When she had recovered a little, she made directly for the open strip, having no more heart for her task, and nerving herself to confess the truth to Philip. Coming out upon the knoll through thick underbrush, she was startled by the leap of a rabbit from under her very feet; and before she was aware of what she was doing, she had thrown up her rifle, and fired. There was really no aim; the action was a gesture merely; and if she had tried to hit the rabbit she would have undoubtedly missed it clean. But the unlucky little beast, happening in the path of Marion's angry disgust, turned a somersault in the air, and fell dead. "Of course!" cried Marion. "Of course I can kill rabbits." Then mercilessly: "A rabbit a day for twenty-seven days--" And rage choked her. But she picked up her rabbit, and walked on. In half an hour she reached the camp, strode straight to the pine tree under which Haig lay, and held up before him the puny prize. "Now I know you're proud of me!" she exclaimed, while her face crimsoned. Haig smiled indulgently. It was a little better than he had expected. "Don't be downcast!" he said. "I didn't think you'd get a deer the first day. You didn't even see one, I suppose." "But I did, though! I had one right under my eyes, not thirty feet away. And what do you think I did?" "Stood and looked at it, of course. That's buck fever." "But it was only a tiny little doe!" "Doe fever then, which is probably worse, if I know anything about--" "That will do, Philip! You're laughing at me." "Not at all. You've brought home something to eat, and that's more than I can do. Bunny looks big and fat. He'll make a fine dinner, and leave something for to-morrow." "Thank you, Philip!" she said gratefully. "You make me feel as if I were not such a failure after all." "If you'll trust me with the knife," he said in a tone that took some of the edge off her satisfaction, "I'll clean him for you." She gave him the knife reluctantly, and did not leave his side until he had finished cleaning and cutting up the rabbit, when he handed the knife back to her with a gesture that made her blush again. Two things she did not know: that he had a knife in his pocket much better suited to his secret purpose; and that his purpose was a purpose no longer. But even he was not yet aware of this last. It was not the next day, but the third, when the rabbit had been eaten to the bone, and the pangs of hunger prodded her, that Marion restored herself in her own eyes. In the edge of the forest, not more than two miles from the camp, she detected a mere brown patch in the browning bush. This time she did not forget her rifle. The brown patch moved just as she pulled the trigger; but when she reached the spot, in a fever of anxiety, she fairly shrieked to the wilderness. For there in the grass, still jerking spasmodically in its death agony, lay a doe, a larger one than that she had seen in the glade. No more "one a day for twenty-seven days!"