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"Why," said Pen, twiddling the stalks of the strawberries, "I I," but this sentence never finished; for Pen's face was so comical and embarrassed, as the Major watched it, that the elder could contain his gravity no longer, and burst into a fit of laughter, in which chorus Pen himself was obliged to join after a minute: when he broke out fairly into a guffaw.
The sum was in truth but small, although enough to make a little heiress of Fanny Bolton, whose parents were appeased, and whose father said Mr. P. had acted quite as the gentleman though Bows growled out that that to plaster a wounded heart with a banknote was an easy kind of sympathy; and poor Fanny felt only too clearly that Pen's letter was one of farewell.
The picture was a snapshot of Jim in his football togs. The bit of paper, unfolded, showed in Pen's handwriting a verse from Christina Rossetti: "Too late for love, too late for joy; Too late! Too late!
Oscar joined in Pen's laugh and started for the door, shaking his head and picking his teeth. Pen looked after him uneasily. That afternoon Pen and Jane went with Bill and Oscar for an automobile ride over the desert. The two women sat in the tonneau, Oscar in front with Bill. The desert road was rough, full of bowlders and ruts. But neither Oscar nor Bill was hampered by roads.
So at the office all the afternoon and the evening till past to at night expecting Sir W. Pen's coming, but he not coming to-night I went thither and there lay very well, and like my lodging well enough. My man Will after he had got me to bed did go home and lay there, and my maid Jane lay among my goods at Sir W. Pen's.
Suddenly Pen's lips quivered. Just as the train began to move, "Jim!" she whispered. And she leaned over and caught his face between her hands and kissed him quickly on the lips. Then she slipped into the coach. Jim dropped off the train and stood staring unseeingly at Uncle Denny and Henderson. A to-hee sang its morning song from a nearby cactus: "O yahee! O yahai! Sweet as arrow weed in spring!"
Thence homewards, and called in at Antony Joyce's, where we found his wife brought home sick from church, and was in a convulsion fit. So home and to Sir W. Pen's and there supped, and so to prayers at home and to bed. 5th. My arme not being well, I staid within all the morning, and dined alone at home, my wife being gone out to buy some things for herself, and a gown for me to dress myself in.
August 1st. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon my wife and I dined at Sir W. Pen's, only with Mrs. Turner and her husband, on a damned venison pasty, that stunk like a devil. However, I did not know it till dinner was done. We had nothing but only this, and a leg of mutton, and a pullet or two. Mrs. Markham was here, with her great belly.
I tell you that eternity is made up of soul fights like mine and Pen's!" Suddenly there came to him the fragment that Pen had quoted to him days before: "What though the field be lost? All is not lost the unconquerable will, And courage never to submit nor yield; And what is else, not to be overcome!" Jim suddenly rose with his blood quickened. "Not to be overcome!
"What do you mean, Pen?" asked Jim. The girl shook her head. "I don't quite know. Some day, when I've learned some of the lessons Aunt Mary says are coming to me, I'll tell you." Then a look almost of fright came to Pen's face. "I'm afraid to learn the lessons, Still Jim. Take me with you now, Jimmy." The tall boy looked at her longingly, then he said: "Dear, I mustn't.
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