“Of course they won’t blow over!” chirped Innes Hardin.
Mrs. Parrish sighed. “That’s what Jim says. I wish I could believe it. I’m not doubting you, or him, neither, Miss Hardin; I know you mean what you say. But when the wind blows, and the tent creaks, and strains, oh, I know then as it’s coming down; I can’t sleep those windy nights. I just lie and plan which way I’ll jump when it goes.”
Innes tried to laugh at her, but the woman’s fear was too real.
“I’ve made myself learn to love the wind,” she urged. “Don’t you think you could, too? Try to think of it as gay; as the air of the world on some mad, reckless romp. It gets into your blood, then, and you want to run, to dance. ‘Oh, the whole world is glad of the wind!’”
“The wind in Nebraska’s like that, but this! Why, it sounds like angry devils to me, all shrieking to me to get out; that I don’t belong here. I cover up my ears with the bedclothes, but it’s no use. I can hear them just the same: ‘I’ll blow you away. I’ll blow you away.’ And then the dust it brings; the dirt! There’s no use trying to be clean.” The mouth muscles twitched unpleasantly.
“How is the neuralgia?” inquired Innes, helpless against this determined pessimism.
“Better. That new medicine is helping that. I seemed to wear out the good effects of those powders.”
“Have you begun to sleep out-of-doors yet?”
Mrs. Parrish shivered. “I wouldn’t sleep a wink. I’d be waiting for Indians all night.”
“The Indians are harmless,” cried Innes. “They wouldn’t hurt any one.”