Molly turned to Sandy. Anxiety, affection, something stronger that stirred him deeply, showed now in her gaze.
"You hurt?"
"Didn't hardly muss a ha'r of my head. Jest a li'l' excitement."
"Tell me all about it."
Sandy gave her a condensed and somewhat expurgated account to which she listened with her face aglow.
"I wisht I'd been there to see it," she said as he finished.
"It warn't jest the time nor place fo' a young lady," said Sandy. "Main p'int is we got the money for yo' eddication, like we planned."
The light faded from her face.
"Air you so dead set for me to go away?" she asked.
"See here, Molly." Sandy leaned forward in his chair, talking earnestly. "You've got the makin' of a mighty fine woman in you. An' paht of you is yore dad an' paht yore maw. Sabe? They handed you on down an', if you make the most of yo'se'f, you make the most of them. Me, I've allus been trubbled with the saddle-itch an' I've wanted the out-of-doors. A chap writ a poem that hits me once. It stahts in,