"Oh, father, you must not, shall not die! If you did I should drown myself in the lake," and I put my wet cheek down to his.
"There, dear. I am not thinking of dying. Indeed this last month my hip has felt stronger, and I am quite myself. But I am a good many years older than you, and naturally would go first."
"Oh, do not let us think of it. I cannot bear it," I pleaded, with every pulse in a tumult.
"Under some circumstances I should like to see you married. You were not in love with Homer, and some one else was."
"And there has been Ben." Then I confessed that episode, which he had not even mistrusted.
"The third time is fatal, I believe." There was a half laughter in his eyes, yet a tender gravity as he looked earnestly at me, and my cheeks burned.
"Do you care for Ben? Do you want to be engaged?"
"Oh, no, no! I like Ben very much, but no, I do not want to marry him—ever," I said incoherently, but with decision.
"Listen, Little Girl. I cannot get along alone. If you were five years older and a strong, robust woman I might train you for an assistant. I have known women at home who cared for a farm and reared a family of children. But you are too young, and the conditions here are too wild, too unformed, too severe. They need a man's strength and resolution to grapple with them. I have made a good start and am on the high road to success, only now I cannot follow it up. I see that, although I have fought against the conviction. Either I must give up and step out, or have some one to assist me who will take an interest, and whose interest will be the same as mine."
"But will not Dan do it?" I inquired, innocently. "You and he get on pretty well."