“Good morning, Stewart. No, nobody is in danger. 140 Can’t a doctor enjoy life once in a while? The country’s so disgustingly healthy I have to make the best of it and kill time some way. Come, help at the killing, won’t you?” Carey drew rein before the door of the store.
“I can’t do it, Carey. Jacobs is away up on Big Wolf appraising some land and I want to be here when he comes in. I must do some holding up myself pretty soon if things don’t pick up after this hot summer.”
“You’re an asset to the community, to be growling like that with this year’s crops fairly choking the market,” Horace Carey declared.
With a good-by wave of his hand he turned his horses’ heads toward the south and took his way past the grain elevator toward the railroad crossing. The morning train was just pulling up to the station, blocking the street, so Carey sat still watching it with that interest a great locomotive in motion always holds for thinking people.
“Papa, there’s Doctor Carey,” a child’s voice cried, and Thaine Aydelot bounded across the platform toward him, followed by his less-excited father.
Thaine was a sturdy, sun-browned little fellow of seven years, with blooming cheeks and big dark eyes. He was rather under than over normal size, and in the simplicity of plains life he had still the innocence of the very little boy.
“Good morning, Thaine. Good morning, Aydelot. Are you just getting home? Let me take you out. I’m going your way myself,” Dr. Carey said.
“Good morning. Yes, we are getting home a little earlier than we were expected and nobody is here to meet us. We’ll be glad to ride out with you.”
Asher lifted Thaine into the buggy with the words. A 141 certain reserve between the two men had never been broken, although they respected each other deeply and were fast friends.
The train cleared the crossing and the three went south over the bridge across the dry North Fork Creek, beyond the cattle pens, and on to the open country leading out toward the Grass River Valley. The morning was glorious with silvery mists lifting along the river’s course and a shimmering light above golden stubble and brown plowed land and level prairie; while far away, in all its beauty, hung the deep purple veil that Nature drops between her finite and her infinite, where the things that are seen melt into the things that are not seen.