ike his father, lay
on an outspread quilt, waving his chubby arms, staring at the mystery
of the shadows cast upon him by leaf and branch above.

Hollister finished his meal in silence, that reflective silence which
always overtook him when he found himself one corner of this strange
triangle. He could talk to Myra alone. He was never at a loss for
words with his wife. Together, they struck him dumb.

And this day Doris seemed likewise dumb. There was a growing
strangeness about her which had been puzzling Hollister for days. At
night she would snuggle down beside him, quietly contented, or she
would have some story to tell, or some unexpectedness of thought which
still surprised him by its clear-cut and vigorous imagery. But by day
she grew distrait, as if she retreated into communion with herself,
and her look was that of one striving to see something afar, a
straining for vision.

Hollister had marked this. It had troubled him. But he said nothing.
There were times when Doris liked to take refuge in her own
thought-world. He was aware of that, and understood it and let her be,
in such moods.

Now she sat with both hands clasped over one knee. Her face turned
toward Myra for a time. Then her eyes sought her husband's face with a
look which gave Hollister the uneasy, sickening conviction that she
saw him quite clearly, that she was looking and appraising. Then she
looked away toward the river, and as her gaze seemed to focus upon
something there, an expression of strain, of effort, gathered on her
face. It lasted until Hollister, watching her closely, felt his mouth
grow dry. It hurt him as if some pain, some terrible effort of hers
was being communicated to him. Yet he did not understand, and he could
not reach her intimately with Myra sitting by.

Doris spoke at last.

"What is that, Bob?" she asked. She pointed with her finger.

"A big cedar stump," he replied. It stood about thirty feet away.

"Is it dark on one side and light on the other?"

"It's blackened by fire and the raw wood shows on one side where a
piece is split off."

He felt his voice cracked and harsh.

"Ah," she breathed. Her eyes turned to the baby sprawling on his
quilt.

Myra rose to her feet. She picked up the baby, moved swiftly and
noiselessly three steps aside, stood holding the boy in her arms.

"You have picked up baby. You have on a dress with light and dark
stripes. I can see--I can see."

Her voice rose exultantly on th