The town to him was a maze of bewildering complexity and magnificence,
and he wandered about for a day in awkward silence, hesitating to
inquire the way to the Converse home. He found it at last, a pretty
cottage standing on a broad terrace, amid trees and vines vivid with the
autumn hues; and if any thought of asking Lida to exchange it for a
shack on a ranch still lingered in his mind, it was instantly wiped out
by his first glance at the place.
He walked by on the opposite side of the street, and climbed the mesa
back of the house to spy upon it from the rear, hoping to detect his
loved one walking about under the pear-trees. But she did not appear.
After an hour or so he came down and paced back and forth with eyes on
the gate, unable to leave the street till his soul was fed by one look
at her.
As the sun sank, and the dusk began to come on, he grew a little more
reckless of being recognized, and, crossing the way, continued to
sentinel the gate. He was passing it for the fourth time when Lida came
out upon the porch with an older woman. She looked at the stranger
curiously, but did not recognize him. She wore a hat, and was plainly
about to go for a walk.
Roy knew he ought to hurry away, but he did not. On the contrary, he
shamelessly met her with a solemn, husky-voiced greeting. "Hello, girl!
How's Uncle Dan?"
She started back in alarm, then flushed as she recognized him. "How dare
you speak to me--like that!"
In this moment, as he looked into her face, his courage began to come
back to him. "Why didn't you answer my letters?" he asked, putting her
on defense.
"What business had you to write to me? I told you I would not answer."
"No, you didn't; you only said you wouldn't _speak_ to me again."
"Well, you knew what I meant," she replied, with less asperity.
Someway these slight concessions brought back his audacity, his power of
defense. "You bet I did; but what difference does that make to a sick
man? Oh, I've had a time! I'm no use to the world since you left. I told
you the truth--you're my sun, moon, and stars, and I've come down to say
it just once more before I pull out for Alaska. I'm going to quit the
state. The whole valley is on to my case of loco, and I'm due at the
north pole. I've come to say good-by. Here's where I take my congee."
She read something desperate in the tone of his voice. "What do you
mean? You aren't really leaving?"
"That's what. Here's where I break camp. I can't go on this way. I've
got the worst fever anybody ever had, I reckon. I can't eat or sleep or
work, just on account of studying about you. You've got me goin' in a
circle, and if you don't say you forgive me--it's me to the bone-yard,
and that's no joke, you'll find."
She tried to laugh, but something in his worn face, intense eyes, and
twitching lips made her breathing very difficult. "You mustn't talk like
that. It's just as foolish as can be."
"Well, that don't help me a little bit. You no business to come into my
life and tear things up the way you did. I was all right till you came.
I liked myself and my neighbors bully; now nothing interests me--but
just you--and your opinion of me. You think I was a cowardly coyote
putting up that job on your uncle the way I did. Well, I admit it; but
I've been aching to tell you I've turned into another kind of farmer
since then. You've educated me. Seems like I was a kid; but I've grown
up into a man all of a sudden, and I'm startin' on a new line of action.
I'm not asking much to-day, just a nice, easy word. It would be a heap
of comfort to have you shake hands and say you're willing to let the
past go. Now, that ain't much to you, but it's a whole lot to me. Girl,
you've got to be good to me this time."
She was staring straight ahead of her with breath quickened by the
sincere passion in his quivering voice. The manly repentance which
burdened his soul reached her heart. After all, it was true: he had been
only a reckless, thoughtless boy as he planned that raid on her uncle,
and he had been so kind and helpful afterward--and so merry! It was
pitiful to see how changed he was, how repentant and sorrowful.
She turned quickly, and with a shy, teary smile thrust her hand toward
him. "All right. Let's forget it." Then as he hungrily, impulsively
sought to draw her nearer, she laughingly pushed him away. "I don't
mean--so much as you think." But the light of forgiveness and something
sweeter was in her face as she added: "Won't you come in a minute and
see mother and father--and Uncle Dan?"
"I'm _wild_ to see Uncle Dan," he replied with comical inflection, as he
followed her slowly up the path.