CHAPTER XXIII
LOVE’S PROGRESS
It was the night of Rosebud’s arrival. Seth and Rube were just leaving the barn. The long day’s work was done. Seth had been out all the afternoon riding. Although his ride was nominally in pursuit of health and strength, he had by no means been idle. Now he was bodily weary, and at the door of the barn he sat down on the corn-bin. Rube, pausing to prepare his pipe, saw, by the flickering light of the stable lantern, that his companion’s face was ghastly pale.
“Feelin’ kind o’ mean?” he suggested with gruff sympathy.
“Meaner’n a yaller dawg.”
There was anxiety in the older man’s deep-set eyes as he noted the flicker of a smile which accompanied the reply.
“There ain’t nothin’ fresh?” Rube pursued, as the other remained silent.
“Wal, no, ’cep’ Rosebud’s got back.”