He thought he knew every woman-voice in the neighborhood--or had until the colony came--but this voice, high and sweet and with a compelling note that stirred him vaguely, was absolutely strange.

While he loped forward, silenced for the moment, he was conscious of a swift, keen thankfulness that Pink had at the last minute decided to stay in camp that night instead of accompanying Andy to One Man.

He was in that mood when a sentimental encounter appealed to him strongly; and a woman's voice, singing to him from One Man cabin, promised undetermined adventure.
He did not sing again.

There had been something in the voice that held him quiet, listening, expectant.

But she also was silent after that last, high note--like a meadow lark startled in the middle of his song, thought Andy whimsically.
He came within sight of the cabin, squatting in the shadow of the grove at its back.