The Desire of the Moth; and The Come On | Page 3

I didn't ask you where you were living. Perhaps you have a--home of your own now."
John Wesley firmly lifted her slim fingers from his hand and as firmly deposited them in her lap.
"Kindly keep your hands to yourself, young woman," he said with stately dignity.
"Here is an exact account of all my time since I saw you: I have been hungry, thirsty, sleepy, tired. To remedy these evils, upon expert advice I have eaten, drunk, slept, and rested. I have worked and played, been dull and gay, busy and idle, foolish and unwise. That's all. Oh, yes--I'm living in Rainbow Mountain; cattle. Two pardners--nice boys but educated. Had another one; he's married now, poor dear--and just as happy as if he had some sense."
"You're not?"
"Not what--happy or married?"
"Married, silly!"
"And I'm not. Now it's your turn. Where do you live? Here in town?"
"Oh, no. Dad's got a farm twenty miles up the river and a ranch out on the flat. I just came down on the morning train to do a little shopping and go back on the four-forty-eight--and I'll have to be starting soon. You'll walk down to the station with me?"
"But the sad story of your life?" objected Pringle.
"Oh, I'll tell you that by installments. You're to make us a long, long visit, you know--just as long as you can stay. You're horseback, of course? Well, then, ride up to-night. Ask for Aden Station. We live just beyond there."
"But the Major was a very hostile major when I saw him last."
"Oh, father's got all over that. He hadn't heard your side of it then. He often speaks of you now and he'll be glad to see you."
"To-morrow, then. My horse is tired--I'll stay here to-night."
"You'll find dad changed," said the girl. "This is the first time in his life he has ever been at ease about money matters. He's really quite well-to-do."
"That's good. I'm doing well in that line too. I forgot to tell you." There was no elation in his voice; he looked back with a pang to the bold and splendid years of their poverty. "Then the Major will quit wandering round like a lost cat, won't he?"
"I think he likes it here--only for the crazy-mad political feeling; and I think he's settled down for good."
"High time, I think, at his age."
"You needn't talk! Dad's only ten years older than you are." She leaned her cheek on her hand, she brushed back a little stray tendril of midnight hair from her dark eyes, and considered him thoughtfully. "Why, John Wesley, I've known you nearly all my life and you don't look much older now than when I first saw you."
"That was in Virginia City. You were just six years old and your pony ran away with you. We were great old chums for a month or so. The next time I saw you was--"
"At Bakersfield--at mother's funeral," said the girl softly. "Then you came to Prescott, and you had lost your thumb in the meantime; and I was Little Next Door to you--"
"And Prescott and me, we agreed it was best for both of us that I should go away."
"Yes; and when you came back you were going to stay. Why didn't you stay, John Wesley?"
"I think," said Pringle reflectively, "that I have forgotten that."
"Do you know, John Wesley, I have never been back to any place we have left once? And of all the people I have ever known, you are the only one I have ever lost track of and found again. And you're always just the same old John Wesley; always gay and cheerful; nearly always in trouble; always strong and resourceful--"
"How true!" said Pringle. "Yes, yes; go on!"
"Well, you are! And you're so--so reliable; like Faithful John in the fairy story. You're different from anyone else I know. You're a good boy; when you are grown up you shall have a yoke of oxen, over and above your wages."
"This is very gratifying indeed," observed Pringle. "But--a sweetly solemn thought comes to me. You were going to tell me about another boy--the onliest little boy?"
"He's not a boy," said Stella, flushing hotly. "He's a man--a man's man. You'll like him, John Wesley--he's just your kind. I'm not going to tell you. You'll see him at our house, with the others. And he'll be the very one you'd pick out for me yourself. Of course you'll want to tease me by pretending to guess someone else; but you'll know which one he is, without me telling you. He stands out apart from all other men in every way. Come on, John Wesley--it's time to go down to the station."
Pringle caught step with her.
"And how long--if a reliable old faithful John may ask--before you become Stella Some-One-Else?"
"At Christmas. And I am a very lucky girl, John.