Madden went, and Blake wandered around the house to the back porch, where he was unwillingly drawn into conversation with Mrs. Bush. He had felt awkward with her; she was so silent. But this morning she seemed more talkative. He sat down on the step and listened vaguely, feeling drowsy in the heat. He felt like brooding over the decoration he had found on the wall of his room; a piece of burnt-leather with a picture enameled on it of a ruddy desert mathematically arrayed beneath a setting sun, rays outstretched in all directions. Underneath was a verse burnt in big dancing letters, and he had memorized it: Welcome to Arizona Where the beauteous cactus grows And what was once the desert Now is blooming like the rose. Teddy had been disgusted, horrified, and humourless about it, but there was something—— “There’s a lot of things we don’t understand in this world,” said Mrs. Bush, and moved the pan in her lap to a more level position to catch the potato-peelings. “I ain’t saying that the Mormons are always right, though. I’m not Mormon myself: Mr. Bush is. Anyway, I always think there must be some reason for it all.” “I guess so,” said Blake. “When I was young,” she continued, “I laughed at all that, myself. Junior’ll go through the same stage, most likely. But I’ve seen things.” She paused and selected another potato. “Mind you, it don’t prove anything. But it was queer. It was when I was a girl at home. Mamma and Dad and me had gone to a camp-meeting.” “Camp-meeting?” “Yes. Not here; I’m from the South originally. Arkansas. We drove over to the meeting-grounds in a wagon and afterwards, coming back, we slept out. It was my idea: I blame myself. It was low country and I should of known better. Mom and Dad were getting along: they were too old to act like that. “Well, we got back home all right and then we was all sick. Malaria, I guess it was, or typhoid. I’ve always been as strong as a horse and in a little while I was up and around. But Dad didn’t pick up the way he ought to and they took him to hospital. We thought Mom was all right. She just slept all the time.” She shook her head and remained silent a moment. “I didn’t worry about Mamma. I ought to of. But I didn’t know any better. We were all busy fretting over Dad. Then one night they said he was better and I gave Mom her medicine and went to bed. She told me she felt better too, on account of Dad. I went to bed. I don’t excuse myself. There must have been something I could of done. “Anyway when I woke up it was early morning and Mom was breathing real loud. I called the doctor in a hurry and he came running and took one look and sent her to hospital. He told me not to worry. He said it was a little relapse. I said, ‘Yes, but what makes Mamma look so queer?’ What it was, she was dying, and I didn’t know.” She looked at Blake with wet, horrified eyes, and he waited.