He felt, as she did not, the charm of the stillness.

He wanted to find words in which to put his desire for expression.

She broke into his mood of imaginative seekings.
"How cold it is," she said, gathering the water in the cup of her hand, and then with both hands did better and got a refreshing drink.
"That makes a better cup," he said.

"Let us follow the water to the river." "It never gets there.

It runs into Lonesome Man's swamp, and that's the end of him." "Who, Lonesome Man or the spring?
And who was Lonesome Man ?" "Nobody knows.