"
"Then you can't be the queen!"
Two very large, very dark eyes looked at him questioningly.
"Queens don't pick flowers," he explained. "They hide in 'em."
"The queen?"
"Some of them live in trees, and some preside over lakes and
fountains. Which kind are you?"
"Oh! I am neither, I live in my father's house." She tossed her
head in the direction of the Savannas behind her. "Do you wish to
cross the stream?"
"If you please."
"Wait." The face disappeared. There was a sound from behind the
twisted tree-trunk, a twig fell, then a piece of bark, and the
next instant the girl herself stepped into view.
"I was afraid you'd gone for good," acknowledged the young man,
gravely. He took up his gun and stepped out upon the crest of the
dam.
"You must look where you go," she admonished, "or you will fall--
splash!" She laughed delightedly at the thought, and he saw that
her eyes had a way of wrinkling almost shut in the merriest
fashion. He balanced upon the slippery surface of the waterway
with the stream up to his ankles.
"Will you promise not to whisk yourself away if I look down?" he
asked.
"Yes."
But even with this assurance he found it difficult to remove his
eyes from her even for the brief instant necessary for a safe
passage; and when at last he stood beside her he felt an
irresistible desire to seize her gently so that she could not
escape.
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