The discovery of the incomplete journal made a subtle change in Adam.
He had been silent and self-absorbed from the first, but he had never
quite given up hope. Even now, Robin sought to keep up the pretence,
and dreading the despair which she saw creeping over Adam, she began
artfully to seek some means of interesting him in something else. The
question of a proper place for the books gave her an opportunity, and
Adam suggested that he build an addition to the house.
They planned it as eagerly as if it was to be a castle, and spent days
in looking for adobe, but finally decided that logs would be better,
and Adam's ax could have been heard ringing from morning till night. A
log house is not exactly a work of art, but it requires no little
skill to build one, and takes a good deal of time when the logs for
the floor must be planed and squared, so as to make a matched board
floor. Sometimes Robin went with Adam, and worked or read; sometimes
she took him his luncheon at noon, for the trees were at some little
distance from the house. The logs had to be "snaked" across the rough
ground and down the mountain, and when the floor had been laid, and
the location of the window decided upon, Robin planted morning-glory
seeds where it was to be. By dint of much pushing and hauling the logs
were finally put in place, and the roof battened down. The window was
truly worthy of a mediæval castle, for it was simply an oblong hole,
boxed in with a casement made from some scraps of boards, while a slab
shutter, swung on leather hinges, shut out the elements.
The chinking was a simple matter, and when it was all done, including
a doorway into the main room, Robin was unfeignedly delighted. They
made rows of shelves with the packing-cases, and arranged the books
thereon. It was not an extensive library, but it occupied one side of
the room, and was a godsend to them. Under the window Robin placed the
green covered desk, and placed on it Adam's writing materials. Along
the inside wall Adam built a bunk, after the fashion in miners'
cabins, and with a mattress stuffed with the soft inner cornhusk, and
a pillow from the other room, and blankets from the one tiny closet,
the couch looked sufficiently inviting. On the floor Robin spread mats
made from plaited cornhusk, and in the doorway hung a portière, woven
from the same material on a loom that a Navajo might not have utterly
despised.
Adam's scanty wardrobe was transferred to pegs in one corner of the
room, one or two stools were set first here, then there, until Robin
was sure the best effect had been secured, and when all was done that
they could accomplish with the means at hand, and the morning-glory
blossoms came peeping in at the window, the room was by no means
unattractive.
Then Robin's housewifely soul took refuge in house-cleaning, and she
scrubbed and arranged and re-arranged, while Adam repaired or invented
furniture, until inside and out their little domain was as perfect as
they could make it.
Between them there had again fallen one of those long silences they
dreaded, but seemed powerless to prevent. As the voice of the
turtledove was lifted in the plaintive notes of nesting time, Adam
harrowed three acres of the plowed land and planted it in wheat and
corn. The perennial garden was flourishing, and there was nothing to
do. Adam said so one day, with an air of calm finality.
Robin regarded him uneasily. The time had not yet come when he could
sit down and write, though she had brewed an excellent ink, and the
paper waited on the desk in his room. She considered for a moment,
then said brightly, "Don't you remember what Myron used to say? How
when his friends got rich they first built a beautiful house, and then
went abroad for three years? Let us go traveling; wouldn't you like
it?"
The alacrity with which he acquiesced proved how well he liked it, and
he started out at once to get the burros, and make ready for the
expedition.
Robin baked and prepared as well as she could.
"It's a good thing I had a Southern grandmother," she soliloquized, as
she put her beaten biscuit in the Dutch oven and pulled the coals over
it. "And it's a good thing my mother crossed the plains and learned
how to make biscuit in the mouth of her flour sack, and," as she
rolled out some crackers, "it is a blessed good thing I went to
cooking-school, but I wish that, instead of being so particular about
the knobs on the candlesticks, the Pentateuch had given Sarah's recipe
for making cakes with honey. Not that I have any honey, but I am sure
we shall find some on this trip."
When they were all ready, and the burros stood waiting at the door,
with Lassie jumping wildly about them, Adam wrote a placard which he
stuck in the framework of the door. The stock had been turned loose on
the mountain-side, and the house and stables secured as well as
possible against any storms that might arise. The kittens had
possession of one of the sheds. The puppies were to accompany them.
Robin had put on her long unused shoes, and a new gown that she had
made out of a dark blue serge found hanging in her room. Adam looked
at her approvingly from under his wide sombrero. She turned back,
after going a few paces, and read the card.