The Love of Life

Peter, half asleep after their day's travel through a hot forest, watched his master. Since their flight from the edge of civilization far south, he had grown heavier and broadened out. One evening he stopped for camp at the edge of the burntwood. And jolly roger was changed. He was not the plump and rosy faced wilderness freebooter who whistled and sang away down at cragg's ridge. The steadiness of their flight had thinned him, and a graver look had settled in his face. But in his clear eyes was still the love of life, a thing even stronger than the grief which was eating at his heart as their trail reached steadily

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