A curious huskiness seemed to
thicken his tongue. "This time for good, I hope. So-long."
"Good-by, Charlie," Myra said.
She put out her hand. But either Mills did not see it or he shrank
from contact, for he passed her and strode away, bent a little forward
under his pack. Myra turned to watch him. When she faced about again
there was a mistiness in her eyes, a curious, pathetic expression of
pity on her face. She went on into the house with scarcely a glance at
Hollister.
In another week spring had ousted winter from his seasonal supremacy.
The snow on the lower levels vanished under a burst of warm rain. The
rain ceased and the clouds parted to let through a sun fast growing to
full strength. Buds swelled and burst on willow and alder. The soil,
warmed by the sun, sent up the first shoots of fern and grasses, a
myriad fragile green tufts that would presently burst into flowers.
The Toba rose day by day, pouring down a swollen flood of snow-water
to the sea.
And life went on as it always did. Hollister's crew, working on a
bonus for work performed, kept the bolts of cedar gliding down the
chute.
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