“And now you are ours? That is good, Sir Kildene. 213 You have to say what to do, and me, I accept to do what you advise. Is not?”
Amalia turned to Larry and smiled, and whenever Amalia smiled, her mother would smile also, and nod her head as if to approve, although she usually sat in silence.
“Yours to command,” said Larry, bowing.
“He’s master of us all, but it’s yours to direct, Lady Amalia.”
“Oh, me, Mr. ’Arry. It is better for me I make for you both sufficient to eat, so all goes well. I think I have heard men are always pleased of much that is excellent to eat and drink.”
“Now, listen. We have only a short time before the heavy snows will come down on us, and then there will be no chance whatever to get supplies of any sort before spring. How far is the road completed now, Harry?”
“It should be well past Cheyenne by now. They must be working toward Laramie rapidly. If––if––you think best, I will go down and get supplies––whatever can be found there.”
“No. I have a plan. There’s enough for one man to do here finishing the jobs I have laid out, but one of us can very well be spared, and as you have wakened me from my long sleep, and stirred my old bones to life, and as I know best how to travel in this region, I’ll take the mule along, and go myself. I have a fancy for traveling by rail again. You ladies make out a list of all you need, and I’ll fill the order, in so far as the stations have the articles. If I can’t find the right things at one station, I may at another, even if I go back East for them.”
“Ah, but, Sir Kildene, it is that we have no money. If 214 but we could get from the wagon the great box, there have we enough of things to give us labor for all the winter. It is the lovely lace I make. A little of the thread I have here, but not sufficient for long. So, too, there is my father’s violin. It made me much heart pain to leave it––for me, I play a little,––and there is also of cloth such as men wear––not of great quantity––but enough that I can make for you––something––a little––maybe, Mr. ’Arry he like well some good shirt of wool––as we make for our peasant––Is not?” Harry looked down on his worn gray shirt sleeves, then into her eyes, and on the instant his own fell. She took it for simple embarrassment, and spoke on.
“Yes. To go with us and help us so long and terrible a way, it has made very torn your apparel.”