“I see,” said Donald politely, but with something very like amusement in his blue eyes. “You New England folks are strong on crests and mottoes and that sort of thing, aren’t you?”
“No more than we should be,” announced Priscilla a little haughtily. “We are the oldest families for the most part, and I think we ought to remember all those things about our ancestors. It’s—it’s 253 very—stimulating. The West is so excited over progress and developing the country and all that,” she finished a little disdainfully, “that it doesn’t care about family traditions or—or anything like that.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” returned Donald. “It isn’t so bad as that. We think a fine family history is a splendid thing. I venture I’m as proud of my Scotch forefathers as you are of the Duke of York’s shield-bearer, though we haven’t any coat-of-arms, and never did have any, I guess. Only back there you think it’s a necessity to have a good ancestry, and out here we just consider it a help. I like what Burns said about a man being just a man. That’s the way we feel out here. It isn’t what you come from; it’s what you are, and what you can do. Family mottoes are all right, if you live up to them. I knew a fellow at school when I was East two years ago. He roomed with me. He had the family coat-of-arms framed and hung on the wall. ’Twas all red and silver, and the motto was ‘Ne cede malis’—‘Yield not to difficulties.’ The funny part was that he was the biggest quitter 254 in school. You see, I think it’s you who have to uphold the motto—not the motto that has to uphold you.”
Priscilla ate a cookie silently. She wished Donald were not so convincing.
“For instance,” Donald continued, “suppose Courage is my heritage were Vivian’s family motto. Do you think that fact would give Vivian an extra amount of courage if she said it over a thousand times? I don’t. All the courage Vivian’s got she’s gained for herself without any motto to help her out. And I guess that’s the way with most of us in this world.”
He took his hat and rose to go.
“I’ve got to be making for home,” he said. “Dave’s gone, and I’ve an extra amount of work to do. Thanks awfully for the cookies, and don’t think I’m too hard on the family motto business. I can see where your motto means a heap to you, but you’re not a quitter anyway, Priscilla.”
He jumped on MacDuff and rode down the lane with a final wave of his hat as he galloped homeward across the prairie. Priscilla’s cheeks grew 255 red as she watched him. She was not any too sure that she was not a quitter. Disturbing memories came to trouble her—memories of occasions when she had not proven the truth of the motto, which had fired her ancestors. Donald was right, too, about ancestry and coats-of-arms and mottoes being only helps. Her New England conscience told her that, and her weeks in Wyoming corroborated her conscience. Still she was averse to admitting it—even to Donald.
She returned to her unfinished letter, but Genius seemed on a vacation. She could not picture the Emperor to Miss Wallace—could not give the impression which he had indelibly stamped upon her memory as he stood between Nero and Trajan at the palace entrance. The coat-of-arms seemed a disturbing element. She covered it with a strip of paper, but still thoughts would not come.
Disgruntled and out-of-sorts, she put away her letter, and started toward the house. Carver’s mood was contagious, she said to herself. In Hannah’s kitchen she found Mrs. Alec and little David, a roly-poly youngster of three who demanded too 256 much attention for just one mother. Priscilla, seeing in David a sure antidote for introspection, offered to play the part of the necessary other mother, and took him out-of-doors, much to the relief of tired Mrs. Alec. She had no more time to think of family mottoes or coats-of-arms. David clamored for attention, begged to be shown the horse, the dogs, and all the live-stock which the ranch afforded. Priscilla was an obedient guide. Nothing was omitted from the itinerary. When David, satisfied as to the other four-footed possessions, said “Pigs” in his funny Scotch way, pigs it was!