“We don’t look for good luck,” she told him.  “We don’t expect to live forever.  We know what death is, and that it is sure to come, and that misfortune comes always—­in the snow and the cold and the falling tree—­and when we have good luck we’re glad—­we don’t take it for granted.  Living up here, where life is real, we’ve learned that we have to make the best of things in order to be happy at all.”

“And you mean—­you’re going to try to make the best of this?” His voice throbbed ever so slightly, because he could not hold it even.

“There’s nothing else I can do,” she replied.  “You’ve taken me here and as yet I don’t see how I can get away.  This doesn’t mean I’ve gone over to your side.”

He nodded.  He understood that very well.

“I’m just admitting that at present I’m in your hands—­helpless—­and many long weeks in before us,” she went on.  “I’m on my father’s side, last and always, and I’ll strike back at you if the chance comes.  Expect no mercy from me, in case I ever see my way to strike.”

The man’s eyes suddenly gleamed.  “Don’t you know—­that you’d have a better chance of fighting me—­if you didn’t put me on guard?”

“I don’t think so.  I don’t believe you’d be fooled that easy.  Besides—­I can’t pretend to be a friend—­when I’m really an enemy.”

For one significant instant the man looked down.  This was what he had done—­pretended friendship when he was a foe.  But his was a high cause!

“I’m warning you that I’m against you to the last—­and will beat you if I see my way,” the girl went on.  “But at the same time I’m going to make the best of a bad situation, and try to get all the comfort I can.  I’m in your hands at present, and we’re foes, but just the same we can talk, and try to make each other comfortable so that we can be comfortable ourselves, and try not to be any more miserable than we can help.  I’m not going to cry any more.”

As she talked she was slowly unwrapping the little parcel she had brought.  Presently she held it out to him.

It was just a box of homemade candy—­fudge made with sugar and canned milk—­that she had brought for their day’s picnic.  But it was a peace offering not to be despised.  A heavy load lifted from Ben’s heart.

He waited his chance, guiding the boat with care, and then reached a brown hand.  He crushed a piece of the soft, delicious confection between his lips.  “Thanks, Beatrice,” he said.  “I’ll remember all you’ve told me.”

XXIII

It is a peculiar fact that no one is more deeply moved by the great works and phenomena of nature than those who live among them.  It is the visitor from distant cities, or the callow youth with tawdry clothes and tawdry thoughts who disturbs the great silences and austerity of majestic scenes with half-felt effusive words or cheap impertinences.  Oddly enough, the awe that the wilderness dweller knows at the sight of some great, mysterious canyon or towering peak seems to increase, rather than decrease, with familiarity.  His native scenes never grow old to him.  Their beauty and majesty is eternal.