I looked at the sun and answered:
"About five."
She asked:
"Can you tell so nearly by the sun?"
"Yes," I answered; "I can."
Pause.
"But when you can't see the sun, how do you tell the time then?"
"Then I can tell by other things. There's high tide and low tide, and
the grass that lies over at certain hours, and the song of the birds
that changes; some birds begin to sing when others leave off. Then, I
can tell the time by flowers that close in the afternoon, and leaves
that are bright green at some times and dull green at others--and then,
besides, I can feel it."
"I see."
Now I was expecting rain, and for Edwarda's sake I would not keep her
there any longer on the road; I raised my cap. But she stopped me
suddenly with a new question, and I stayed. She blushed, and asked me
why I had come to the place at all? Why I went out shooting, and why
this and why that? For I never shot more than I needed for food, and
left my dog idle...
She looked flushed and humble. I understood that someone had been
talking about me, and she had heard it; she was not speaking for
herself. And something about her called up a feeling of tenderness in
me; she looked so helpless, I remembered that she had no mother; her
thin arms gave her an ill-cared-for appearance.
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