y.

When the three were gone, after strict injunctions from Mr. Gundry, and
his grandson too, that I was on no account to venture beyond calling
distance from the house, for fear of being run away with, I found the
place so sad and lonesome that I scarcely knew what to do. I had no fear
of robbers, though there were plenty in the neighborhood; for we still
had three or four men about, who could be thoroughly trusted, and
who staid with us on half wages rather than abandon the Sawyer in his
trouble. Suan Isco, also, was as brave as any man, and could shoot well
with a rifle. Moreover, the great dog Jowler was known and dreaded by
all his enemies. He could pull down an Indian, or two half-castes, or
three Mexicans, in about a second; and now he always went about with me,
having formed a sacred friendship.

Uncle Sam had kissed me very warmly when he said "good-by," and Firm had
shown some disposition to follow his example; but much as I liked and
admired Firm, I had my own ideas as to what was unbecoming, and now
in my lonely little walks I began to think about it. My father's
resting-place had not been invaded by the imperious flood, although a
line of driftage, in a zigzag swath, lay near the mound. This was my
favorite spot for thinking, when I felt perplexed and downcast in my
young unaided mind. For although I have not spoken of my musings very
copiously, any one would do me wrong who fancied that I was indifferent.
Through the great kindness of Mr. Gundry and other good friends around
me, I had no bitter sense as yet of my own dependence and poverty. But
the vile thing I had heard about my father, the horrible slander
and wicked falsehood--for such I was certain it must be--this was
continually in my thoughts, and quite destroyed my cheerfulness. And
the worst of it was that I never could get my host to enter into it.
Whenever I began, his face would change and his manner grow constrained,
and his chief desire always seemed to lead me to some other subject.

One day, when the heat of the summer came forth, and the peaches began
to blush toward it, and bronze-ribbed figs grew damask-gray with a
globule of sirup in their eyes, and melons and pumpkins already had
curved their fluted stalks with heaviness, and the dust of the plains
was beginning to fly, and the bright spring flowers were dead more
swiftly even than they first were born, I sat with Suan Isco at my
father's cross, and told her to make me cry with some