You see, he hadn't my point of
view! Roberta--here we are! Will you forgive what will seem like a piece
of the most unwarrantable audacity?" He was speaking fast as they came
up over the crown of the hill: "I didn't do it because I was sure of
anything at all, but because--it was something to make myself think I
could carry out a wish of yours. Do you remember the '_stout little
cabin on the hilltop_', Roberta? Could you--_could_ you care for it, as
I do?"
The last words were almost a whisper, but she heard them. Her eyes were
riveted on the outlines, two hundred feet away through the trees, of a
small brown building at the very crest of the hill over-looking the
valley. Very small, very rough, with its unhewn logs--the "stout little
cabin" stood there waiting.
Well! What was she to think? He _had_ been sure, to build this and bring
her to it! And yet--it was no house for a home; no expensive bungalow;
not even a summer cottage. Only a "stout little cabin," such as might
house a hunter on a winter's night; the only thing about it which looked
like luxury the chimney of cobblestones taken from the hillside below,
which meant the possibility of the fire inside without which one could
hardly spend an hour in the small shelter on any but a summer day.
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