Ruth came over to the house often on Saturday, as Miss Barrows kept that day for herself. She learned to cook, to sew and began to spin a little. She knew how to knit, except that she did not quite understand shaping a stocking.
The boys were rather rough and shy at first, but after a little they quite adored her, and hunted up curious things for presents. Homer was a jolly sort of lad, Ben rather gentle, but Chris rough and tormenting. I used to envy them the Saturdays.
Winter set in early. What tremendous winds scurried across the lake, beating up great waves, or rushed down from the north and sometimes threatened to drown us out! Navigation had to be given up mostly; we had not then learned what fetters and warders to put on the inland sea.
And then the snow! The great drifts blowing in from the prairies, the roads trodden down as solid as stone, the sledges and rude sort of sleighs, the jingle of bells for those who were lucky enough to own any. Part of the time the Little Girl could not venture out, though Ben often brought her home on his sled.
"But it is all so beautiful," she said, looking over the wide prairie one Sunday. "Norman, what is over beyond the Mississippi?"
"Mountains and mountains."
Some hardy explorers had gone out, but we knew nothing of the western coast then.
"And then?" with gentle insistence.
"The Pacific Coast."
"The Delectable Mountains and the beautiful land where the shepherds are feeding their flocks, and where there are vineyards and gardens and flowers of every hue and fragrance. It is the Promised Land, Norman. Some day you and I will start and travel—it will take weeks and weeks, and we shall be filled with delight at its loveliness. We will start quite by ourselves, and keep our secret until we do go."