“There it is,” Nick said.
He was suddenly conscious of the blanket rough against his bare body.
“Was I bad, Wemedge?” Kate said.
“No, you were good,” Nick said. His mind was working very hard and clear. He saw everything very sharp and clear. “I’m hungry,” he said.
“I wish we could sleep here all night.” Kate cuddled against him.
“It would be swell,” Nick said. “But we can’t. You’ve got to get back to the house.”
“I don’t want to go,” Kate said.
Nick stood up, a little wind blowing on his body. He pulled on his shirt and was glad to have it on. He put on his trousers and shoes.
“You’ve got to get dressed, Stut,” he said. She lay there, the blankets pulled over her head.
“Just a minute,” she said. Nick got the lunch from over the hemlock. He opened it up.
“Come on, get dressed, Stut,” he said.
“I don’t want to,” Kate said. “I’m going to sleep here all night.” She sat up in the blankets. “Hand me those things, Wemedge.”
Nick gave her the clothes.
“I’ve just thought of it,” Kate said. “If I sleep out here they’ll just think that I’m an idiot and came out here with the blankets and it will be all right.”
“You won’t be comfortable,” Nick said.
“If I’m uncomfortable I’ll go in.”
“Let’s eat before I have to go,” Nick said.
“I’ll put something on,” Kate said.
They sat together and ate the fried chicken and each ate a piece of cherry pie.
Nick stood up, then kneeled down and kissed Kate.
He came through the wet grass to the cottage and upstairs to his room, walking carefully not to creak. It was good to be in bed, sheets, stretching out full length, dipping his head in the pillow. Good in bed, comfortable, happy, fishing tomorrow, he prayed as he always prayed when he remembered it, for the family, himself, to be a great writer, Kate, the men, Odgar, for good fishing, poor old Odgar, poor old Odgar, sleeping up there at the cottage, maybe not fishing, maybe not sleeping all night. Still there wasn’t anything you could do, not a thing.
The End
