Laura Burton, who was thoroughly out of conceit with the world, and who was never quite happy when other people seemed for the moment to be preferred to herself, thought this burst of affection decidedly theatrical, but she did not know of any one to whom she could confine her opinions just then; indeed, she felt too depressed and out of sorts to join in the general hilarity.
Dinner being over, Dr. Paul and the boys took the children and sauntered up the cañon for a lazy afternoon with their books. Elsie went to sleep in the new hammock that the doctor had hung in the sycamores back of the girls’ sleeping-tent, and Mrs. Winship lay down for her afternoon nap. Pancho saddled the horses for Bell and Margery, who went for a gallop. Polly climbed into the sky-parlour to write a long letter to her mother, and Laura was left to solitude in the sleeping-tent. Now everybody knows that a tent at midday is not a particularly pleasant spot, and after many a groan at the glare of the sun, which could not be tempered by any system of shawls, and moans at the gopher-holes which she discovered while searching for her ear-ring, and repeated consultations with the hand-glass at brief intervals, during which she convinced herself that she looked worse every minute,—she finally discovered a series of alarming new spots on her neck and chin. She felt then that camping out was a complete failure, and that she would be taken home forthwith if it could be managed, since she saw nothing before her but day after day of close confinement and unattractive personal appearance. “It’s just my luck!” she grumbled, as she twisted up her hair and made herself as presentable as possible under the trying circumstances. “I don’t think I ever had a becoming or an interesting illness. The chicken-pox, mumps, and sties on my eyes—that’s the sort of thing I have!”
“I feel much worse, Mrs. Winship,” she said, going into the sitting-room tent and waking Aunt Truth from a peaceful snooze. “If you can spare Pancho over night, I really think I must trouble you to send Anne and me home at once. I feel as if I wanted to go to bed in a dark room, and I shall only be a bother if I stay.”
“Why, my child, I’m sorry to have you go off with your visit unfinished. You know we don’t mind any amount of trouble, if we can make you comfortable.”
“You are very kind, but indeed I’d rather go.”
“I hardly dare let you start in the hot sun—without consulting the doctor, and everybody is away except Polly; they will feel badly not to say good-bye.”
“It is nearly three o’clock now, so the worst of the sun is over, and we shall be at the ranch by eight this evening. I feel too ill to say good-bye, any way, and we shall meet Bell and Margery somewhere on the road, for they were going to the milk ranch.”
“Very well, my dear, if you’ve made up your mind I must yield,” replied Mrs. Winship, getting up and smoothing her hair. “I don’t dare wake Elsie, she has had such an exciting day; but I’ll call Polly to help you pack, and then tell Pancho to find Anne and harness the team. While he is doing that, I’ll get you a little lunch to take with you and write a note to your mother. Perhaps you can come again before we break camp, but I’m sorry to send you home in such a sad plight.”