[CHAPTER XII.]
FLAXEN SAYS GOOD-BYE.
Elga went back to her friends, the Holts, in the course of a week. It hurt Anson terribly to see how eager she was to get away, and he grew a little bitter—a quality of temper Bert did not know he possessed.
"What's that little whipper-snapper ever done for her, that she should leave us in the shade f'r him—f'rget us an' all we've done f'r her, an' climb out an' leave us just at his wink? It beats me, but it's all right. I don't blame her if she feels so—only it does seem queer, now don't it?"
"It does, that's a fact—'specially the idea of leaving us for a thing like that."
After arriving at a complete understanding of the matter, they said no more about it, but went to work to make everything as pleasant for Flaxen as possible. Again they rode down to the station with her, down past the wide, level fields of grain which the blazing sun had ripened prematurely. Again they parted from her at the train, but this time the girl was eager to go; and yet a peculiar feeling of sadness was mixed with her eagerness to be off.
"Now, boys, you'll come down just as soon as you can this fall, won't you?" she said, tearfully, as they stood in the aisle of the car. "I wish't you'd sell out an' come back there an' live—I want you to."
"Well, we'll try," Anson said, speaking with difficulty, the lump in his throat was so big and so dry.
They rode home in silence again, but this time there was something darker and more sullen in their thoughts.