“Hmm. Then I guess we’d best begin to talk. Say, dear, we can go away now, to find our father.”
“When? And leave poor Mrs. Burnham?”
“Right away. The very next to-morrow that’s coming. She’s ’most well; she says so; and besides, though you didn’t know it, they are nearly out of food and have no money to buy more—even if there were a place to buy it in.” His voice was dramatically earnest.
“Why, there’s all that heap and heap of cans.”
“Empty, Carlota. All empty!”
“They can’t be. They’re standing up all tight and straight in that cool place by the spring. I saw Mr. Burnham fix them.”
“Dear, that was to deceive his wife. True. The cans are empty. We’re everyone of us so hungry except her, you see, and we’ve eaten and eaten! There wasn’t much to begin with; and he knows that if she thought there was danger of the food giving out it would kill her. She is so very weak. There are the fish, but fish three times a day! I’d like a chicken, wouldn’t you, Carlota? Or a loaf of Marta’s bread?”
“Don’t, please don’t, brother! I’m so—so—terr’ble homesick!”
“I’m afraid that, even now, Mr. Burnham thinks his wife will never live to go out of these mountains. He’s all discouraged. Last night he said to Jack, that if something wasn’t done soon we’d all starve. So we must go away. We’ll find our father, or if not him quick enough, then somebody else who’ll send them help. Wasn’t it a pity they ever left Tuttle? There they had enough to eat and, pleasant as it is here, they were near folks. Mountains are nice, but, Carlota, I like folks best.”
“Well, so do I. But I love mountains, too. I love—I guess I love everything there is. And I’m going down into that canyon—if I can. Come with me, because I see something! I see—something—and if we go away it is my last chance. I promised Paula—Come. Let’s. Now.”