This thing must end. My affair with Virginia must be
brought to a crisis and pushed to a decision. At once!
I wandered off again and from my vantage-point I began to watch her and
gather courage from watching her. I could still feel her in my arms--so
much more of a woman than I had at first suspected from seeing her about
the camp. I could see her in my mind's eye wading the stream like a
beautiful ghost. I could think of nothing but her all the time,--of her
and the wild life of boats and backwoods harbors.
And at last I grew suddenly calm. I began to laugh at myself for my lack
of decision. I would carefully consider the matter, and that night I
would act.
I took my gun and wandered off across the prairie after a few birds for
our larder. There were upland plover in great plenty; and before I had
been away from the camp fifteen minutes I had several in my pockets. It
was early in the afternoon; but instead of walking back to camp at once
I sat down on a mound at the mouth of the old den of a wolf or badger
and laid my plans; much as a wolf or badger might have done.
Then I went back. The sun was shining with slanting mid-afternoon rays
down among the trees by the creek. I looked for Virginia; but she was
not about the wagon, neither sitting in the spring seat, nor on her
box-by the fire, nor under her favorite crabapple-tree. I looked boldly
in the wagon, without the timid tapping which I had always used to
announce my presence--for what did I care now for her privacy?--but she
was not there.
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