“Dear God, what an age! What trials for such little bodies! But what were you crying about when I first came here?” I asked.
“Oh, sir, I was so homesick! I often get that way through the day, and at evening I come out here to the bridge and look out toward the dear old home and cry to see the children, and it really makes me feel better. It takes that heavy feeling out of my heart and I can look away ahead and feel hopeful.”
“What is your father’s name?” I asked.
“Papa’s name is John Deer—I’m Jennie. Mamma calls me Jean, and the boys call me Jen. The Barkers call me Jane. I like to be called Jean, because that’s what mamma calls me. I love my mamma so well, so well! and my heart is aching to see Willie and Bessie and the others tonight!”
“Why, Jean, I know your father well, and I remember your mother. I worked in the lumber woods with your father in 1884. He would write letters to his sweetheart every Sunday, and every Wednesday he would always get one from his girl. How glad he would be after reading her letters. She was a little school teacher in those old days.”
“Go on,” she cried. “Oh, I love to hear you talk of my papa and mamma as they were before they were married! I wonder if they loved each other like the people we read about in the story books?”
“I believe they did, Jean. At least your father loved Carrie Green just as fondly as young men love in story books. I had a best girl, too, in those days, and we often spoke of them, and what we would do after we got married.”
“And did you marry your best girl, too?” she eagerly inquired.
“No, Jean,” I said, and a wave of memory flashed over my mind and I paused to look down through that memory to the vista away off in the distance.
“Did you quarrel?” she asked, her eyes showing how much she was interested.