He could not resist standing for a moment and watching her.

Her movements, even in her quick and eager quest of fuel, were the most graceful he had ever seen in a human being.
And yet she was tired! She was hungry! And he believed that her feet, concealed in those rock-torn moccasins, were bruised and sore.

He went down to the stream for water, and in the few moments that he was gone his mind worked swiftly.

He believed that he understood, perhaps even more than the girl herself.

There was something about her that was so sweetly childish--in spite of her age and her height and her amazing prettiness that was not all a child's prettiness--that he could not feel that she had realized fully the peril from which she was fleeing when he found her.