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Updated: May 2, 2025
She was the topic of every lumber-camp, and the shining lure of every dance to which the ranch hands often rode over long and lonely trails. Part of this intense interest was due, naturally, to the scarcity of desirable women, but a larger part was called out by Berea's frank freedom of manner.
While he talked on, telling the youth how to beat out a small blaze and how to head off a large one, Wayland listened, but heard his instructions only as he sensed the brook, as an accompaniment to Berea's voice, for as she busied herself clearing away the dishes and putting the camp to rights, she sang.
He had hoped by this time to be as sinewy, as alert as Nash, instead of which here he sat, shivering over the fire like a sick girl, his head swollen, his blood sluggish; but this discouragement only increased Berea's tenderness a tenderness which melted all his reserve. "I'm not worth all your care," he said to her, with poignant glance.
He had perfect faith in his daughter's purity and honesty, and he liked and trusted Norcross, and yet he knew that should Belden find it to his advantage to slander these young people, and to read into their action the lawlessness of his own youth, Berea's reputation, high as it was, would suffer, and her mother's heart be rent with anxiety.
Exteriorly the low cabin made a drab, depressing picture; but as he alighted upon Berea's invitation and entered the house, he was met by a sweet-faced, brown-haired little woman in a neat gown, whose bearing was not in the least awkward or embarrassed. "This is Mr. Norcross, the tourist I told you about," explained Berrie. Mrs. McFarlane extended her small hand with friendly impulse.
Berea's popularity was not so remarkable as her manner of receiving it. She took it all as a sort of joke a good, kindly joke. She shook hands with her male admirers, and smacked the cheeks of her female friends with an air of modest deprecation. "Oh, you don't mean it," was one of her phrases.
Norcross considered it the most disorderly home he had ever seen, and yet it was not without a certain dignity. The rooms were large and amply provided with furniture of a very mixed and gaudy sort, and the table was spread with abundance. One of the lads, Frank Meeker, a dark, intense youth of about twenty, was Berea's full cousin.
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