At the barn he made the horses snug for the night, and then, taking up his favorite position on the oat-bin at the open doorway, lit his pipe for a quiet think. He was wholly responsible while Rube was ill.
Sitting there in the golden light of the setting sun, he was presently disturbed by the approach of light footsteps. It was an unusually gay voice that greeted him when he looked up, and eyes that were brighter, and more deeply violet than ever.
Had he given thought to these things he might have realized that there was something artificial in Rosebud’s manner, something that told of unusual excitement going on in her bosom. But then Seth, with all his keenness in other things, was not the cleverest of men where women were concerned. Ma’s opinion of him was wonderfully accurate.
“Oh, Seth, I just came to tell you! Fancy, no sooner is one excitement over than another begins. I’ve just learned that Pa and Ma are going to give up this farm. We are going further west, out of the Indian territory, and Rube’s going to buy a new farm near some city. Just fancy. What do you think of it?”
For once Seth seemed taken aback. His usual imperturbable manner forsook him, and he stared at the 366 girl in unfeigned astonishment. This was the last thing he had expected.
“We’re quittin’ the farm?” he cried incredulously.
“That’s precisely it,” Rosebud nodded, thoroughly enjoying the other’s blank manner.
“Gee! I hadn’t tho’t of it.”
The girl broke into a laugh, and Seth, after smiling faintly in response, relapsed into serious thought. Rosebud eyed him doubtfully for some moments.
“You’re not glad,” she said presently, with a wise little nod. “You’re not glad. You don’t want to go. You love this place and what you’ve helped to make it. I know. So do I.”