dy mentioned the trip, for which
everything was preparing. I began at last to have a dread of being left
in the night, of wakening some morning to find only Mat and myself with
Aunty Boone in the little log house. Uncle Esmond had already been away
for three days, but nobody told me where he had gone, nor why he went,
nor when he would come back. It kept me awake at night, and the loss of
sleep made me nervous and feverish.

One afternoon about a week after my accident, when Beverly and Mat were
putting the room in order and chattering like a couple of squirrels,
Beverly said, carelessly:

"Gail, it's been a half a week since Uncle Esmond went down to our other
store in Independence, and we are going to start on our trip just as
soon as he gets back, unless he sends for me and Jondo."

I knew that he was trying to tell me that they meant to go without me,
for he hurried out with the last words. No boy wants to talk to a
disappointed boy, and I had to clinch my teeth hard to keep back the
tears.

"I want to get well quicker, Mat. I want to go to Santa Fe with
Beverly," I wailed, making a desperate effort to get out of bed.

"You cuddle right down there, Gail Clarenden, if you want to get well at
all. If you're real careful you'll be all right in a day or two. Let's
wait for Uncle Esmond to come home before we start any worries."

It was in her voice, girl or woman, that comforting note that could
always soothe me.

"Mat, won't you try to get them to let me go?" I pleaded.

She made no promises, but busied herself with getting my foot into its
place again, singing softly to herself all the while. Then she read me
stories from our few story-books till I fell asleep.

It was twilight when I wakened. Where I lay I could hear Esmond
Clarenden and Aunty Boone talking in the kitchen, and I listened eagerly
to all they said.

"But it's no place for a woman," my uncle was urging, gravely.

"I ain't a woman, I'm a cook. You want cooks if you eats. Mat ain't a
woman, she's a girl. But she's stronger 'n Beverly. If you can't leave
him, how can you leave her? An' Gail never get well if he's left here,
Cla'n'den, now he's got the goin' fever. Never! An' if you never got
back--"

"I don't believe he would get well, either." Then Uncle Esmond spoke
lower and I could not hear any more.

Pretty soon Mat and Beverly burst open the door and came dancing in
together, the sweet air of the warm April evening coming in with them