Big ferns grew along the walls, here and there "Our Lord's
Candles" lifted high torches not yet lighted, the ambitious
mountain stream skipped and circled and fell over its rocky bed,
while many canyon wrens were singing.
"Do you think," she said, "that anyone driving along here at an
ordinary rate of speed would see that car?"
"No," said Donald, getting her idea, "I don't believe they
would."
"All right, then," said Linda. "Toe up even and I'll race YoU to
the third curve where you see the big white sycamore."
Donald had a fleeting impression of a flash of khaki, a gleam of
red, and a wave of black as they started. He ran with all the
speed he had ever attained at a track meet. He ran with all his
might. He ran until his sides strained and his breath came
short; but the creature beside him was not running; she was
flying; and long before they neared the sycamore he knew he was
beaten, so he laughingly cried to her to stop it. Linda turned
to him panting and laughing.
"I make that dash every time I come to the canyon, to keep my
muscle up, but this is the first time I have had anyone to race
with in a long time."
Then together they slowly walked down the smooth black floor
between the canyon walls. As they crossed a small bridge Linda
leaned over and looked down.
"Anyone at your house care about 'nose twister'?" she asked
lightly.
"Why, isn't that watercress?" asked Donald.
"Sure it is," said Linda.
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