She was not one to be moved by flattery, nor
by dimples in male cheeks. She accepted his company pleasantly, but
there were well-defined bounds to her friendship, as Rivers discovered
one evening as they were walking over the plain toward her home.
On every side the vivid green stretched away, smooth as the rounded
flesh of a woman, velvet in texture, glorified by the saffron and orange
of the sunset sky.
At the cabin they met Carrie, for whom Estelle was both sister and
mother. The little shanty slanted on the side of a swell like a little
boat sliding up a monstrous mid-ocean wave. Around it lay a little
garden inhabited by a colony of chicken-coops--"All my own making,"
Estelle said. "Oh, of course, sister held the nails and bossed, but I
did it. I like it, too. It's more fun than working red poppies on
tidies--that's about all they'll let you do back East."
"It doesn't matter much what you do out here," said Rivers, meaningly.
"Oh yes, it does. Some things are wrong anywhere; but there are other
things which people _think_ are wrong that are only unusual," she
answered, and he knew she knew what he meant.
Pages:
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39