“Now,” I said, challenging her, “I defy you to say why I forgot the lad’s birthday.”
“And I’ll tell you why. Because you’re thinking so much about the woman as has taken old Russell’s cabin you haven’t got time to remember other folks. Old Lundquist says you watch her light o’ nights from Nigger Head.”
“Lundquist is a meddlesome, prying old idiot,” I cried angrily.
Seeing me aroused, Wanza’s anger cooled. “I dare say he is,” she admitted, as she stepped to the oven door. “Why should you be taken with a creature like her, I should like to know! Such a flabby, white-faced, helpless moon-calf.”
She laughed, shut the oven door, straightened her fine shoulders and went to the window to cool her cheeks. I looked at her as she stood there, I saw her smile and wave her hand to Joey, who was performing sundry ablutions at the spring. She was wearing a collarless pink cotton frock, spotless and fresh as water and starch and fastidious ironing could make it; her face was as ardent as a flame, her eyes glowed deep and impassioned, her lips were smooth as red rose petals. Her mop of fine, blond curls was massed like a web of silk about her colorful face. I looked at her with appreciation. But as I looked I sighed. Hearing my sigh she gave me an odd glance, then crossed the room and stood before me.
“Mr. Dale,” she said soberly, “I am sorry I told you what old Lundquist said. I allow you’ve a right to watch a light on Hidden Lake if you’ve a mind to. Look ahere, do you want I should go and stay with her?”
“Why,” I replied, “I think it would be kind, Wanza.”
She bit her lip, shot a keen glance at me, and said shortly:
“Then I’ll go, as soon as I have done my own house cleaning.”
“You’re a good girl, Wanza,” I said again.