Slade Pemberton left Gena Filson with her heart all aflame that afternoon. She sat on the tuft of grass in her own yard looking down on the hundreds of peaks before her, and wondered how it would all seem to be beyond the hills, within the limits of some great city; to push one’s way along through the mighty throngs in the congested business districts. Then college! She had seen the pictures of colleges in the magazines and the catalogues—but to go to college! that would be altogether another thing. To get a real chance in life; to mingle with the learned and refined people of the world, she thought, could not fail to set her feet upon higher planes of service and endeavor in the battle of human life.
At last the desire of Gena Filson’s heart was realized—she went to college. To her scanty little wardrobe were added three cheap dresses that she and Emeline Hobbs had hurriedly made by candle-light. All were at length crowded into a little trunk that had long since seen more service than its share, and Gena Filson climbed upon the wagon seat by the side of Slade Pemberton one bright morning, and was ready to leave for college.
Once more the hearts of all Blood Camp were made sad. All had gathered at the store to see her off. Mothers forgot, in their real sorrow, to still their crying children as they stood on the store platform, holding them in their arms—looking on with downcast hearts.
All had been made glad when the news flashed back that Jase Dillenburger had been sent to prison. All had again had much cause for thanksgiving, when they found that the one beloved in the village above all others—Gena Filson—was to make her home in the cabin in their midst. But now that she was going away to be gone a very long period of time, and perhaps never to return, was too much for them. It made them all sore at heart. And if she did return, would she be the same? She would be above them, Fen Green had said.
“Be a good girl, honey, an’ doan’ yo’ nebber go back on de folks at home. No matter whar’ yo’ go nor what yo’ see, doan’ nebber fergit ’em. De is mighty rough folks, but ebber one has good hearts an’ lobes yo’. An’ honey, doan’ yo’ forgit yo’ ole black mammy. I’ll be stan’in’ right ober der in de do’ah alookin’ fo’ yo’ whin yo’ come. Good-bye, honey.”
The wagon went up over the little hill and out of sight. Fen Green jabbed the spur into his horse’s side and shot away in the opposite direction, yelling as he went:
“Let ’er go—nobody cares.”
For a time the others stood together looking at the spot just where the wagon disappeared, as if they were bound together under the spell. But after a time the mothers rewrapped the babies in their shawls and resignedly returned to their homes.
Boaz Honeycutt remained upon the store platform alone. He had not seen the wagon pass out of sight over the hill. He had strained his eyes watching the wagon as it neared the hill-top, and finally, when he heard the words come ringing back to him:
“Good-bye, Boaz; don’t forget me”—tears filled his eyes and put the wagon out of his vision. For a long time the little barefoot boy sat without a stir. Then, getting up, he ran his hands down deep into the bottomless pockets of his coat and slowly walked away.