"Oh, well, little one," he replied good-humoredly, "if it's doing you good, that's the main thing. You have had it pretty hard, I know that. I'm goin' to make it up to you, Gerrie, I'm goin' to make it up to you. Don't you be afraid. You're safe to be the most envied girl in this county. You'll make some splash, let me tell you, when my plans are carried out." He patted her cringing shoulder, and with one more longing look turned and left her.
Her knees were still trembling and she sank down on her rock and watched Carder's round shoulders and ill-fitting clothes as he ascended the incline to the office.
Pete was using a sickle on the stubbly grass, too stiff and interspersed with stones for the mower.
The cows' big soft eyes were regarding Geraldine, as they always did for a time after her arrival.
She turned her tired, listless look back to them and wondered what they did here for comfort in the heat of summer. There was no shade, and no creek to walk into.
When Rufus Carder arrived at his office he found the telephone ringing. The message he received necessitated sending some word to a man out in the field.
He went to the window and looked down at the white spot which was Geraldine. He saw her rise and walk about. Perhaps she was picking flowers. The distance was too great for him to be certain.
"I shall be right here," he muttered. Then he went to the corner of the office and picked up a megaphone. Going outside the door he called to Pete. "Come up here!" he shouted. The boy dropped his sickle and began to amble up the hill as fast as his bow-legs would permit.
Geraldine heard the shout, and turning saw the dwarf obeying the summons.
"Nobody but you to guard me now," she said to the prettiest of the cows with whom she had made friends.