"
"Well, unless it was for the girl herself, I'd keep out of that Snake
River," my husband advised.
Kitty's face wore a slightly strained expression of perfect vacancy.
"Do _you_ know who Harshaw's 'girl' was?" I asked her the other night, as
we were undressing,--without an idea that she wouldn't see where the joke
came in. She was standing, with her hair down, between the canvas curtains
of our tent. It looks straight out toward the Sand Springs Fall, and Kitty
worships there awhile every night before she goes to bed.
"No," she said. "I was never much with Cecil Harshaw. It is the families
that have always known each other." The simple child! She hadn't understood
him, or would she not understand? Which was it? I can't make out whether
she is really simple or not. She is too clever to be so very simple; yet
the cleverness of a young girl's mind, centred on a few ideas, is mainly
in spots. But now I think she has brought this incident to bear upon that
precious theory of hers, that Harshaw offered himself from a sense of duty.
Great good may it do her!
The Sand Springs Fall, a perfect gem, is directly opposite our camp, facing
west across the lagoon.
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