Low under his breath he was snarling when he went on.  Hatred, for a moment, had flamed hot in his soul.  Then he turned, and buried himself in a clump of balsams that reached out into the plain, and a few moments later came to the edge of a tiny meadow in the heart of them, where a warbler was bursting its throat in evening-song.

Around the edge of the meadow Peter circled, his feet deep in buttercups and red fire-flowers, and crushing softly ripe strawberries that grew in scarlet profusion in the open, until he came to a screen of young jackpines, and through these he quietly and apologetically nosed his way.  Then he stood wagging his tail, with Nada sitting on the grass half a dozen steps from him, wiping the strawberry stain from her finger-tips.  And the stain was on her red lips, and a bit of it against the flush of her cheek, as she gave a little cry of gladness and greeting to Peter.  Her eyes flashed beyond him, and every drop of blood in her slim, beautiful little body seemed to be throbbing with an excitement new to Peter as she looked for Jolly Roger.

Peter went to her, and dropped down, with his head in her lap, and looking up through his bushy eye-brows he saw a livid bruise just under the ripples of her brown hair, where there had been no mark yesterday, or the day before.  Nada’s hands drew him closer, until he was half in her lap, and she bent her face down to him, so that her thick, shining hair fell all about him.  Peter loved her hair, almost as much as Jolly Roger loved it, and he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath of content as the smothering sweetness of it shut out the sunlight from him.

“Peter,” she whispered, “I’m almost scared to have him come today.  I’ve promised him.  You remember—­I promised to tell him if Jed Hawkins struck me again.  And he has!  He made that mark, and if Jolly Roger knows it he’ll kill him.  I’ve got to lie—­lie—­”

Peter wriggled, to show his interest, and his hard tail thumped the ground.  For a space Nada said nothing more, and he could hear and feel the beating of her heart close down against him.  Then she raised her head, and looked in the direction from which she would first hear Jolly Roger as he came through the young jackpines.  Peter, with his eyes half closed in a vast contentment, did not see or sense the change in her today—­that her blue eyes were brighter, her cheeks flushed, and in her body a strange and subdued throbbing that had never been there before.  Not even to Peter did she whisper her secret, but waited and listened for Jolly Roger, and when at last she heard him and he came through the screen of jackpines, the color in her cheeks was like the stain of strawberries crimsoning her finger-tips.  In an instant, looking down upon her, Jolly Roger saw what Peter had not discovered, and he stopped in his tracks, his heart thumping like a hammer inside him.  Never, even in his dreams, had the girl looked lovelier than she did now, and never had her eyes met his eyes as they met them today, and never had her red lips said as much to him, without uttering a word.  In the same instant he saw the livid bruise, half hidden under her hair—­and then he saw a big bundle behind her, partly screened by a dwarfed banksian.  After that his eyes went back to the bruise.