SON OF THE WIND
"Aren't you tired?" he asked the girl.
"I could keep on all day," she said.
"So could I, but I would so much rather sit on a cool rock under a tree and listen to your opinions of the universe."
She laughed. "I shall have to invent them then."
"That's easy enough. The problems of the universe are nothing to the problem of where two people are going to find some shade."
"I know where there is some," she said.
He gazed. Sky, hill, rocks, all bright and naked. "Where?"
"Just around the corner."
He thought she meant the next bend in the road, but she turned the mare's head promptly from the beaten track, and pricked the indignant beauty into as blind a bit of country as Carron ever cared to experience. They threaded, by Lilliputian passes, among tiny mountains. Which of the many doubles and twists was the "corner" she had so flippantly alluded to, was impossible to tell. She flickered around them easily and unhesitatingly. They were so many turns of the village street to her. He had all he could do to keep her in sight.
"How many times have you gone over this?" he inquired rather breathlessly, as they slipped through an acute angle between two knolls.
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