It seemed as if no one needed to work, and,
therefore, those first months were months of gay and swift progress.
It was the most beautiful spring Blanche and Willard Burke had spent
since their marriage nine years before. Blanche forgot to be petulant or
moody. She was in superb health, and carried herself like a girl of
eighteen. She appeared to have lost all her regrets.
She laughed heartily when Rivers came over one afternoon and boldly
declared:
"Burke, I've c'me to borrow your wife. We've got a lot o' tenderfoots
over there to-night, and I'm a little shy of Bailey's biscuits. I'm
going to carry your cook away."
"All right; only bring her back."
Blanche was a little embarrassed when Rivers replied: "I don't like to
agree to do that. Mebbe you'd better come over to make sure I do."
"All right. I'll come over in time for supper." Burke's simple, good
face glowed with enjoyment of the fun. He smilingly went back to beating
his plough-share with hammer and wedge as Rivers drove away with
Blanche. The clink of his steel rang through the golden light that
flooded the prairie, keeping time to his whistled song.
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