Mrs. Rickards is still staying on at the farm. She thoroughly enjoys this new, simple life. Besides, in 268 the brief fortnight which has elapsed since her coming, she has learnt something of the true worth, the wonderful kindliness and honesty of these frontier-folk.
Even Seth, whom at first she was less certain about, she has learned to look upon with favor. His silent, direct fashion of going through his daily life has given her an inkling of qualities, which, if not altogether companionable, show a manliness she has not always been accustomed to.
Her change of opinion found vent one night at bedtime. Rosebud listened to the worldly-wise woman’s remarks with a glow of pleasure and pride.
“Seth is a queer fellow, Rosie, so darkly reticent and all that,” she said, with a thoughtful smile. “Do you know I sometimes think if I were in great danger—personal danger, you know—he’s the sort of man I’d like to have about. He gives me the impression of a great reserve of strength. He is what one might—well, what you would call a ‘man.’”
Rosebud added her word without the least hesitation.
“He’s more than that, auntie; he’s the bravest and best man in the world.”
“Just so, my dear; and in consequence you don’t want to return to England,” Mrs. Rickards said slyly.
Rosebud encountered the glance which accompanied the words. She shook her head with a little despairing gesture. 269
“But he loves me only as a sort of daughter.”
“Does he, my dear?”