“Gone up the river?”
“Yes. It beats all how she’s takin’ up with them people, and them with her. She’s even bought lumber with her own money to help some of ’em build.”
“She’s got a heart like a dove,” he sighed.
“As soft as a puddin’,” Mrs. Chadron nodded.
“But I never could git to it.” Banjo sighed again.
Mrs. Chadron shook her head, with an expression of sadness for his failure which was deeper than any words she knew.
“The loss of her pa bore down on her terrible; she’s pinin’ and grievin’ too hard for a body so young. I hear her cryin’ and moanin’ in the night sometimes, and I know it ain’t no use goin’ to her, for I’ve tried. She seems to need something more than an old woman like me can give, but I don’t know what it is.”
“Maybe she needs a change—a change of air,” Banjo suggested, with what vague hope only himself could tell.
“Maybe, maybe she does. Well, you’re goin’ to take a change of air, anyhow, Banjo. But what’re you goin’ to do away out there amongst strangers?”