I often
dream of 'em, and then Daddy John's kicking me and it's morning and I
got to crawl out of the blanket and light the fire. I don't know
whether I feel worse at that time or in the evening when we're making
the last lap for the camping ground." His voice dropped as if
exhausted before the memory of these unendurable moments, then came
again with a note of cheer: "Thank God, Courant's with us or I don't
believe we'd ever get there."
She had no reply to make to this. Neither spoke for a space, and then
she cautiously stole a glance at him and was relieved to see that he
was asleep. Careful to be noiseless she rose, took up a tin water pail
and walked to the river.
The Humboldt rushed through a deep-cut bed, nosing its way between
strewings of rock. Up the banks alders and willows grew thick,
thrusting roots, hungry for the lean deposits of soil, into cracks and
over stony ledges. By the edge the current crisped about a flat rock,
and Susan, kneeling on this, dipped in her pail. The water slipped in
in a silvery gush which, suddenly seething and bubbling, churned in the
hollowed tin, nearly wrenching it from her.
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