What had come over me? When I was with Haidee all my speech was of Wanza. When I was alone all my thoughts were of her. Haidee was free—but I realized this but dimly. The thought of Wanza’s position was paramount. In the long night vigils I saw her face. I recalled the look I had surprised on it once—the secret never intended for my reading—and my compassion and wonder overpowered me. That Wanza should care for me!—I felt like falling on my knees in humbleness.
My loneliness was intense. I began to realize that Joey had gone out of my life—that his place was henceforth not with me—never with me again.
The love of a man for a small boy is composed of various ingredients, it has spice in it, and tenderness, and pride, and hope, and fellowship—and a lilt of melody goes through it that lightens the most rigid days of discipline. So when the small boy goes out of the home, the man is bereft of joy and inspiration and companionship. At first I went daily to Hidden Lake, and Joey came daily to Cedar Dale. But one day when Joey was begging me to make him a bow-gun I surprised a wistful gleam in Haidee’s soft eyes. She drew the lad into her arms.
“Mother will buy you a wonderful gun,” she promised.
“But I’d rather have Mr. David make it, Bell Brandon. I guess women don’t know what boys like—just.”
The hurt look in the purple-black eyes went to my heart. After that I went not so often to Hidden Lake.
I took to using Joey’s room as a sort of study. I fitted up a desk near the window, and here I wrote on my novel, and wrought at wood carving for the Christmas trade. Finding me here one day carving a frame for an old photograph of Wanza, Haidee looked at me oddly, turned swiftly and went from the room, while Joey stared eagerly, and whispered:
“Oh, Mr. David, some day I’m coming back to stay in my dear old room. Tain’t nice at Bell Brandon’s for a boy. They’s a white spread on the bed, and blue ribbons to tie back the curtains. And when the coyotes holler Bell Brandon’s frightened too.”
Later on the porch at parting, Haidee said to me:
“Have you worked long on the frame you are carving for Wanza’s picture?”