He had been looking squarely at her. She turned, and their eyes met. Each knew the thought of the other, and each turned away. He hesitated no longer; he would tell her all, and she should judge. His voice trembled a little as he said: “I want to tell you a story, and ask you a question––may I?”
She looked at him quickly, then answered with a smile: “I’m always glad to hear stories––and at the worst one can always decline to answer questions.”
He looked out over the prairie, and saw the lights of the little town––her home––in the distance.
“It isn’t a short story, and I have only so long”––he pointed along the road ahead to the 269 village beyond––“to tell it in.” He settled back in the seat, and began speaking. His voice was low and soft, like the prairie night-wind.
“Part of the story you know; part of it I think you have guessed; a little of it will be new. For the sake of that little, I will tell all.”
“Thirteen years ago, what is now a little prairie town––then a very little town indeed––gained a new citizen––a boy of nine. A party of farmers found him one day, sleeping in a pile of hay, in the market corner. He lay so they could see how his face was bruised––and how, though asleep, he tossed in pain. He awoke, and, getting up, walked with a limp. Where he came from no one knew, and he would not tell; but his appearance told its own story. He had run away from somewhere. What had happened they could easily imagine.
“It was harvest-time and boys, even though minus a pedigree, were in demand; so he was promptly put on a farm. Though only a child, he had no one to care for him––and he was made to work ceaselessly. 270
“Years passed and brought a marked change in the boy. How he lived was a marvel. It was a country of large families, and no one cared to adopt him. Summers, he would work for his board and clothes, and in winter, by the irony of Nature, for his board only; yet, perhaps because it was the warmest place he knew, he managed to attend district school.
“When a lad of fifteen he began to receive wages––and life’s horizon seemed to change. He dressed neatly, and in winter came to school in the little prairie town. He was put in the lower grades with boys of ten, and even here his blunders made him a laughing-stock; but not for long, for he worked––worked always––and next year was put in the high school.
“There he established a precedent––doing four years’ work in two––and graduated at eighteen. How he did it no one but he himself knew––studying Sundays, holidays, and evenings, when he was so tired that he had to walk the floor to keep awake––but he did it.”