More than
once she had been on the point of suggesting that they should follow the
ridge and drive straight to Hamblin, where there was a little deserted
house he wanted to see; but shyness and pride held her back. "He'd
better know what kind of folks I belong to," she said to herself, with
a somewhat forced defiance; for in reality it was shame that kept her
silent.
Suddenly she lifted her hand and pointed to the sky. "There's a storm
coming up."
He followed her glance and smiled. "Is it that scrap of cloud among the
pines that frightens you?"
"It's over the Mountain; and a cloud over the Mountain always means
trouble."
"Oh, I don't believe half the bad things you all say of the Mountain!
But anyhow, we'll get down to the brown house before the rain comes."
He was not far wrong, for only a few isolated drops had fallen when they
turned into the road under the shaggy flank of Porcupine, and came
upon the brown house. It stood alone beside a swamp bordered with alder
thickets and tall bulrushes.
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