The Doctor : a Tale of the Rockies | Page 5

his breast. "I'll tell you the first
nights after he went I used to feel for him in the dark and be sick to find
the place empty."
"Well," said the girl doubtfully, "I hope he won't be different. College
does make a difference, you know."
"Different! Dick! He'd better not. I'll thrash the daylights out of him.
But he won't be different. Not to us, nor," he added shyly, "to you."
"Oh, to me?" She laughed lightly. "He had better not try any airs with
me."
"What would you do?" inquired Barney. "You couldn't take it out of his
hide."
"Oh, I'd fix him. I'd take him down," she replied with a knowing shake
of her head.
"Poor Dick! He's in for a hard time," replied Barney. "But nothing can
change Dick. And I am awful glad he's coming to-day, in time for the
raising, too."
"The raising? Oh, yes. The McLeods'. Yes, I remember. And,"
regretfully, "a big supper and a big spree afterwards in the new barn."
"Are not you going?" inquired Barney.
"I don't know. They want me to go to help, but I don't think I'll go. I
don't think father would like me to go, and,"--a pause--"anyway, I don't
think I can get away."
"Oh, pshaw! Get Old Nancy in. She can take care of the children for
once. You would like the raising. It's great fun."
"Oh! wouldn't I, though? It's fine to see them racing. They get so wild
and yell so."

"Well, come on then. You must come. They'll all be disappointed, if
you don't. And Dick is coming that way, too. Alec Murray is to bring
him on his way home from town." Again Barney glanced keenly at her
face, but he saw only puzzled uncertainty there.
"Well, I don't know. We'll see. At any rate, I must go now."
"Wait," cried Barney, "I'll go with you. We're having dinner early
to-day." He hung up the scythe in the thorn tree and threw the stone at
the foot.
"I wish you would promise to come," he said earnestly.
"Do you, really?" The blue eyes turned full upon him.
"Of course I do. It will be lots better fun if you are there." The frank,
boyish honesty of his tone seemed to disappoint the blue eyes. Together
in silence they set off down the lane.
"Well," she said, resuming their conversation, "I don't think I can go,
but I'll see. You'll be playing for the dancing, I suppose?"
"No. I won't play if Dan is around, and I guess he'll be there. I may
spell him a little perhaps."
"Then you'll be dancing yourself. You're great at that, I know."
"Me? Not much. It's Dick. Oh, he's a dandy! He's a bird! You ought to
see him! I'll make him do the Highland Fling."
"Oh, Dick, Dick!" she cried impatiently, "everything is Dick with you."
Barney glanced at her, and after a moment's pause said, "Yes. I guess
you're right. Everything is pretty much Dick with me. Next to my
mother, Dick is the finest in all the world."
At the crest of the hill they stood looking silently upon the scene spread
out before them.

"There," said Barney, "if I live to be a hundred years, I can't forget
that," and he waved his hand over the valley. Then he continued, "I tell
you what, with the moon just over the pond there making a track of
light across the pond--" She glanced shyly at him. The sombre eyes
were looking far away.
"I know," she said softly; "it must be lovely."
Through the silence that followed there rose and fell with musical
cadence a call long and clear, "Who-o-o-hoo."
"That's mother," said Barney, answering the call with a quick shout.
"You'll be in time for dinner."
"Dinner!" she cried with a gasp. "I'll have to get my buttermilk and
other things and hurry home." And she ran at full speed down the hill
and into the mill yard, followed by Barney protesting that it was too hot
to run.
"How are you, Mrs. Boyle?" she panted. "I'm in an awful hurry. I'm
after father's buttermilk and that recipe, you know."
Mrs. Boyle's eyes rested lovingly upon her flushed face.
"Indeed, there's no hurry, Margaret. Barney should not be letting you
run."
"Letting me!" she laughed defiantly. "Indeed, he had all he could do to
keep up."
"And that I had," said Barney, "and, mother, tell her she must come to
the raising."
"And are you not going?" said the older woman.
"I don't think so. You know father--well, he wouldn't care for me to be
at the dance."
"Yes, yes, I know," quickly replied Mrs. Boyle, "but you might just

come with me and look quietly on. And, indeed, the change will