send him word. You are not
afraid?"

Her voice trembled a little in the gloom.

"No, I am not afraid. But it is dark--so dark--"

"The moon will be with us again in a few nights--your moon, with the Old
Man smiling down on us. I know how the Man in the Moon must feel when
he's on the other side of the world, and can't see you, Nada."

Her silence made him lean toward her, striving to get a better view of
her face where the starlight broke through an opening in the tree-tops.

And in that moment he heard a little breath that was almost a sob.

"It's Peter," she said, before he could speak. "Oh, Roger, why didn't we
bring Peter?"

"Possibly--we should have," he replied, skipping a stroke with his
paddle. "But I think we have done the best thing for Peter. He is a
wilderness dog, and has never known anything different. Over there,
where we are going--"

"I understand. And some day, Father John will bring him?"

"Yes. He has promised that. Peter will come to us when Father John
comes."

She had turned, looking into the pit-gloom ahead of them, so dark that
the canoe seemed about to drive against a wall. Under its bow the water
gurgled like oil.

"We are entering the big cedar swamp," he explained. "It is like Blind
Man's Buff, isn't it? Can you see?"

"Not beyond the bow of the canoe, Roger."

"Work back to me," he said, "very carefully."

She came, obediently.

"Now turn slowly, so that you face the bow, and lean back with your head
against my knees."

This also, she did.

"This is much nicer," she whispered, nestling her head comfortably
against him. "So much nicer."

By leaning over until his back nearly cracked he was able to find her
lips in the darkness.

"I was thinking of the brush that overhangs the stream," he explained
when he had straightened himself. "Sitting up as you were it might have
caused you hurt."

There was a little silence between them, in which his paddle caught
again its slow and steady rhythm. Then,

"Were you thinking o