“I’m a prisoner here,” she said, stretching her arms as if she displayed her bonds, “as much of a prisoner in my way as Swan Carlson’s wife was in hers. You cut her chain; nobody ever has come to cut mine.”
“Your knight will come riding over the hill some evening. One comes into every woman’s life, sooner or later, I think.”
“Mostly in imagination,” said Joan. And her way of saying it, so wise and superior, as if she spoke of some toy which she had outgrown, brought a smile again to her visitor’s grave face.
Charley was not interested in his sister’s bondage, or in the coming of a champion to set her free. He went off to send the dogs after an adventurous bunch of sheep that was straying from the main flock. Joan sighed as she looked after him, putting a strand of 47 hair away behind her ear. Presently she brightened, turning to Mackenzie with quickening eyes.
“I’ll make a bargain with you, Mr. Mackenzie, if you’re in earnest about learning the sheep business,” she said.
“All right; let’s hear it.”
“Dad’s coming over here today to finish cutting hay. I’ll make a deal with him for you to get a band of sheep to run on shares if you’ll agree to teach me enough to get into college––if I’ve got brains enough to learn.”
“The doubt would be on the side of the teacher, not the pupil, Miss Sullivan. Maybe your father wouldn’t like the arrangement, anyway.”
“He’ll like it, all right. What do you say?”
“I don’t think it would be very much to my advantage to take charge of a band of sheep under conditions that might look as if I needed somebody to plug for me. Your father might think of me as an incompetent and good-for-nothing person.”