The Wrong WomanStewart, Charles D. (Charles David)
General
The Wrong Woman
Stewart, Charles D. (Charles David)
Texas -- Fiction
The little gully was hardly more than a deep grass-grown ditch made by
the spring as it won its way out of the heart of the knoll; or rather
it was a green hallway, overtopped with a frieze of mesquite, leading
in privately to the source of the stream. Janet, as she entered the
house-like cosiness of this diminutive valley, felt very much as if she
had just stepped in out of the universe. On a prairie there is such an
insistent stare of space, so great a lack of stopping-place for the
mind, that this little piece of outdoors, with the sun shining in at
its eastern end, was a veritable snug-harbor in an ocean of land. As
she turned and looked out of its sunny portal, she told herself that if
she had to live in the shack this place would be her front yard.
Just below the spring was a grassy bank against which the water ran
invitingly; she spread the lambskin here, rolled up her sleeves, took
off her collar, and conformed to the customs of the place. The cool
water was so invigorating, and there was something so intimate in the
live push of the current against her hand, that she lathered her arms
an unnecessary number of times and kept rinsing them off. It was a
brisk little stream and so bent upon its business that she could almost
feel its impatience when she obstructed it,--for which reason,
probably, she interfered with it the more; and finally, being done, she
made a little heap of foam in her palm and reached it down just to see
the water run away with it.
As she came round to the sheep-path again, she met Steve, who had been
standing on the side of the knoll and started down the moment he saw
her. Evidently he had been waiting his turn.
"Breakfast is all ready," he announced as he passed. "I 'll be up in a
minute."
By the time she reached the shack there was a great spluttering and
splashing and blowing of water down below. It was Mr. Brown "washing
up." In little more than the minute he was back again. Finding her
seated upon the lambskin, he took his place opposite her and passed the
hot bread.
"I saw you chasing that lamb this morning," she said, quite directly.
"I was looking out of a crack to find what the weather was like."
"Did you? Did you see the dog throw him?"
"No; I couldn't see it all. But I saw how he had learned to use his
legs. Why, it does n't seem possible."
"Oh, that's nothing. He's an old hand now--this is his third day on
earth."
"Yes; but is n't he unusually smart?"
"Oh, no. They 've got to catch on pretty quick, you know, or they
could n't keep up with the procession. He's just about like the rest
of them. They all learn fast."
"But it hardly seems possible that such a _helpless_ little thing as he
was could learn so much. Why, when I first saw him he was just able to
stand up."
"They're animals," replied Steve, spreading a thick coat of molasses on
a large piece of hot bread. "It only takes them a few minutes to learn
standing up?"
"But they do have to learn, don't they?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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