“But I can stand anything—anything,” she threw out both hands, “except being bossed. I can’t stand that.”
“No one could,” I agreed.
“And you mustn’t try it on, because if you do!—me and you will part company.”
I was surprised at the hard glint in her eyes, the inflexible tone of her voice. Her face was quite unlovely at that moment.
“Child, child,” I began impulsively, but I hesitated and said nothing more, for her eyes with their strange hardness seemed the eyes of a stranger.
The crisp, blue morning paved the way to a hot, still day. I drove to the village for supplies in the afternoon, and after supper I was glad to rest on the river bank, with Joey sprawling on the grass at my side. The moon rose early and climbed into the purple pavilion above us, spraying the world with a wash of gold. The night became serene, almost solemn; one big, bright star burst upon our sight from the top of a low ridge of hills opposite, and threw a linked, sliding silver bridge from one plush river bank to the other. It looked like some strange aerial craft fired with unearthly splendor, and propelled by unguessed sorcery. I was glad to forget the tawdry, painted day that was slipping into the arms of night. It had been a fretting day in many particulars. My morning with Wanza had irked me, I had had almost no conversation with Haidee, and Mrs. Olds had been exceedingly arbitrary during the evening meal in the hot, stuffy little kitchen. The calm evening hour was like a benediction to me, and Joey’s tender little hand stroking mine soothed me inexpressibly.
I was hoping to escape without the usual sleep-time story, but one glance at the eager face showed me that the lad was eagerly expecting its spinning. And his first words were evidently meant to act as an impetus.
“If you was to tell me a story, Mr. David, would it be a fairy one, do you think? Or would it be about a bear, do you ’spose, or a—a tiger?”
I am afraid I spoke rather impatiently.
“Aren’t you tired of bears and tigers yet, Joey?”