“Ellen!” burst out Sprague, hoarsely. “You mistook me. Aw, I didn’t mean—what you think, I swear.... Ellen, I’m old an’ blunt. I ain’t used to wimmen. But I’ve love for you, child, an’ respect, jest the same as if you was my own.... An’ I KNOW you’re good.... Forgive me.... I meant only hevn’t you been, say, sort of—careless?”
“Care-less?” queried Ellen, bitterly and low.
“An’ powerful thoughtless an’—an’ blind—lettin’ men kiss you an’ fondle you—when you’re really a growed-up woman now?”
“Yes—I have,” whispered Ellen.
“Wal, then, why did you let them?
“I—I don’t know.... I didn’t think. The men never let me alone—never—never! I got tired everlastingly pushin’ them away. And sometimes—when they were kind—and I was lonely for something I—I didn’t mind if one or another fooled round me. I never thought. It never looked as y’u have made it look.... Then—those few times ridin’ the trail to Grass Valley—when people saw me—then I guess I encouraged such attentions.... Oh, I must be—I am a shameless little hussy!”
“Hush thet kind of talk,” said the old man, as he took her hand. “Ellen, you’re only young an’ lonely an’ bitter. No mother—no friends—no one but a lot of rough men! It’s a wonder you hev kept yourself good. But now your eyes are open, Ellen. They’re brave an’ beautiful eyes, girl, an’ if you stand by the light in them you will come through any trouble. An’ you’ll be happy. Don’t ever forgit that. Life is hard enough, God knows, but it’s unfailin’ true in the end to the man or woman who finds the best in them an’ stands by it.”
“Uncle John, y’u talk so—so kindly. Yu make me have hope. There seemed really so little for me to live for—hope for.... But I’ll never be a coward again—nor a thoughtless fool. I’ll find some good in me—or make some—and never fail it, come what will. I’ll remember your words. I’ll believe the future holds wonderful things for me.... I’m only eighteen. Shore all my life won’t be lived heah. Perhaps this threatened fight over sheep and cattle will blow over.... Somewhere there must be some nice girl to be a friend—a sister to me.... And maybe some man who’d believe, in spite of all they say—that I’m not a hussy.”
“Wal, Ellen, you remind me of what I was wantin’ to tell you when you just got here.... Yestiddy I heerd you called thet name in a barroom. An’ thar was a fellar thar who raised hell. He near killed one man an’ made another plumb eat his words. An’ he scared thet crowd stiff.”
Old John Sprague shook his grizzled head and laughed, beaming upon Ellen as if the memory of what he had seen had warmed his heart.