Not that I am sorry I came back, no sirree! Father was so pleased and touched to think I gave up my college course and came home that he chirked up right away and started in from the beginning once more to pay the mortgage off the land and the stock, and mother is feeling well enough to be up almost all day now; but to-day I just couldn’t help shedding a few perfectly good tears over what I might be doing instead of what I am.
A flock of wild geese, headed south, flew above my head in a dark triangle, and honked derisively at me as they passed. “Not even a goose would stop off in this dismal country!” I exclaimed aloud. Then, simply wild for sympathy from someone, I slid off Sandhelo’s back and stood there, ankle deep in the yellow mud, and put my arms around his neck.
“Oh, Sandhelo,” I croaked dismally, “you’re all I have left of my wonderful year up north. You love me, don’t you?”
But Sandhelo looked unfeelingly over my shoulder at the rain splashing down into the road and yawned elaborately right in my face. There are times when Sandhelo shows no more feeling than Eeny-Meeny. Seeing there was no sympathy to be had from him, I climbed on his back again and rode grimly home, trying to resign myself to a life of school teaching at the cross roads, ending in an early death from boredom.
Father was nowhere about when I rode into the stableyard, and the door into the stable was shut. I slid it back, with Sandhelo nosing at my arm all the while.
“Oh, you’re affectionate enough now that you want your dinner,” I couldn’t help saying a little spitefully. Then my heart melted toward him, and, with my arm around his neck, we walked in together. Inside of Sandhelo’s stall I ran into something and jumped as if I had been shot. In the dusk I could make out the figure of a man sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall.
“Is that you, Father?” I asked, while Sandhelo blinked in astonishment at this invasion of his premises. There was no answer from the man on the floor. Why I wasn’t more excited I don’t know, but I calmly took the lantern down from the hook and lit it and held it in front of me. The light showed the man in Sandhelo’s stall to be sound asleep, with his hand leaned back against the wooden partition. He had a black beard and his face was all streaked with mud and dirt, and there was mud even in his matted hair. He had no hat on. His clothes were all covered with mud and one sleeve of his coat was torn partly out.
Sandhelo put down his nose and sniffed inquiringly at the stranger’s feet. Without ceremony I thrust the lantern right into the man’s face.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” I said, loudly and firmly. The man stirred and opened his eyes, and then sat up suddenly, blinking at the light.
“Who are you?” I repeated sternly. The man stared at me stupidly for an instant; then he passed his hand over his forehead and stumbled to his feet.