ground, watching him with wide eyes. He looked down at her, slight, tired, scratched, but undaunted, striving blindly toward the light with stanch, unfaltering faith. A pity surged in his heart. He put his arm about her shoulders and murmured:
“You poor, brave child.”
And she shivered with joy.
All day Saturday and part of Sunday they worked feverishly. The trees crashed and the stumps groaned and crept up into the air, the brambles blazed and smoked; little frightened animals fled for shelter; and a wide black patch of rich loam broadened and broadened till it kissed, on every side but the sheltered east, the black waters of the lagoon.
Late Sunday night the mule again swam the slimy lagoon, and disappeared toward the Cresswell fields. Then Bles sat down beside Zora, facing the fields, and gravely took her hand. She looked at him in quick, breathless fear.
“Zora,” he said, “sometimes you tell lies, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said slowly; “sometimes.”
‚ÄúAnd, Zora, sometimes you steal‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou stole the pin from Miss Taylor, and we stole Mr. ¬ÝCresswell‚Äôs mule for two days.‚Äù
“Yes,” she said faintly, with a perplexed wrinkle in her brows, “I stole it.”
“Well, Zora, I don’t want you ever to tell another lie, or ever to take anything that doesn’t belong to you.”
She looked at him silently with the shadow of something like terror far back in the depths of her deep eyes.