Shiela laughed as the Seminole loomed up in the incandescent haze of the camp fire, buried in plumage.
"Dad! Dad! Where are you? Mr. Hamil has shot a magnificent wild turkey!"
"Well, upon my word!" exclaimed Cardross, emerging from his section; "the luck of the dub is proverbial! Hamil, what the deuce do you mean by it? That's what' I want to know! O Lord! _Look_ at that gobbler! Shiela, did you let this young man wipe both your eyes?"
"Mine? Oh, I almost forgot. You see I shot one of them."
"It happened to be the gobbler," she said. "It was a mere chance in the dark.... And--if my section is ready, dad--I'm a little tired, I think. Good night, everybody; good night, Mr. Hamil--and thank you for taking care of me."
Cardross, enveloped in blankets, glanced at Hamil.
"Did you ever know anybody so quick to give credit to others? It's worth something to hear anybody speak in that fashion."
"That is why I did not interrupt," said Hamil.
Cardross looked down at the dying coals, then directly at the silent young fellow--a long, keen glance; then his gaze fell again on the Seminole fire.
"Good night, my boy," replied the older man very quietly.
Late one evening toward the end of the week a somewhat battered camping party, laden with plump, fluffy bunches of quail, and plumper strings of duck, wind-scorched, sun-burnt, brier-torn and trail-worn, re-entered the _patio_ of the Cardross villa, and made straight for shower-bath, witch-hazel, fresh pyjamas, and bed.
In vain Jessie Carrick, Cecile, and their mother camped around Shiela's bed after the tray was removed, and Shiela's flushed face, innocent as usual of sunburn, lay among the pillows, framed by the brown-gold lustre of her hair.
"We had _such_ a good time, mother; Mr. Hamil shot a turkey," she said sleepily. "Mr. Hamil--Mr. H-a-m-i-l"--A series of little pink yawns, a smile, a faint sigh terminated consciousness as she relaxed into slumber as placid as her first cradle sleep. So motionless she lay, bare arms wound around the pillow, that they could scarcely detect her breathing save when the bow of pale-blue ribbon stirred on her bosom.
"The darling!" whispered Mrs. Carrick; "look at that brier mark across her wrist!--our poor little worn-out colleen!"