I am happy myself, and look how perfectly
inconspicuous I am."
"You only need go where you will be seen," began Philip, when he
remembered and finished. "What do we take to-day?"
"Ourselves," said Elnora. "I have a vagabond streak in my blood and it's
in evidence. I am going to show you where real flowers grow, real birds
sing, and if I feel quite right about it, perhaps I shall raise a note
or two myself."
"Oh, do you sing?" asked Philip politely.
"At times," answered Elnora. "'As do the birds; because I must,' but
don't be scared. The mood does not possess me often. Perhaps I shan't
raise a note."
They went down the road to the swamp, climbed the snake fence, followed
the path to the old trail and then turned south upon it. Elnora
indicated to Philip the trail with remnants of sagging barbed wire.
"It was ten years ago," she said. "I was a little school girl, but I
wandered widely even then, and no one cared. I saw him often. He had
been in a city institution all his life, when he took the job of keeping
timber thieves out of this swamp, before many trees had been cut. It was
a strong man's work, and he was a frail boy, but he grew hardier as
he lived out of doors. This trail we are on is the path his feet first
wore, in those days when he was insane with fear and eaten up with
loneliness, but he stuck to his work and won out. I used to come down
to the road and creep among the bushes as far as I dared, to watch him
pass.
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