But she fretted under a discontent that made her miserable, even though it did not strain her reason like the lonesomeness. Something was wanting to fill her life. He cast about him, wondering what it could be, wishing that he might supply it and take away the shadow out of her eyes.
It was his last thought as he fell asleep in a little swale below the wagon where the grass was tall and soft––that he might find what was lacking to make Joan content with the peace and plenty of the sheeplands, and supply that want.
CHAPTER VII
THE EASIEST LESSON
“Why do they always begin the conjugations on love?”
There was no perplexity in Joan’s eyes as she asked the question; rather, a dreamy and far-away look, the open book face-downward on the ground beside her.
“Because it’s a good example of the first termination, I suppose,” Mackenzie replied, his eyes measuring off the leagues with her own, as if they together sought the door that opened out of that gray land into romance that quiet summer afternoon.
“It was that way in the Spanish grammar,” said Joan, shaking her head, unconvinced by the reason he advanced. “There are plenty of words in the first termination that are just as short. Why? You’re the teacher; you ought to know.”