A flush mantled his sun-browned face. He shifted
uneasily, gripped the tiller more firmly, and drove the _Scud_ a
point nearer to the wind. What must she think of him? he wondered. Was she
comparing him with the well-dressed man at her side, who was looking
thoughtfully out over the blue water? A feeling of jealousy stole into his
heart. He had never known such a thing before. He knew what it was to be
angry--to stamp and shout in his rage. He had engaged in several pitched
battles with the boys in the neighbourhood who had made fun of him. But
his life--a life of freedom--had satisfied him. To hunt, to trap, to
wander over hill, valley and forest was all that he asked for. He had
never thought of anything higher, never dreamed of any life but the one
his father led, hunting, and trapping in season and making a slight
pretence of farming. Now, however, something was stirring within him. He
longed to show this woman that though his clothes and shoes were rough, he
was almost a man and could do great things.
"What is your name, my boy?"
The words startled him, and he glanced quickly up. The woman was looking
at him still, but now she was smiling.
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