"Because," she spoke deliberately, "in California there is not a single thing to suggest your New England home."
"Except Elijah." Amy did not look up this time. She was taking her guest and her words as a matter of course.
"Haven't you noticed any change in Elijah?"
"No-o." Amy's voice faltered, for she was truthful. She was wondering if it was wicked to tell this lie. It did not occur to her to resent the necessity for it.
"It would not be strange if he had changed. California has changed, is changing. Those who come here must change,—for better or for worse."
"Elijah could not change for worse."
Amy's meaning was plain, but Mrs. MacGregor smiled at her words.
"I knew Elijah as a boy and as a young man. Then our paths diverged for six years. They have come together again and I am astonished at the change. He was strong, but his strength had not found a worthy purpose. It has found it here."
Amy was beginning to take an active interest in the conversation.
"Yes, when we first came here, the people laughed at us. Now, Elijah has got more than ten thousand orange trees growing where no one thought of their growing. People are after him all the time now. He is going to bring water to thousands of acres of desert land."