[CHAPTER IV—CROTTON’S CROSSING]
| “We have heard the cattle lowing in the silent summer nights; We have smelt the smudge-fire fragrance—we have seen the smudge-fire lights— We have heard the wild duck grumbling to his mate along the bank; Heard the thirsty horses snorting in the stream from which they drank; Heard the voice of Youth and Laughter in the long slow-gloaming night; Seen the arched electric splendour of the Great North’s livid light; Read the reason of existence—felt the touch that was divine— And in eyes that glowed responsive saw the end of God’s design.” Prairie Born. |
“Why don’t you come out and see us sometime, Burton?”
It was Harry Grant speaking at the door of the store one evening early in June.
“I should like to very much,” was the reply, “but you see I am busy all day.”
“But not all night, surely. Come, you are ready to close up now, and I am just going home. I guess I’ll have to come back later in the night for the vet.; he’s out of town at present. Hustle round now, and lock ’er up, and I’ll be here in a few minutes with the team.”
“But I need a shave, and I’m just in my working garb.”
“Nonsense; we’re farmers at our house.”
“Not all of you,” said Burton, and was suddenly astonished at his own temerity.
“Oh, that’s how the land lies,” said Harry, looking quizzically at the other. “Well, if I had any ambitions in which a young lady figured, which, by the way, doesn’t seem to be in my line, I’d rather let her see me in my working clothes than not at all. Besides, you are taking her at the same disadvantage. Now, hustle; I’ll be back in ten minutes.”