He watched the smoke of the fire he had built, hardwood smoke that drifted up white and clean into the rain-washed air.
The smell of it, like the smell of balsam and cedar, was to Kent the aroma of life.

And then he began to clean out what was left of the water in the bottom of the scow, and as he worked he whistled.

He wanted Marette to hear that whistle.

He wanted her to know that day had brought with it no doubt for him.

A great and glorious world was about them and ahead of them.