“After all’s said and done, away down in their hearts all human beings love a little vagabondizing!”
So, though her eyes filled as she glanced toward her Mary’s grave she was still able to smile upon Teddy, lifting him into the wagon and, rather hastily, climbing in beside him.
“I think it will be lovely, even though it doesn’t seem right for us—Carlos and me. But we shall like it. We’re used to sleeping out of doors and it will be like a long, all-summer picnic, won’t it?”
“I hope so. Of course, there will be hard realities. The worst is sometimes wanting water. It’s a thirsty, thirsty land, this New Mexico. But—‘The Lord will provide’.”
Carlota ran on in front and joined her brother and his comrade, Jack; and, presently, to their surprise there came to them the sound of Letitia Burnham—singing! A low, sweet hymn, whose burden was thanksgiving.
“Gophers! The mother at that business? Hold on! Hark!” cried Jack, who could scarcely believe his own ears.
“Your father is singing with her. That’s all,” said Carlota.
“That’s all, is it? ‘All?’ Well, then, Saynyereeter, let me tell you that I, John Winterbottom Burnham, can’t remember that, during the whole course of my checkered career, I ever heard my respected respectable parents warble before!”
“You—disrespectful boy!”
“What have I done now? Can’t a fellow call attention to the talents of his parents without being accused of disrespect?” he demanded, in affected astonishment.