Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
“Oh, you needn't mind,” she said, after a moment. “That was the only place
I cared for, here, so now there will be nothing to regret when I go away.”
“Are you going away, then? I'm very sorry to hear it; but of course I'm
not surprised. You couldn't be expected to stand it another year; those
children must have been something fearful.”
“Oh, it wasn't the children.”
“Well, I'm sorry. I had hoped”--
“Yes,” said she, with a modest interrogation, as he hesitated, “what is it
you had hoped?”
“That I might indirectly be the means of making your life less lonely here.
You remember that 'experiment' we talked about at the spring?”
“That _you_ talked about, you mean.”
“I am going to try it myself. Not because you were so
encouraging,--but--it's a risk anyway, you know, and I'm not sure the
circumstances make so much difference. I've known people to be wretched
with all the modern conveniences. I am going East for her in about two
weeks. How sorry she will be to find you gone! I wrote to her about you.
You might have helped each other; couldn't you stand it, Miss Newell, don't
you think, if you had another girl?”
“I'm afraid not,” she said very gently. “I _must_ go home. You may be sure
she will not need me; you must see to it that she doesn't need--any one.”
They were walking back and forth on the hill.
“I was just looking for the cottonwood-trees; are they gone too?” she
asked.
“Oh yes; there isn't a tree left in the cañon. Don't you envy me my work?”
“I suppose everything we do seems like desecration to somebody. Here am I
making history very rapidly for this colony of ants.” She looked down with
a rueful smile as she spoke.
“I wish you had the history of the entire species under your foot, and
could finish it at once.”
“I'm not sure that I would; I'm not so fond of extermination as you pretend
to be.”
“Well, keep the ants if you like them, but I am firm on the subject of
the camp children. There _are_ blessings that brighten as they take their
flight. I pay my monthly assessment for the doctor with the greatest
cheerfulness; if it wasn't for him, in this climate, they would crowd us
off the hill.”
“Please don't!” she said wearily. “Even _I_ don't like to hear you talk
like that; I am sure _she_ will not.”
He laughed softly. “You have often reminded me of her in little ways: that
was what upset me at the spring. I was very near telling you all about her
that day.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account