“How do you know?” he demanded.
“She says so. I says for her not to cry about mother, and she says she wasn’t. ‘I’m crying for myself,’ she says.”
Wully had no longer any scruples about finding out everything he could from the boy.
“What’s she sitting with that gun in her hands for, Dod? Does she shoot many chickens?”
“Her? She couldn’t hit a barn. She’s afraid. That’s what’s the matter with her.”
“What’s she afraid of?”
“Nothing. What’s there to be afraid of here? I don’t know what’s got into her!”
“Tell me now, Dod!” begged Wully. “My mother would want to know. Does Uncle John see that you have everything you need?”
“That’s not it!” exclaimed the boy, proudly. “We have enough. Some of them would come here and stay all the time, but she don’t want them. She won’t have anybody here. And we’re not going to church again.” This last he undoubtedly considered a decision worthy of the most tearless girl. Wully, who seized upon trifling straws, saw promise in this. She wasn’t going to church again, and she had wanted a good look at him! But what was it—why should she be so silly? Why wouldn’t she let him make her happy? She wouldn’t need to be afraid if he was with her. He saw that Dod knew not much more than he did about the explanation of his difficulties. But Dod at any time might find something enlightening. Wully coveted his help.
“It really beats all the way you run this farm with your father gone,” he affirmed. “When he gets back, I’d like to hire you myself.” He saw the boy relishing his praise. “You must treat Chirstie like a man, Dod. You mustn’t blame her for crying. It’s the way women do, sometimes. You say to her when you go in that my mother is always waiting to do for her. She’s the one that can help her. She don’t need to cry any more. We can fix things right. You say that to her, Dod, and to-morrow I’ll ride over and see what it is. You tell her we’ll fix everything for her.”