A YOUNG OVERSEER
Sunday dawned gloriously, and Dan declared that he felt better than he
had supposed that he ever would again. Jane, too, though she did not
voice it, was conscious of feeling more invigorated than she had been in
the East, and yet, of course, she was very glad that she was going back
again on the following Tuesday. She would go directly to Newport to visit
Merry Starr, as had been their original plan. Her conscience would not
trouble her, since it was Dan's wish that she be the one to leave.
The two children, on the evening before, had failed to confide that they
had visited the cabin up the mountain road. They were wild to tell Dan,
but they wished to get him off by himself before they did so. They
dragged him out into the kitchen after the Sunday morning work was done
and asked him if he would go with them for a hike up along the brook to a
natural bridge that they could see from their door-yard.
The older lad hesitated. "I'll ask Jane if she would like to go," he
began, but the immediate disappointment expressed by the two freckled
faces made him turn back to add, "Or, rather, I'll ask Jane if she minds
our going, just for a little while." This suggestion was far more
pleasing to the children.
They all entered the living-room where Jane sat reading. "My goodness,
don't go far," she said petulantly. "Don't you remember that the terrible
overseer from the Packard ranch is coming to take dinner with you today?
I intend to shut myself in my room and stay there until he is gone."
"Hm!" Dan snapped his fingers as he ejaculated. "Queer I'd forget that
visit, since I have been looking forward to it so eagerly." Then he
queried: "Why do you say that he is terrible, Jane? A foreman on a vast
cattle ranch is not necessarily an uncouth specimen of humanity."
The girl flung herself impatiently in the chair as she emphatically
replied: "Of course he'll be terrible! A big, rawboned creature who will
speak with a dreadful dialect, or whatever you call it; and he will be so
embarrassed at meeting people from the city, that he will stutter more
than likely."
Dan laughed at the description. "Maybe you are right, sister of mine, but
we'll be home to prepare the meal for our guest, long before the hour he
is to arrive. Goodbye! Fire off the gun if you are frightened at
anything."
The girl merely shrugged her shoulders, and when they were gone she
decided, since it really was very lovely out-of-doors, to take her book
to the porch, and so she dragged thither the comfortable chair with the
leather pillows. She was soon reading the story, which interested her so
greatly that she did not notice the passing of time until she heard a
step near by. Jane supposed that her family was returning, and did not
glance up until she heard a pleasant, well-modulated voice saying:
"Pardon me if I intrude, but is this the cabin occupied by the Abbott
family?"
Looking up in astonishment, Jane saw before her a handsome youth whose
wide Stetson hat was held in one hand. He wore a tan-colored shirt of
soft flannel, and his corduroys, of the same shade, were tucked into
high, laced boots. Even before she spoke, Jane was conscious that the
youth with the clean-shaven face, strong square chin, pleasant mouth,
blue eyes with clear, direct gaze was not in the least embarrassed by her
presence. He was indeed the kind of a lad she had always met in the homes
of her best friends, the kind that Dan was. But that of which she was
most conscious was the fact that he was very good looking, and that in
his eyes there was an expression of sincere admiration for her.
Graciously Jane rose and held out a slim white hand. "We are the
Abbotts," she began; then, laughingly confessed that, unfortunately, she
was the only one at home, as the others had gone on a hike--she really
had not inquired where.
The lad did not seem to consider it unfortunate. "Please be seated again,
Miss Abbott, and I'll occupy the door-step, if you don't mind. I'd heaps
rather meet strangers one by one. It's easier to get acquainted."
Then, as he thought of something, he exclaimed: "I hope I have not come
over much earlier than I was expected. I hiked all the way. I thought it
might be easier to come cross-lots, so to speak, than to ride horseback
to Redfords and then up your mountain road."
"Was it?" Jane asked, wishing to appear interested.
"It was great! I adore mountain climbing, don't you, Miss Abbott?"
Then, not waiting for her reply, he continued with boyish enthusiasm: "I
tell you, it means a lot to me to have you Abbotts here. I love the West,
but I've missed my friends. We'll have great times! How long are you
going to stay?"
Jane hesitated. She should have replied that she was leaving on Tuesday,
but now she was not sure that she wished to go.
For a merry half hour these two chattered. The lad seemed to be quite
willing to talk of everything but his home, and Jane was too well bred to
ask questions. Jean told of his college life, and when she asked if he
regretted that his days of study were over, he laughingly declared that
they never would be. "Mr. Packard is a great student," he looked up
brightly to say, "and our long winter evenings, that some chaps might
call dull, are the most interesting I have ever spent. We take one
subject after another and go into it thoroughly. We're most interested in
experimental inventions and we have rigged up all sorts of labor saving
contrivances over on the ranch." Recalling something which for the moment
had been forgotten, Jean exclaimed: "Mr. Packard wished me to invite you
all to visit us as soon as you are quite settled here."
Then with that unconscious admiration in his eyes, he concluded: "For
myself I most eagerly second the invitation." Jane's vanity was indeed
gratified. She laughed a happy musical laugh which sounded natural,
although it had really been cultivated. "I am greatly flattered that you
should be so anxious to entertain the Abbotts," she told him, "since I am
the only one of us whom you have met."
"True!" he confessed, merrily, "but you know we scientists can visualize
an entire family from one specimen. How could the other three be
undesirable when one is so lovely? Maybe it's because I am a blonde that
I admire the olive type of beauty."
Just why she said it Jane could not have told, unless the memory of what
that awful Gabby at the station had said still rankled. Be that as it
may, almost without her conscious direction she heard herself saying: "I
suppose, then, that you must be a great admirer of Meg Heger?" There was
a note in the girl's voice which made the lad look up a bit puzzled. What
he said in reply was both pleasing and displeasing to his companion. With
a ring of sincerity he assured his listener that there were few girls
finer than Meg Heger.
"I do not know her personally very well," he told Jane. "She seems to
shun the acquaintance of all young people. I sometimes think that she may
believe her friendship would not be desired since she is supposed to be
the daughter of that old Ute Indian, but this is not true. We in the West
ask not the parentage but the sincerity of our friends. It's through her
foster-father that I know the girl, really. I often go with him to the
timber line and above it, when I am not needed on the ranch. It's a
beautiful thing to hear him tell how Meg has enriched their lives."
Then, as his direct gaze was again lifted to the olive-tinted face of the
girl near him, he said frankly: "Many of the cowboys and others of our
neighbors rave about Meg's beauty. But I do not admire the Spanish or
French type as much as I do our very own American girl."
Jean did not say in words which American girl he thought wonderfully
lovely to look upon, but his eyes were eloquent.
Jane could have sat there basking in the lad's evident admiration for
hours, but the position of the sun, high above them, suggested to her
that something must be amiss. "I wonder why Dan and the children do not
return," she said, rising to look up the brook trail. Jean leaped to his
feet and together they went around the cabin and scanned the
mountain-side and the lad yodeled, but there was no response.
"Of course, nothing could have happened to them all," Jane assured him.
"They have gone farther than they planned, I suppose." Then, turning with
a helpless little laugh, she said in her most winning way (and Jane could
be quite irresistible when she wished), "I have a terrible confession to
make. You will have to starve if they do not return, for I have never
learned to cook."
"Great! I'm glad you haven't, because that will give me an opportunity of
shining in an art at which I excel." The lad seemed brimming over with
enthusiasm. Jane smiled up at him. He stood a head taller than she, with
wide, square shoulders that looked so strong and capable of carrying
whatever burden might be placed upon them.
"How did you happen to learn how to cook?" the girl inquired, and then
wondered at the sudden change of expression in his handsome face. The
joyful enthusiasm of the moment before was gone and in its place was an
expression both tender and sad. "The last year of my little mother's life
we two went alone to our cabin on the Maine coast. Mums wanted to take
our Chinaman, but I begged her to let me have her all alone by myself,
and so under her direction I learned to cook. Miss Abbott," the boy
turned toward her, seeming to feel sure of her understanding sympathy,
"that was the happiest summer of my life, but it had the saddest ending,
for, try as I might to keep her, my little mother faded away and left
us." Then abruptly he exclaimed, as though he dared not trust himself to
keep on: "Won't you lead me to the kitchen, and when the wanderers return
we will have a feast ready for them."