Carrie smiled, but there was a trace of diffidence in her manner.
"I have kept your supper, and will bring it in as soon as you come down," she said. "Everything you will want clean is laid out in your room."
"Oh, yes," said Leland, reaching out and grasping her arm, "Mrs. Nesbit is quite a smart housekeeper."
Carrie shook his grasp off, and flitted away from him. "Mrs. Nesbit is not responsible this time," she said laughingly. "I'm afraid I haven't looked after my household duties as I should have done hitherto."
CHAPTER XVIII
A MIDNIGHT VISITOR
Summer had come in earnest, and Leland, who had ridden out at daybreak with every man at Prospect to cut prairie hay, had not come back, when Carrie sat late at night beside the stove in the big room. The stove was lighted, and a kettle stood on it. A meal was laid out upon the table, for Carrie expected that Leland would arrive during the next hour. In fact, a horse stood ready saddled in one of the stables, and she was trying to decide whether she should ride out to meet him or stay where she was. It was a still night, the house was unpleasantly hot, and the thought of a canter through the cool darkness was attractive. Leland, who was busier than ever, had, however, been away somewhat frequently of late, and pride was still strong in her. She would not unbend too far, or give him reason to believe that he could be sure of her, while there was also the difficulty that Urmston, who was then sitting close by, would probably insist upon accompanying her, and she fancied that such an arrangement might not commend itself to her husband. Urmston, too, had been growing somewhat presumptuous, and she felt that on the whole it might not be advisable to have him for a companion. Something, however, urged her to set out, though she would not admit that it was the thought of Leland's satisfaction at meeting her. She had scarcely seen him, except for an odd five minutes, during the last week or two, and that piqued her, although she knew that he had many anxieties and much to do. There was, it seemed, nothing to be gained by being unduly gracious, so long as he was content without her company.
This was, perhaps, a little hard upon Leland, who was then toiling at something, or in the saddle, from early morning to late at night. He had a good many teams to be fed, and hay was scarce after the unusually dry spring. Hay is seldom sown in that country, and, as the natural grass is, for the most part, only a few inches high, the prairie farmer must cut it where it grows harsh and tall in the sloos, or hollows, that are turned for a few weeks into lakes and ponds by the melting snows. Most of them had dried up prematurely that season, and, as the supply of the natural produce was becoming a serious question, Leland had to make long journeys in search of it. On the night in question, the men were camped beside a distant sloo, though he himself purposed to ride home, calling on one of his neighbours on the way. While Carrie considered whether she would set out to meet him or not, Urmston glanced at the tray upon the table with a sly little laugh.
"You are getting domesticated, Carrie," he said. "I used to fancy that you looked down upon anything connected with housekeeping. Be warned, and don't go too far. You saw what domesticity has done for Mrs. Custer."
"She seems happy," said the girl, reflectively. "Custer, I believe, is, in his own way, very kind to her."