"I took nearly six weeks to earn the money to pay you back. I told you
I'd never take another cent from you, and I never will."
"Why not?"
"Because I want you to know that I care nothing, nothing at
all--nothing, nothing, about your money, that you said every one else
wanted. _I_ only care for _you_. I do."
I had run along headlong with my speech, and now I was afraid of what I
had said.
He did not say a word after that, and presently I added shakily:
"Don't you see that I can't let you help me again unless you care for
me as I do for you? Don't you see that?"
He poked at the gravel with his cane, and after a moment he said very
gently:
"I see that you are a very foolish little girl."
"You mean because I--care for you?" I asked.
"Because you've made yourself believe you do," he said.
"I _do_," I said earnestly. "I haven't thought of anything else except
you."
"Nonsense! You mustn't get sentimental about me. Let's talk of
something else. Have you been writing anything lately?"
I told him of the stories I was writing about my mother's land, and he
said:
"But you've never been there, child."
"I know," I said; "but, then, I have an instinctive feeling about that
country. A blind man can find his way over paths that he intuitively
feels. And so with me. I feel as if I knew everything about that land,
and when I sit down to write--why, things just come pouring to me, and
I can write _anything_ then."