“It’s a sad story, little girl,” replied Adam. “The desert is full of sad stories.... But your uncle—what became of him?”
“He went off prospecting for gold. But he came back several times. And the last was just before father died. Then he said he would come back again for me some day and take me out of the desert. Mother lives on that hope. But I don’t want him to come. All I pray for is that she gets well. I would never leave her.”
“So you’ve lived all your life on the desert?”
“Yes. Mother says I never slept under a real roof.”
“And how old are you?”
“Nearly fourteen.”
“So old as that? Well! I thought you were younger. And, little girl—may I ask how you learned to talk so—as if you had been to school?”
“My mother was a school-teacher. She taught me.”
“What’s your name?”
“It’s Eugenie Linwood. But I don’t like Eugenie. Father and mother always called me Genie.... What’s your name?”