SON OF THE WIND
was inclined to the large, slightly aquiline, but without any look of pinching at the bridge, and with adorable pliant nostrils. Whatever that feature may have given to her face of overmuch will—or obstinacy—the mouth made up for now as it smiled at him.
"Are you going for a walk?" she asked.
He whipped off his hat. "To tell the truth, I don't know where I'm going." He hung on his heel, enjoying the sight, and grudging the inroad it made on his concentration. "Everything looks the same to me. Perhaps you will graciously point out a pleasant direction."
She rested her chin consideringly in her hand. "If you like, I can go with you and show you. I shall have the time. Mother has changed her mind about the up-stairs cleaning. She is going to help father with his books instead."
Fate, it seemed, had decreed that the morning should be given to this young woman. Or, did he see the hand of Rader obscurely working in the dark? If that were so, he reflected, the bias on Rader's part was probably due to the fact that there was no one else to commit him to. Yet, for all he knew, the girl herself might be responsible for the alteration of Mrs. Rader's plan.
Carron resigned himself. "I'd like it," he de-
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