“Thank you. The man will fetch down my things.”
West walked out to hold the horses while the minor preparations were going on, and helped Davis to a comfortable position in the rig.
“I am sorry not to have seen your mother before leaving. Please tell her I shall be over here again, as soon as possible, to—to—remunerate her for all the inconvenience to which I have placed her,” said Davis; and then, without further addressing West, ordered the man to start.
West stood for several moments watching the departure; the only emotion which he betrayed being a convulsive closing of his hands and eyes.
[CHAPTER XII]
AN INDIAN IN THE MOONLIGHT
When Mrs. West returned to the ranch in the evening, she sought Bess in her room to learn of her experience in the culinary department during the day. As she tapped at the door and softly entered, a dejected, dishevelled and tear-stained figure arose and flung her arms about the “little Mother.”
Impulsively and swiftly she poured into Mrs. West’s astonished ears all that had transpired that morning, and when she had finished, she said, “Why, little Mother, I love so much already, I cannot find room for any more. I love you—I love James—the birds—the grass and flowers! I love the mountains and the wonderful lake! I love my music—my books and my pictures! I love Mauchacho—I love babies—and dogs. Where is there room for any more?”
Then Mrs. West led her to a seat, and taking both the girl’s hands into her own, told her that the love of all these things was so entirely different from the love she would one day understand, that they would be crowded out and set apart when her heart was ready to receive the great and inevitable passion.