“No,” said I, “I dropped the string of them in the grass.”

Now this conversation lasted a second, from one way of looking at it, and a very long time from another; and all the time I was standing there, knee-deep in the water, with Virginia’s arms about my neck, her cheek almost against mine, one of my arms about her waist and the other under the hollows of her knees—­and I had made no movement for putting her ashore.

“You’re very strong,” said she, “or you would have dropped me in the water.”

“Oh,” said I, “that’s nothing”—­and I pressed her closer.

“How will you get me back on land?” she asked; and really it was a subject which one might have expected to come up sooner or later.

I turned about with her and looked down-stream; then I turned back and looked up-stream; then I looked across to the opposite bank, at least six feet away; then I carried her up-stream for a few yards; then I started back down-stream.

“There’s no good place there,” said I—­and I looked a long, long look into her eyes which happened to be scanning my face just then.  She blushed rosily.

“Any place will do,” she said.  “Let me down right here where I can get the fish!”

And slowly, reluctantly, with great pains that she should not be scratched by briars, bitten by snakes, brushed by poison-ivy, muddied by the wet bank, or threatened with another fall, I put her down.  She looked diligently in the grass for the fish, picked them up, and ran off to camp.  After she had disappeared, I heard the bushes rustle, and looked up as I sat on the bank wringing the water from my socks and pouring it from my boots.

“Thank you for keeping me dry,” said she.  “You did it very nicely.  And now you must stay in the wagon while I dry your socks and boots for you—­you poor wet boy!”

3

She had not objected to my holding her so long; she rather seemed to like it; she seemed willing to go on camping here as long as I wished; she was wondering why I was so backward and so bashful; she was in my hands; why hold back?  Why not use my power?  If I did not I should make myself forever ridiculous to all men and to all women—­who, according to my experience, were never in higher feather than when ridiculing some greenhorn of a boy.  This thing must end.  My affair with Virginia must be brought to a crisis and pushed to a decision.  At once!

I wandered off again and from my vantage-point I began to watch her and gather courage from watching her.  I could still feel her in my arms—­so much more of a woman than I had at first suspected from seeing her about the camp.  I could see her in my mind’s eye wading the stream like a beautiful ghost.  I could think of nothing but her all the time,—­of her and the wild life of boats and backwoods harbors.

And at last I grew suddenly calm.  I began to laugh at myself for my lack of decision.  I would carefully consider the matter, and that night I would act.