The days, however, passed in the main pleasurably for them both. They were fond of one another. The barrier slowly rising between them was not yet cemented by lack of affection on either side, but rather by lack of belief in the other's affection. Helen imagined Thorpe's interest in her becoming daily more perfunctory. Thorpe fancied his sister cold, unreasoning, and ungrateful. As yet this was but the vague dust of a cloud. They could not forget that, but for each other, they were alone in the world. Thorpe delayed his departure from day to day, making all the preparations he possibly could at home.
Finally Helen came on him busily unpacking a box which a dray had left at the door. He unwound and laid one side a Winchester rifle, a variety of fishing tackle, and some other miscellanies of the woodsman. Helen was struck by the beauty of the sporting implements.
“Oh, Harry!” she cried, “aren't they fine! What are you going to do with them?”
“Going camping,” replied Thorpe, his head in the excelsior.
Helen's eyes lit up with a fire of delight. “How nice! May I go with you?” she cried.
“I'm afraid not, little girl. It's going to be a hard trip a long ways from anywhere. You couldn't stand it.”
“No,” replied Thorpe. “I know you couldn't. We'll be sleeping on the ground and going on foot through much extremely difficult country.”
“I wish you'd take me somewhere,” pursued Helen. “I can't get away this summer unless you do. Why don't you camp somewhere nearer home, so I can go?”
Thorpe arose and kissed her tenderly. He was extremely sorry that he could not spend the summer with his sister, but he believed likewise that their future depended to a great extent on this very trip. But he did not say so.
“I can't, little girl; that's all. We've got our way to make.”
She understood that he considered the trip too expensive for them both. At this moment a paper fluttered from the excelsior. She picked it up. A glance showed her a total of figures that made her gasp.
“Here is your bill,” she said with a strange choke in her voice, and left the room.
“He can spend sixty dollars on his old guns; but he can't afford to let me leave this hateful house,” she complained to the apple tree. “He can go 'way off camping somewhere to have a good time, but he leaves me sweltering in this miserable little town all summer. I don't care if he IS supporting me. He ought to. He's my brother. Oh, I wish I were a man; I wish I were dead!”