charted flight. Who told them when to go and when to come? Who showed them the way? Who held them thus together? A brave company on a brave adventure?
Crispin, feeling this, said, "When I see them, I want to follow."
It came to Hildegarde that it was wonderful to hear a man speak like that. It was wonderful to be standing there with a strong arm about her in that green light, and with the wild geese flying. For the first time Crispin seemed more to her than the boy she had always known. He was a part of the wonder of it—the ineffable beauty.
When she got back to the house, the feeling lingered. She found herself watching Crispin as he had watched her earlier in the day. She found herself, too, contrasting him with the others in the room. There was supper still to be eaten, and Crispin was to stay for it. As she came back and forth from the kitchen, she was aware of him in the midst of the group of men about the dining-room stove—outranking them all in strength and good looks. Across the room she caught his quick smile for her. They had brought some leaves and berries back with them from their walk. Hildegarde was arranging a dish of fruit in the center of the table.
"I thought we might make a wreath of bittersweet and trumpet vine," she said, as he joined her.
Other people were watching. The women in the kitchen. "It would be a fine match for her," they were saying to each other as they fried the potatoes, and scrambled the eggs, and stirred the cream gravy.
