"But we forgot the greatest news," Jean exclaimed, in a pause after one of their selections. "We have neighbours—two new neighbours—three counting Sandy. They are living on Eighteen, to the east; surely you saw the tent?"
"So I did," said Spoof, "but I thought it might be a wandering Indian family. Two, did you say? A married couple?"
"No, a widow, Mrs. Alton, and her baby Gerald, the dearest little chap. He puts us down for Indians, and with some reason."
"Gerald?" said Spoof. "How old is he?"
"Just turned three, so Mrs. Alton told us. You should see her; not very big, but pluck to the marrow. She has taken a homestead so that she can raise the money to educate her boy. She is coming over as soon as she is settled, and we must have you meet her. She's English, and you'll love her."
Jean's frankness rather set me at ease again. Evidently I was magnifying the grip that Spoof was gaining upon her. She was content that he should love his new English neighbor.
"I shall be wonderfully interested in her," Spoof said, gaily, but it seemed to me that his mind had suddenly gone all a-ramble. There was a moment's silence, then he took up the thread again. "I once knew a little boy of that name—Gerald—was much attached to him. Strange how an incident—a name, for example—will recall a whole chain of memories."
What memories of Spoof's was aroused he did not say, but he sang no more, and presently decided it was time to go home.
CHAPTER X.
It was the first day of August of that first year on the prairies that Jack and I hitched the oxen to the wagon, threw on board a kit consisting mainly of a change of clothes and a blanket for each of us, said a brave but undemonstrative good-bye to the girls, and turned our faces to the older settlements. We had seen Mrs. Alton's new house—twelve feet square, it was, and eight feet high to the plates—under way; we had Spoof's promise that twice a day he would study the shack at Fourteen with his field glass for the flag that Marjorie would nail to the roof in case of any emergency; we had laid up fuel and supplies against the immediate needs of the girls during our absence, and now we were setting forth to earn what money we could during the short season of high wages. Our own oat field could wait; we would cut it for feed, anyway, and a little frost wouldn't matter.