the easy impudence, the loving insolence, the large, feudal lord air of proprietorship, of the man who has just come into possession of the one woman is sometimes a development beyond belief. reprehensible, certainly.
stafford had not slept much. all night he had lain awake, trying to realize what it was that had come to him, the beneficence of providence, the magnitude of what earth has sometimes to give. it was only with dawn that he slept at all, and his dreams were good. as for her, the far away lady, who shall tell what thoughts or dreams were hers?
he came into the dining car that morning, refreshed and exalted, and overlooking and sweeping as an eagle in his first morning swing from his eyrie. he was splendidly intolerable, this triumphant lover who had recovered his equipoise and was himself of the years ago. any lofty simile would do for him. he came stalking in like a king to a coronation, with[385] but one redeeming feature to the look upon his face, an expression which resembled gratitude. and who was it that entered the car a moment or two after he had seated himself at the breakfast table? could this flush-faced, slender creature, bright and almost challenging of eye, be the far away lady, she of the sad and dreamy look! it was she, certainly. dr. love, you are a wonder! all the other physicians of the world, all the health resorts of the world, can neither advise nor have effect toward swift recuperation in comparison with you unhampered! they are but as vapors, or as the things which are not.
the greetings of the morning were exchanged—it was nearly noon, by the way, for they had lain long at denver—the breakfast was ordered and then he leaned back and looked in her face, smilingly: "where shall we live?" he asked blandly, as if it were but a resumed conversation. "have you fallen in love with lotus-eating in southern california, or are there other regions, still?"
did my lady lately, so "sober, steadfast and demure," blanche or start at this daring, overbearing opening? not she. she may have blushed a little, but well she knew the ways of[386] her whimsical, perplexing lover. her eyes flashed back at his with the tender, quizzical look in them and she laughed. then a soberer expression came, and she spoke earnestly and thoughtfully:
"i have heard homesick people, living among the oranges, speak longingly of a place they called 'god's country.' i think we should make our home somewhere in 'god's country,' do you not?"
"yes, dear," he exclaimed delightedly, "but where and what is 'god's country?' we hear about it, but its boundaries seem undefined. i take it that each individual has his or her ideal. i am confident, though, that ours are the same. is not that so?"
"to me," she spoke bravely, "'god's country' is, first of all, where you are, and," she added reverently, "of course god is everywhere."
"bless you," he said, "but, go on. let us consider what we two think the essentials for our own 'god's country.'"
"it must be a country where the grass grows, where sod, turf, close-woven grass, cover the ground," she answered promptly. "the raw, unkempt plains and hills of the arid regions are not for us, nor is the stormless life of the[387] land of oranges and grapes. we want, first of all, the good green sod, and, next, trees, waving, luxuriant elms and oaks and ash and beech and all their kindred, and their vines as well, wild grapes and ivy and bitter-sweet."
he smiled. "you have begun with the command in genesis, instructing the earth to bear, and so on, but i should go one step back in the epic of creation and say, let us live by the waters where they are 'gathered together unto one place.' we must have a great body of water near us and, we must have rain."
"yes, in summer, rain; in winter, snow. i want the four seasons."
"i don't know where we are to find four, that is an absolutely complete four," he said. "we can rarely boast a spring in its entirety. it seems to exist only in the dreams of the poets, or in england. i saw a real spring in england. but there are some pretty fair imitations of it, i'll admit, in many of our states, notably, for instance, in michigan and wisconsin." adroit, time-serving man!
"well, we can get along without an elaborate spring," she laughed, "if we can have a june, a real june, once a year."
and so they considered deliciously until it was[388] decided that "god's country" for them, implied a green country in summer and a white country in winter, with vast water near, if possible, and that from maine to the western mountains it existed, all without prejudice to other "god's countries" for other mortals elsewhere born.
straightforward, reckless, trusting confidence, was it not, this conversation between the man and woman thus rejoined, but he was of the sort who do things, and she was a woman given fully. besides—though in a world which ended—they had dreamed before.
this matter of great importance settled, there was silence for a time. he looked upon her with devouring eyes. at last he broke forth:
"now i want to draw my breath, but find it difficult. i am going to lean back and study you and try to think of the world as it has rearranged itself. i have not grasped it all yet. it is odd; it is great! i have you and you can't get away from me now! it is wonderful, this sudden possession, the possession rightly, even in all the conventional, in all that the weakling centuries dictate. no wonder that i am dazed. ever as the world revolves, come new revelations of thought and of all existence. i dreamed that i knew things, but i didn't.[389]
"what are you going to do about it, dearie? my heart is like a kettle in which everything is boiling, and it is foaming over the top with love for you. can you not help me? what are you going to put into the kettle to stop this unseemly boiling? i don't want you to pour in cold water, or take the kettle off, or put the fire out. oh, well, let 'er boil! i am afraid, my dear, that you will have to take care of me most of the time. i'm irresponsible.
"let us talk about something practical, my dear woman," he rambled on. "you look at me with your great eyes, and you know what the inevitable is. you know that you and i must face the world and all its dragons together after this. what fun it will be! have you any suggestions to make? by the way, i like the trick of the top of your garments, the arrangement about your throat. you have tact and taste, and sense, my dear, yet you lack a mountain of judgment and discretion. you have intrusted yourself to me, reckless person! now, cut loose and tell me something. i think that expression 'cut loose' is one of the best of all our americanisms. tell me something."
what could the woman say? she was puzzled over this wild, fumbling-thoughted lover,[390] with his commingled gleams of fact and fancy. but ever to the more admirable of the sexes comes divination. there came into this gentle woman's mind a sudden radiance of comprehension. she knew what he was seeking. he wanted her, with all the selfishness of love, to be foolish with him. and this is what she said:
"i don't know. i only know what i think of his heart and soul, of the resources and qualities of one man in the world and that i am but the dependent woman—and i am most content, dear."
then she became more venturesome and spoke more definitely and practically, as she knew he wished her to. she looked him squarely in the eyes:
"make that place for us across the lake, the place of which we dreamed. never mind now about the town house. that will take care of itself, but the dream place, the 'shack,' will not. when you were working with your coolies in another hemisphere i hope and believe you had your dreams about me, hopeless as they may have seemed. i want to tell you, great heart, that men do not dream all the dreams. is it unwomanly, is it not just to you and as it[391] should be that i should say to you now that the woman in america"—and her voice was tremulous—"was dreaming quite as constantly and sadly as the man upon the russian steppes."
she was looking at him steadfastly and in her eyes were tears and the light which gleams only when the dearest of all fires is burning, a light reflected and intensified, if that were possible, in the eyes of him who was leaning silently forward and hardly breathing. she had gratified his wish. she had "cut loose."
they looked out upon the kansas prairie, across which the train was scurrying. there were occasional houses, far apart, but the notable objects of the landscape were gaunt windmills which in midsummer drew water for the herds of cattle which even at this season could be seen huddled, more or less comfortably, here and there. the wind had swept bare great patches of pasture land and some of the cattle were browsing contentedly upon the dried grass left in autumn. there were many herds of them but the simile of "cattle on a thousand hills" did not apply, for there were no hills. the travelers looked out upon what was but an illimitable white blanket, with dots upon it.[392] they looked upon a great country, but it was not for them.
they left the dining car and visited the cassowary, where were still assembled a number of the group for whom through the days of imprisonment the luxurious sleeper had been a gathering-place, but they did not linger there. they sought the sleeping-car of the far away lady where they lingered until night fell, for what they had said to each other was only the beginning. they had much to tell, and when stafford slept that night there came to him no vexing or distempered dreams. he had come to a full realization of his new world and all its points of compass. to this strong, almost turbulent character a great peace and content had come. though he was lying in the berth of a sleeping car there were in his ears, vague and incomplete words of the hackneyed but pleasant benediction:
