Page:Cather--One of ours.djvu/195

Rh Enid wondered whether the birds could have learned enough about the world to stay hidden in the timber lot. Claude was sure they had.

“Nobody ever goes near the place except Father; he stops there sometimes. Maybe he has seen them and never said a word. It would be just like him.” He told them he had scattered shelled corn in the grass, so that the birds would not be tempted to fly over into Leonard Dawson’s cornfield. “If Leonard saw them, he’d likely take a shot at them.”

“Why don’t you ask him not to?” Enid suggested.

Claude laughed. “That would be asking a good deal. When a bunch of quail rise out of a cornfield they’re a mighty tempting sight, if a man likes hunting. We’ll have a picnic for you when you come out next summer, Gladys. There are some pretty places over there in the timber.”

Gladys started up. “Why, it’s night already! It’s lovely here, but you must get me home, Enid.”

They found it dark inside. Claude took Enid down the ladder and out to her car, and then went back for Gladys. She was sitting on the floor at the top of the ladder. Giving her his hand he helped her to rise.

“So you like my little house,” he said gratefully.

“Yes. Oh, yes!” Her voice was full of feeling, but she did not exert herself to say more. Claude descended in front of her to keep her from slipping. She hung back while he led her through confusing doorways and helped her over the piles of laths that littered the floors. At the edge of the gaping cellar entrance she stopped and leaned wearily on his arm for a moment. She did not speak, but he understood that his new house made her sad; that she, too, had come to the place where she must turn out of the old path. He longed to whisper