"Could you go?" I asked, my heart in my mouth.
"No, oh, no!" she said. "There's nobody in Kentucky for me to go to; and I haven't any money to pay my way with anyhow. I am alone in the world, Teunis, except for you and my new father and mother--and I'm afraid they are pretty poor, Teunis, to feed and clothe a big girl like me!"
"How much money would it take?" I asked. "I guess I could raise it for you, Virginia."
"You're a nice boy, Teunis," she said, with tears in her eyes, "and I know how well you like money, too; but there's nobody left there. I'm very lonely--but I'm as well off here as anywhere. I'd just like to go with you, though, for when I'm with you I feel so--so safe."
"Safe?" said I. "Why aren't you safe here? Is any one threatening you? Has Buckner Gowdy been around here? Just tell me if he bothers you, and I'll--I'll--"
"Well," said she, "he came here and claimed me from Mr. Thorndyke. He said I was an infant--what do you think of that?--an infant--in law; and that he is my guardian. And a lawyer named Creede, came and talked about his right, not he said by consanguinity, but affinity, whatever that is--"
"I know Mr. Creede," said I. "He rode with me for two or three days. I don't believe he'll wrong any one."
"Mrs. Thorndyke told them to try their affinity plan if they dared, and she'd show them that they couldn't drag a poor orphan away from her friends against her will. And I hung to her, and I cried, and said I'd kill myself before I'd go with him; and that man"--meaning Gowdy--"tried to talk sweet and affectionate and brotherly to me, and I hid my face in Mrs. Thorndyke's bosom--and Mr. Creede looked as if he were sick of his case, and told that man that he would like further consultation with him before proceeding further--and they went away. But every time I see that man he acts as if he wanted to talk with me, and smiles at me--but I won't look at him. Oh, why can't they all be good like you, Teunis?"
Then she told me that I looked a lot better when I shaved--at which I blushed like everything, and this seemed to tickle her very much. Then she asked if I wasn't surprised when she called me Teunis. She had thought a good deal over it, she said, and she couldn't, couldn't like the name of Jacob, or Jake; but Teunis was a quality name. Didn't I think I'd like it if I changed my way of writing my name to J. Teunis Vandemark?
"I like to have you call me Teunis," I said; "but I wouldn't like to have any one else do it. I like to have you have a name to call me by that nobody else uses."