Flitter laid down his paper, took his pipe from his mouth, and looked
inquiringly at his son.
Dan was seated at the farther end of the table, cleaning his beloved
shot-gun. It had done good work that day, and a fine string of partridges
hung in an outer room, ready to go to the store early the next morning. A
week had now passed since the rescue on the river, and during the whole of
that time he had said nothing about it to his father. There was a reason
for this. The latter had been much away from home during the day, only
coming in late at night when his son was in bed, so they had little chance
for conversation. It was a busy season, and they must make the most of it.
So while the one scoured the forest for partridges, the other searched the
river for ducks and geese. But Dan did not feel inclined to say anything
to his father about what he had done. To him it was not worth mentioning.
That he had picked up two shipwrecked people, and set them ashore, in his
eyes was a very simple thing. It was made less so by the thought of that
woman with the large eyes, beautiful face and sunny smile. How could he
describe to his father the new feeling which had come into his breast, the
longing for something more than the life he was leading, and the desire to
show that woman what he really could do?
His father's sudden question startled him.
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