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196 Big Top o' the World
"I'm glad you didn't say 'velly,'" said
Colette. "I'm glad it's that much. It's
worth it and I have the money. You
surely put in everything?"
"All things—all!" Al Sing spread his
hands comprehensively.
"Good. Here's your money and a
quarter to remember me by, Al Sing."
She took the package and started out,
pausing at the glass case in front. There
was a penny machine for selling matches.
Colette thoughtfully took a penny from
her purse and possessed herself of a box.
"I might have a camp-fire," she murmured.
"You never can tell." Then she
went out into the night. "Isn't this
street quiet! Lights behind, but up at
this end it's off the beat. I'm glad of it.
I hope I can get clear out of town without
some cop stopping to chin me—like as not
have to pause and tell him my life history.
Only I won't lie to anybody—I'll tell the
truth. I've been nowhere and I'm on my
way to somewhere."
The big building of which the man had
spoken loomed into view presently. Beyond
it the houses were few and fewer.
The skies above were gray with clouds,
but the moon, over to westward, was almost
a full circle behind those clouds, and
there was light enough to see the road.
"Here's the branch I follow," laughed
Colette in soft delight when she had been
trudging for a time. "Pretty soon now
there won't be any houses. Just hills and
hills and hills. Those beautiful blue hills I
saw last night from the lot. Fancy a girl
never seeing anything like that, except
from the windows of a circus-train, all hot
and dusty, with fifty girls crowded into
the same car. Why, I'm part of them. If
anybody's looking at those lovely, misty
peaks now, they're looking at Colette
MacKenzie."
Around the corner of the hill the road
went up over a rise, then dipped steeply
into the hollow—then up again with rocks
beginning to pile high on either side.
The girl went steadily along, a lonely
little figure through the mountain night.
It was after another sharp turn and another
bit of a climb and another bit of a
valley—it was after that the trees began
to come closer to the road. Sometimes
standing in serious groups to see her go
by. And then
"It's raining !" she exclaimed, stopping
short of a sudden and tilting her face
heavenward. "It's raining and, oh, I do
love a rain! I'm glad I have the cravenette.
But I must get under one of you
trees! Now which one wants me most ?
Don't all speak at once."
She began to pick her way carefully to
a shadowy rock a hundred steps or so off
the road. Silhouetted against the skyline
and very close to the rock was a tree.
By the time she reached her destination
the shower was pattering briskly. But it
was the right place. Creeping beneath
the low branches, she found that the rock
sent out a great slab almost to the treetrunk—a
goodly roof over her head. It
was dry under there, carpeted with the
pine-needles of years and years gone by.
Colette put the precious box in the farthest
driest nook, and then propped herself
luxuriously, listening in huge content.
It was only a shower, though. Over in the
west the moon was breaking through the
clouds. But how good it sounded! How
good to be in this dear cranny—so warm
and sheltered—listening. Such a kindly,
gentle rain—the way the drops touched
the rocks and the big tree was like a soft
voice whispering—a sweet voice whispering.
Colette sighed. " If I put my hand-bag
under my head it will make enough of a
pillow. I can listen to that rain just as
well lying down. I don't want to miss a
single drop—I love it so !" She buttoned
the last button of the long rain-coat and
drew her feet up beneath it. "I'm very
comfortable," she told herself. And then
it was quiet indeed in the lodging under
the rock—quiet indeed.
When she opened her eyes a chipmunk
was sitting within a foot of her face, alert
and curious. They stared at one another
for a flick of an instant, after which the
chipmunk, thinking about breakfast,
flashed away. Colette sat up, wide-eyed.
There was sunlight everywhere. Morning
was out for a walk—so they went together.
Morning and Colette were good
comrades by all the ups and downs of the
mountain road till afternoon. Morning
companioned her till the road had come
to be not much more than a trail up a
steep hillside. She had been on the
friendliest terms with the lunch-box, but