O Pioneers! | Page 6

from Omaha with her mother to visit her
uncle, Joe Tovesky. She was a dark child, with brown curly hair, like a
brunette doll's, a coaxing little red mouth, and round, yellow-brown
eyes. Every one noticed her eyes; the brown iris had golden glints that
made them look like gold-stone, or, in softer lights, like that Colorado
mineral called tiger-eye.
The country children thereabouts wore their dresses to their shoe-tops,
but this city child was dressed in what was then called the "Kate
Greenaway" manner, and her red cashmere frock, gathered full from
the yoke, came almost to the floor. This, with her poke bonnet, gave
her the look of a quaint little woman. She had a white fur tippet about
her neck and made no fussy objections when Emil fingered it
admiringly. Alexandra had not the heart to take him away from so
pretty a playfellow, and she let them tease the kitten together until Joe
Tovesky came in noisily and picked up his little niece, setting her on
his shoulder for every one to see. His children were all boys, and he
adored this little creature. His cronies formed a circle about him,
admiring and teasing the little girl, who took their jokes with great
good nature. They were all delighted with her, for they seldom saw so
pretty and carefully nurtured a child. They told her that she must
choose one of them for a sweetheart, and each began pressing his suit
and offering her bribes; candy, and little pigs, and spotted calves. She
looked archly into the big, brown, mustached faces, smelling of spirits
and tobacco, then she ran her tiny forefinger delicately over Joe's
bristly chin and said, "Here is my sweetheart."

The Bohemians roared with laughter, and Marie's uncle hugged her
until she cried, "Please don't, Uncle Joe! You hurt me." Each of Joe's
friends gave her a bag of candy, and she kissed them all around, though
she did not like country candy very well. Perhaps that was why she
bethought herself of Emil. "Let me down, Uncle Joe," she said, "I want
to give some of my candy to that nice little boy I found." She walked
graciously over to Emil, followed by her lusty admirers, who formed a
new circle and teased the little boy until he hid his face in his sister's
skirts, and she had to scold him for being such a baby.
The farm people were making preparations to start for home. The
women were checking over their groceries and pinning their big red
shawls about their heads. The men were buying tobacco and candy with
what money they had left, were showing each other new boots and
gloves and blue flannel shirts. Three big Bohemians were drinking raw
alcohol, tinctured with oil of cinnamon. This was said to fortify one
effectually against the cold, and they smacked their lips after each pull
at the flask. Their volubility drowned every other noise in the place,
and the overheated store sounded of their spirited language as it reeked
of pipe smoke, damp woolens, and kerosene.
Carl came in, wearing his overcoat and carrying a wooden box with a
brass handle. "Come," he said, "I've fed and watered your team, and the
wagon is ready." He carried Emil out and tucked him down in the straw
in the wagonbox. The heat had made the little boy sleepy, but he still
clung to his kitten.
"You were awful good to climb so high and get my kitten, Carl. When I
get big I'll climb and get little boys' kittens for them," he murmured
drowsily. Before the horses were over the first hill, Emil and his cat
were both fast asleep.
Although it was only four o'clock, the winter day was fading. The road
led southwest, toward the streak of pale, watery light that glimmered in
the leaden sky. The light fell upon the two sad young faces that were
turned mutely toward it: upon the eyes of the girl, who seemed to be
looking with such anguished perplexity into the future; upon the
sombre eyes of the boy, who seemed already to be looking into the past.

The little town behind them had vanished as if it had never been, had
fallen behind the swell of the prairie, and the stern frozen country
received them into its bosom. The homesteads were few and far apart;
here and there a windmill gaunt against the sky, a sod house crouching
in a hollow. But the great fact was the land itself, which seemed to
overwhelm the little beginnings of human society that struggled in its
sombre wastes. It was from facing this vast hardness that the boy's
mouth had become so bitter; because he felt that men were too weak to
make any mark here,