Donelle made a wide sweep back of Dan’s Place. Jo’s words were in her mind, but more, the memory of Dan’s "dirty eyes" warned her. She took to the woods on the river side, and was soon fascinated by the necessity of jumping from rock to rock in order to escape the mushy, mossy earth. Nick was frantic with delight. Jo never would jump or nose around among the trees where such delectable scents lurked. Finally the two emerged on the highway a mile beyond the little cluster of houses which was Point of Pines, and nothing was in sight but a lonely, boyish figure apparently carrying mud from one place on the road and depositing it in another. "That’s an awfully funny thing to do," Donelle mused. "Maybe he’s a moon calf." Donelle had seen Marcel and Longville, had even talked with Marcel and liked her. She had heard Jo speak of others, the Gavots among them, but they were mere names to which, occasionally, Jo had added an illuminating description. "That low-down beast, Gavot," Mam’selle had picturesquely said to Marcel once when not noticing Donelle’s presence, "ought to have Tom taken from him. That boy will be driven to Dan’s, if we don’t look out. We ought to raise money and give the boy a start." "I shouldn’t wonder," mused Donelle, now, standing in the road and eyeing the only other figure on the landscape, "I shouldn’t wonder if that was Gavot’s Tom. I’ll just see!" So she walked on sedately and came upon her quarry unexpectedly. "I believe," she said, showing her teeth in a friendly smile, "I believe you must be Tom Gavot." The boy turned abruptly, spilling as he did so the shovelful of soft earth he was carrying. "And—you—are Mam’selle’s girl!" Tom was very handsome with a frank, appealing look that seemed to deprecate the rags and sordidness that hampered his appearance. "Yes. What are you doing?" "Mending the roads. And you?" "Taking a walk on the road you mend." They both laughed at this, Tom flinging his head back, Donelle folding her arms over her slim body. "How did you know me?" asked Tom. "Why—why, I heard Mamsey talk about your father." Tom’s face clouded. His father, like his rags, hampered his very thoughts. "How did you know me?" Donelle was growing shy. "I think maybe you won’t like it if I tell you." Tom felt very old compared to this girl in her short skirts and long, light braids. He had never felt young in his life, but he had inherited that ease and grace of manner which his father abused so. "I should just love to hear," Donelle was fingering Nick’s ears nervously. "Well, then, I spied on you. All winter, I spied. I heard them talking about you, and I had to see for myself. I always have to know things for myself." "So do I. But after you spied," Donelle laughed, her yellow eyes shining, "what did you think?" "Oh! I don’t know." Tom shifted his position. "I thought you were all right." They both laughed again at that.