Then he patted the bark of the choke-cherry tree and ran his palm up
and down it, as though he were a lumberman and knew all about trees.
And he gazed up at the tiny ripening berries. Suddenly he stopped
patting the trunk and turned, leaning his back against it. He stood
there, confused a little, tapping first one heel and then the other
against a projecting root; for his exploring hand, as it chanced, had
encountered a certain recently carved set of initials within a rude
heart. All that was so long ago!
"What shall we do about the sticks?" asked Hilda. "Shall we have papa
carry them down to the fire?"
"No, I'll carry them down. I'll come over and get them."
"But you're going to light Mr. O'Donnell through from Crystalia," she
reminded him--then waited breathlessly.