amidst broad gardens and ancient trees and of a proud old man

with beetling brows--an old man who held his head very high--and

Bradley shook his head and turned away again.

They went back then to their little acre, and the days came

and went, and the man fashioned spear and bow and arrows and

hunted with them that they might have meat, and he made hooks

of fishbone and caught fishes with wondrous flies of his own

invention; and the girl gathered fruits and cooked the flesh

and the fish and made beds of branches and soft grasses.

She cured the hides of the animals he killed and made them

soft by much pounding. She made sandals for herself and for

the man and fashioned a hide after the manner of those worn

by the warriors of her tribe and made the man wear it, for his

own garments were in rags.

She was always the same--sweet and kind and helpful--but always

there was about her manner and her expression just a trace of

wistfulness, and often she sat and looked at the man when he did

not know it, her brows puckered in thought as though she were

trying to fathom and to understand him.

In the face of the cliff, Bradley scooped a cave from the rotted

granite of which the hill was composed, making a shelter for them

against the rains. He brought wood for their cook-fire which

they used only in the middle of the day--a time when there was

little likelihood of Wieroos being in the air so far from their

city--and then he learned to bank it with earth in such a way that

the embers held until the following noon without giving off smoke.

Always he was planning on reaching the mainland, and never a day

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