2

Virginia Royall came to the door, as I sort of suspected she might.  At first she started back as if she hardly knew me.  Maybe she didn’t; for Magnus Thorkelson had got me to shaving, and with all that gosling’s down off my face, I suppose I looked older and more man-like than before.  So she took a long look at me, and then ran to me and took both my hands in hers and pressed them—­pressed them so that I remembered it always.

“Why, Teunis,” she cried, “is it you?  I thought I was never going to see you again!”

“Yes,” I said, “it’s me—­it’s me.  I came—­” and then I stopped, bogged down.

“You came to see me,” she said, “and I think you’ve waited long enough.  Only three friends in the world, you, and Mrs. Thorndyke, and Mr. Thorndyke—­and you off there on the prairie all these weeks and never came to see me—­or us!  Tell me about the farm, and the cows, and the new house—­I’ve heard of it—­and your foreigner friend, and all about it.  Have you any little calves?”

I was able to report that Spot, the heifer that we had such a time driving, had a little calf that was going to look just like its mother; and then I described to her the section of land—­all but a little of it down in Hell Slew; and how I hoped to buy a piece across the line so as to have a real farm.  Pretty soon we were talking just as we used to talk back there east of Waterloo.

“I came to see you and Elder Thorndyke and his wife,” I said, “because I’m going back to Dubuque to get a load of freight, and I thought I might bring something for you.”

“Oh,” said she, “take me with you, Teunis, take me with you!”

“Could you go?” I asked, my heart in my mouth.

“No, oh, no!” she said.  “There’s nobody in Kentucky for me to go to; and I haven’t any money to pay my way with anyhow.  I am alone in the world, Teunis, except for you and my new father and mother—­and I’m afraid they are pretty poor, Teunis, to feed and clothe a big girl like me!”

“How much money would it take?” I asked.  “I guess I could raise it for you, Virginia.”

“You’re a nice boy, Teunis,” she said, with tears in her eyes, “and I know how well you like money, too; but there’s nobody left there.  I’m very lonely—­but I’m as well off here as anywhere.  I’d just like to go with you, though, for when I’m with you I feel so—­so safe.”

“Safe?” said I.  “Why aren’t you safe here?  Is any one threatening you?  Has Buckner Gowdy been around here?  Just tell me if he bothers you, and I’ll—­I’ll—­”

“Well,” said she, “he came here and claimed me from Mr. Thorndyke.  He said I was an infant—­what do you think of that?—­an infant—­in law; and that he is my guardian.  And a lawyer named Creede, came and talked about his right, not he said by consanguinity, but affinity, whatever that is—­”

“I know Mr. Creede,” said I.  “He rode with me for two or three days.  I don’t believe he’ll wrong any one.”