Part 37 (1/2)

There was an undulant, caressing sweetness in the girl's voice, as she sung out the call in perfect confidence that it would bring a loving answer, that struck deep in Mrs. Comstock's heart. She never had heard that word so p.r.o.nounced before and a lump arose in her throat.

”Here!” she answered, still cleaning dandelions.

”Mother, this is Mr. Philip Ammon, of Chicago,” said Elnora. ”He has been ill and he is staying with Dr. Ammon in Onabasha. He came down the creek fis.h.i.+ng and cut this coc.o.o.n from under the bridge for me. He feels that it would be better to hunt moths than to fish, until he is well.

What do you think about it?”

Philip Ammon extended his hand. ”I am glad to know you,” he said.

”You may take the hand-shaking for granted,” replied Mrs. Comstock.

”Dandelions have a way of making fingers sticky, and I like to know a man before I take his hand, anyway. That introduction seems mighty comprehensive on your part, but it still leaves me uncla.s.sified. My name is Comstock.”

Philip Ammon bowed.

”I am sorry to hear you have been sick,” said Mrs. Comstock. ”But if people will live where they have such vile water as they do in Chicago, I don't see what else they are to expect.”

Philip studied her intently.

”I am sure I didn't have a fever on purpose,” he said.

”You do seem a little wobbly on your legs,” she observed. ”Maybe you had better sit and rest while I finish these greens. It's late for the genuine article, but in the shade, among long gra.s.s they are still tender.”

”May I have a leaf?” he asked, reaching for one as he sat on the bank, looking from the little creek at his feet, away through the dim cool s.p.a.ces of the June forest on the opposite side. He drew a deep breath.

”Glory, but this is good after almost two months inside hospital walls!”

He stretched on the gra.s.s and lay gazing up at the leaves, occasionally asking the interpretation of a bird note or the origin of an unfamiliar forest voice. Elnora began helping with the dandelions.

”Another, please,” said the young man, holding out his hand.

”Do you suppose this is the kind of gra.s.s Nebuchadnezzar ate?” Elnora asked, giving the leaf.

”He knew a good thing if it is.”

”Oh, you should taste dandelions boiled with bacon and served with mother's cornbread.”

”Don't! My appet.i.te is twice my size now. While it is--how far is it to Onabasha, shortest cut?”

”Three miles.”

The man lay in perfect content, nibbling leaves.

”This surely is a treat,” he said. ”No wonder you find good hunting here. There seems to be foliage for almost every kind of caterpillar.

But I suppose you have to exchange for northern species and Pacific Coast kinds?”

”Yes. And every one wants Regalis in trade. I never saw the like. They consider a Cecropia or a Polyphemus an insult, and a Luna is barely acceptable.”

”What authorities have you?”

Elnora began to name text-books which started a discussion. Mrs.

Comstock listened. She cleaned dandelions with greater deliberation than they ever before were examined. In reality she was taking stock of the young man's long, well-proportioned frame, his strong hands, his smooth, fine-textured skin, his thick shock of dark hair, and making mental notes of his simple manly speech and the fact that he evidently did know much about moths. It pleased her to think that if he had been a neighbour boy who had lain beside her every day of his life while she worked, he could have been no more at home. She liked the things he said, but she was proud that Elnora had a ready answer which always seemed appropriate.

At last Mrs. Comstock finished the greens.