hipped away the scales with an improvised
brush of willow twigs.

It was such a wonderful day; it was such an unusual and delicious feast.
Plump brook trout, fresh from icy water, delicately broiled over searing
wood coals, are the finest of food. Through the meal to the point where
Donald lay on his back at the far curve of the canyon wall, nibbling a
piece of cactus candy, everything had been perfect. Nine months would
be a long time to be gone, but Linda would wait for him, and she would
write to him.

He raised his head on his elbow and called across to her: "Say, Linda,
how often will you write to me?"

Linda answered promptly: "Every Saturday night. Saturday is our day.
I'll tell you what has happened all the week. I'll tell you specially
what a darned unprofitable day Saturday is when you're three thousand
miles away."

Bending over the canyon fireplace, her face red with heat and exertion,
Katherine O'Donovan caught up her poker and beat up the fire until the
ashes flew.

"Easy, Katy, easy," cautioned Linda. "We may want to bury those coals
and resurrect them to warm up what is left for supper."

"We'll do no such thing," said Katy promptly. "What remains goes to feed
the fish. Next time it's hungry ye are, we're goin' to hit it straight
to Lilac Valley and fill ourselves with God's own bread and beefsteak
and paraties. Don't ye think we're goin' to be atin' these haythen
messes twice in one day."

To herself she was saying: "The sooner I get you home to Pater Morrison,
missy, the better I'll be satisfied."

Once she stood erect, her hands at her belt, her elbows widespread,
and with narrowed eyes watched the youngsters. Her lips were closed so
tightly they wrinkled curiously as she turned back to the fireplace.

"Nayther one of them fool kids has come to yet," she said to herself,
"and a mighty good thing it is that they haven't."

Linda was looking speculatively at Donald as he lay stretched on the
Indian blanket at the base of the cliff. And then, because she was for
ever busy with Nature, her eyes strayed above him up the side of the
cliff, noting the vegetation, the scarred rocks, the sheer beauty of the
canyon wall until they reached the top. Then, for no reason at all,
she sat looking steadily at a huge boulder overhanging the edge of the
cliff, and she was wondering how many ages it had hung there and how
many more it would hang, poised almost in air, when a tiny pebble at its
base loosened