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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"Flower of the North"

They had known each other but four days, yet that brief
time had encompassed what might not have been in as many years.
Life, smooth, uneventful, develops friendship slowly; an hour of
the unusual may lay bare a soul. Philip thought of Eileen Brokaw,
whose heart was still a closed mystery to him; who was a stranger,
in spite of the years he had known her. In four days he had known
Jeanne a lifetime; in those four days Jeanne had learned more of
him than Eileen Brokaw could ever know. So he arrived at the
resolution which made him, too, look eagerly ahead to the end of
the journey. At Fort o' God he would tell Jeanne of his love.
Jeanne was looking at him when the determination came. She saw the
gloom pass, a flush mount into his face; and when he saw her eyes
upon him he laughed, without knowing why.
"If it is so funny," she said, "please tell me."
It was a temptation, but he resisted it.
"It is a secret," he said, "which I shall keep until we reach Fort
o' God."
Jeanne turned her face up-stream to listen. A dozen times she had
done this during the last half-hour, and Philip had listened with
her. At first they had heard a distant murmur, rising as they
advanced, like an autumn wind that grows stronger each moment in
the tree-tops.


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