This assertion sounded astounding to the listener. Before, however, he could grasp its full value, he caught sight of Indiana's white dress among the pines. As he watched her coming toward them, her head making a light advancing spot among the dark trees, Stillwater's friendly warning faded from his mind as completely as though it had never been given.
"It all rests with her now," he thought.
"Why so serious?" said Indiana. "Let me into this secret discussion. If it's not snow and ice, and the North Pole, I know more about it than Lord Canning—and if it's not farming, I know more about it than pa."
"I guess I'll let you fight it out with Indiana," remarked Stillwater, dryly. He looked at her, with a sigh, then climbed slowly up to the camp.
"We were discussing many things," said Lord Canning, bashfully. "Marriage; the training of children—"
"Marriage—with pa?" replied Indiana, with a laugh. "He's absolutely ignorant on the subject."
"Remarkable," said Lord Canning, "considering he's seventeen years married."
"Oh, that was only a boy-and-girl affair. In those days it was a farm, a wife to do the housework—and they always lived happily."
"I wish it were as simple a matter with you as with your mother," ventured Lord Canning.
"I'm different from mother. If I were not, you would not—"