The moment was tragic for him. Soon, however, he
brightened at something Doyle told him, and began to ply the old
pioneer with rapid-fire questions.
We pitched camp in an open flat, gray and red with short grass, and
sheltered by towering pines on one side. Under these we set up our
tents. The mat of pine needles was half a foot thick, soft and springy
and fragrant. The woods appeared full of slanting rays of golden
sunlight.
This day we had supper over before sunset. Romer showed no effects
from his long, hard ride. First he wanted to cook, then he fooled
around the fire, bothering Isbel. I had a hard time to manage him.
He wanted to be eternally active. He teased and begged to go
hunting--then he compromised on target practice. R.C. and I, however,
were too tired, and we preferred to rest beside the camp-fire.
"Look here, kid," said R.C., "save something for to-morrow."
In disgust Romer replied: "Well, I suppose if a flock of antelope came
along here you wouldn't move.... You an' Dad are great hunters, I
don't think!"
After the lad had gone over to the other men R.C. turned to me and
said reflectively: "Does he remind you of us when we were little?"
To which I replied with emotion: "In him I live over again!"
That is one of the beautiful things about children, so full of pathos
and some strange, stinging joy--they bring back the days that are no
more.
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