“Neither of us,” spoke up Alison. “She told me yesterday that she was free now, and meant either to go with us or to go to a place where she could earn wages; then, later, she said she had decided to go wherever we did.”
“I am sure I don’t know what John will say,” Christine put in. “He surely cannot tote three women down to Texas, and I, for one, am very sorry Lou has any such notion.”
Mrs. Brown was somewhat mollified. “Well, I am glad to know you have no hand in it,” she said. “Of course I’ve known for some time that I couldn’t expect to keep her much longer. Old Maria needs some one to save her steps, and cannot do much out of the kitchen. I suppose I can get another orphan bound out to me, but it is ungrateful of Louisa, I must say, after all I have taught her. I have given her a home, too, all these years.”
“But she has earned her board and clothes, hasn’t she?” said Alison, ready to champion Louisa.
“Well, yes, I suppose some would say so. I should be willing to keep her if Mr. Brown would agree to give her wages, but he will not. Maria belongs to us, and he says we can get plenty of help without paying wages. She is eighteen and over, and I suppose I ought not to expect to keep her much longer.” This ended the controversy over Louisa so far as Christine and Alison were concerned, and soon they were too busy in preparing for their own long journey to be greatly interested in what Fidgetty Lou meant to do.
In due time John Ross appeared. He had been steadily occupied in arranging for the emigration to the new state of Texas, and had left his young sisters with their relatives until he should complete his preparations. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, keen-eyed young fellow, rather quiet in manner but with a fund of humor much appreciated by his comrades. He was always called Texas John in the old neighborhood, to distinguish him from his cousin John Ross, who was about his own age, and who, lately married, had no desire to leave Kentucky. Texas John, at the death of his parents, had found little left for the support of himself and sisters, so he started for Texas to look up a grant which he thought promised a living for the three. The elder Ross had been something of a rover, and had been killed in a struggle with the Mexicans while serving in the effort to maintain the independence of the young republic of Texas. Perhaps his spirit of adventure was his son’s by inheritance, for the latter was enthusiastic in his belief in the wild country, where, he was satisfied, were better prospects for him than nearer home. Having placed his young sisters at school he started off to look up his claim and after a two years’ absence returned home, settled up affairs and was now ready to emigrate for good.
He strode into the living-room one bright day in early October. “Ready, girls?” he cried. “We can be off in a few days.”
Christine sprang to his arms. “Is it all settled then?” she asked eagerly.
“All settled.”
“And do you know Alison has decided to go with us?”