"Ruby's comin'. Feller brought me a letter
she'd sent on by the stage. The driver left it at the sawmill. I'd 'a'
told ye las' night, but ye'd turned in."
"When will you be back?" I called out from between the bedclothes. We
had planned a trip to the Knob the next day, and were to camp out for
the night. He evidently saw my disappointment in my face, for he
answered quickly, as he bent over me:
"Oh, to-night, sure; and maybe Ruby'll go along. There ain't nothin' ye
kin teach her 'bout campin', and she'll go anywheres I'll take
her--leastways, she allus has." This last was said with some hesitation,
as if he had suddenly thought that my presence might make some
difference to her. "Leave yer brushes where I kin git 'em," he
continued, anxious to make up for my disappointment. "I'll wash 'em when
I git back," and he clattered down the steep stairs and slammed the door
behind him.
I jumped from my bed, threw up the narrow, unpainted sash and watched
his tall, awkward figure swinging the lantern as he hurried away toward
the shed where the gray mare lived in solitude.
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