The St. Bernard dog-collar did duty as a
belt. She had disdained a veil, and her yellow hair was already
blowing about her smooth pink cheeks. She walked at his side, her
step as firm and solid as his own, her round, strong arms
swinging, her little brown eyes shining with good spirits and
vigor, and the pure, clean animal joy of being alive on that fine
cool Western morning. She talked almost incessantly. She was
positively garrulous. She talked about the fine day that it was,
about the queer new forage caps of the soldiers, about the bare
green hills of the Reservation, about the little cemetery they
passed just beyond the limits of the barracks, about a rabbit she
saw, and about the quail they both heard whistling and calling in
the hollows under the bushes.
Condy walked at her side in silence, yet no less happy than she,
smoking his pipe and casting occasional glances at a great ship--a
four-master that was being towed out toward the Golden Gate. At
every moment and at every turn they noted things that interested
them, and to which they called each other's attention.
"Look, Blix!"
"Oh, Condy, look at that!"
They were soon out of the miniature city of the Post, and held on
down through the low reach of tules and sand-dunes that stretch
between the barracks and the old red fort.
"Look, Condy!" said Blix. "What's that building down there on the
shore of the bay--the one with the flagstaff?"
"I think that must be the lifeboat station.
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