“I’m just wondering if my guineas could have stolen their nest in that thicket,” she answered, pointing to where her glance had been directed.
Restraining a laugh, he asked,—“Are they up to that sort of thing?”
“Up to it? Well I should say so. They deliberately hide them, and are noted for their bad behavior in that line. Mine have completely eluded discovery. But I love them, though Eletheer says their cry reminds her of a rusty pump.”
What could he say to this child, and how assist Eletheer in her sisterly efforts in what she believed her duty? As Eletheer said, Cornelia was indeed gifted with an unusual voice which might bring fame. She also was “young to make a choice which might be regretted later.” “But after all,” he thought, “these matters are better let alone when there is nothing radically wrong, and I see nothing in this case.” Why break the spell which held her a willing captive? To what nobler use could her voice be put than bringing sweet sounds into a good man’s home where, surrounded by husband and children, she would be shielded from temptation? Surely in that, she could find nothing to regret.
He glanced toward the hills among which lay Shushan, where the last six years of his own life had been spent, and his mind reverted back to that awful night of his banishment when life seemed a mockery and annihilation a bliss. Further back still, he sees a kind old face crowned with silvery hair and tears of pity filling her eyes. “Dear old granny,” he thought, “your prayer for mercy is answered; and though we may view things differently, we look in the same direction.”
The city was stirring now and the busy hum of life had begun. Whistles from the factories and mills were calling to work. Seven o’clock, and the distant screech of a locomotive told of the nearing of Ulster Express.
“I feel it in my bones that we’ll have company for breakfast,” said Cornelia, rising and standing on tip-toe to see how many passengers got off. Cornelia’s “feelings” were a family joke, but Hernando also arose and looked down the road, more to keep his companion from falling than from any expectancy of “company for breakfast.”
The station was in plain sight and as they turned their heads in that direction, a very singular-looking passenger jumped from the train, satchel in hand, clearing the steps at a bound. He was clad in a hickory shirt, blue jean trousers and brogans. On his head was a broad-brimmed, soft felt hat. Apparently he stopped to question one of the station men for the latter pointed toward the mountain and he started up that way.
“Who on earth can he be!” said Cornelia, clapping her hands in excitement.
“He looks and walks like a cowboy,” replied Hernando. “Come, let’s go down. This time, at least, your presentiment seems a true one.”