“Well, if that ain’t sarkism!” interjected Sonora between the lines of the hymn.
“Land where our fathers died—”
“You bet they died hard!” cut in Trinidad, rolling his eyes upward in a comical imitation of the Indians.
“Land of the Pilgrim’s pride,
From every mountain side
Let freedom ring.”
All the while the Indians were singing the last lines of the hymn the Girl’s face was a study in reminiscent dreams, but when they had finished and were leaving the room, she came back to earth, as it were, and clapped her hands, an appreciation which brought forth from Wowkle a grateful “Huh!”
“I would like to read you a little verse from a book of poems,” presently went on the teacher; and when the men had given her their attention, she read with much feeling:
“‘No star is ever lost we once have seen,
We always may be what we might have been.’”
“Why, what’s the matter?” inquired Sonora, greatly moved at the sight of the tears which, of a sudden, began to run down the teacher’s cheeks.
“Why, what’s—?” came simultaneously from the others, words failing them.
“Nothin’, nothin’, only it jest came over me that I’ll be leavin’ you soon,” stammered the Girl. “How can I do it? How can I do it?” she wailed.