A love story even on the plains, with the rain
dribbling in through the cracks of the canvas, possessed the old,
deathless charm. The doctor and his philanthropies, on which she would
have liked to dilate, were given the perfunctory attention that
politeness demanded. By himself the good man is dull, he has to have a
woman on his arm to carry weight. David, the lover, and Susan, the
object of his love, were the hero and heroine of the story. Even the
married woman forgot the turning of the heel and fastened her mild gaze
on the young girl.
"And such a handsome fellow," she said. "I said to Lucy--she'll tell
you if I didn't--that there wasn't a man to compare with him in our
train. And so gallant and polite. Last night, when I was heating the
water to wash the children, he carried the pails for me. None of the
men with us do that. They'd never think of offering to carry our
buckets."
Her husband who had appeared to be asleep said:
"Why should they?" and then shouted "Gee Haw" and made a futile kick
toward the nearest ox.
Nobody paid any attention to him and Lucy said:
"Yes, he's very fine looking.
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