It was all so new and interesting to three pair of fascinated eyes. They asked question after question and explored every nook and corner of the cabin and its surroundings—the kitchen with its shining stove, singing tea-kettle, and white-covered table, the pantry, the root-cellar and chicken-house, and last of all the creek-refrigerator.
“It’s all right in the daytime,” announced Vivian, as they sat on the porch before beginning to get dinner, “but I don’t see how you stand it all alone at night.” She paused. “I’d die!” she finished simply.
Jean MacDonald did not laugh, though she felt 60 like it at first, for she saw that Vivian was very much in earnest.
“I think I know how you feel, Vivian,” she said kindly. “I know you would be very lonely, because, you see, you’ve always lived in a city or at school where there have been folks all about you. But, you see, it’s different with me. I was born on a homestead in Montana, and I’m used to endless tracts of land without neighbors. I guess I’ve made better friends with the mountains than you’ve been able to yet, and with the silence which I know some people fear. You see, I’ve never been afraid in all my life, so I don’t mind the loneliness.”
Vivian was staring at her, incredulous.
“Never—been—afraid—of—anything?” she repeated questioningly. “Honestly, haven’t you—all your life?”
Jean MacDonald considered for a moment.
“No,” she said, “honestly, I don’t believe I ever have. I was brought up never to fear the dark or the silence or being alone or—anything like that. Those are the most awful things, I guess, to persons who are afraid. And as for wild animals or people 61 who would do harm (and there aren’t many of those in the world) why, you see”—she raised her head and her eyes flashed—“you see, I can take care of myself! I’m thankful,” she added, “that I’m not afraid of things. I think fear must be a terrible thing!”
Vivian’s blue eyes filled with sudden tears.
“It is,” she said. “It’s the most dreadful monster in the whole wide world!”