The woman shook her head. “That's what I thought when I come here. That's why I come. But I saw the biggest doctor of them all today—they all say he's the best there is—and he said right out 'twas no use to do anything. He said 'twas—hopeless.”
Her voice broke on that word. “You see,” she hurried on, “I wouldn't care so much, seems like I wouldn't care 't all, if I could get there first! If I could see the sun go down behind them just one night! If I could see the black shadows come slippin' over 'em just once! And then, if just one morning—just once!—I could get up and see the sunlight come a streamin'—oh, you know how it looks! You know what 'tis I want to see!”
“Yes; but why can't you? Why not? You won't go—your eyesight will last until you get back home, won't it?”
“But I can't go back home; not now.”
“Why not?” demanded the girl. “Why can't you go home?”
“Why, there ain't no money, my dear,” she explained, patiently. “It's a long way off—Colorado is, and there ain't no money. Now, George—George is my brother-in-law—he got me the money to come; but you see it took it all to come here, and to pay them doctors with. And George—he ain't rich, and it pinched him hard for me to come—he says I'll have to wait until he gets money laid up again, and—well he can't tell just when 't will be. He'll send it soon as he gets it,” she hastened to add.
“But what are you going to do in the meantime? It would cost less to get you home than to keep you here.”
“No, I stay with my nephew here. He's willin' I should stay with him till I get my money to go home.”
“Yes, but this nephew, can't he get you the money? Doesn't he know,” she insisted, heatedly, “what it means to you?”
“He's got five children, and not much laid up. And then, he never seen the mountains. He doesn't know what I mean when I try to tell him about gettin' there in time. Why, he says there's many a one living back in the mountains would like to be livin' here. He don't understand—my nephew don't,” she added, apologetically.