“Is that what you do?”
“Yes, when they are not too big for me.”
“I don’t like the hurt, when I stump my toe on these pretty ones. It teaches me to go around all I can. The jagged ones that I meet some day needn’t think of being disturbed, if I can get around them.”
“But sometimes they block the road, what then?”
“I’d get somebody to help me over.”
“I hope you will have that good luck all your days, Esther.”
Glenn Andrews’ voice had a minor sweetness. The thought of contrasting her vagrant childhood with the world she must one day know, was singularly pathetic to him.
Stooping, he picked up a rock and cast it across the waters.
“Yes,” she said; “I was always lucky, that’s how grandpa came to call me ‘God’s child.’”
“We’d better go now; it must be a good three mile walk.” Glenn Andrews took particular care to note her mood as they went along, the wild charm of her unstudied grace, the vibrating delight of life. How much happier she was than if she had had her way.