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Updated: June 17, 2025
And to think you stood it!... Why, old Fifth Avenue, if you needed to make another hit with me you've done it!" His warmth amazed and pleased Carley. She could not quite understand why it would have made any difference to him whether she had stood the ordeal or not. But then every day she seemed to drift a little farther from a real understanding of her lover.
Despite his contrariness, however, Spillbeans had apparently no intention of allowing the other horses to get completely out of sight. Several times Flo waited for Carley to catch up. "He's loafing on you, Carley. You ought to have on a spur. Break off a switch and beat him some."
The sides were of canvas. It had no ceiling. But the roughhewn shingles of the roof of the house sloped down closely. The furniture was home made. An Indian rug covered the floor. The bed with its woolly clean blankets and the white pillows looked inviting. "Is this where Glenn lay when he was sick?" queried Carley. "Yes," replied Flo, gravely, and a shadow darkened her eyes.
And what made me well and saved my soul was the first work that offered. Raising and tending hogs!" The dead whiteness of Glenn's face, the lightning scorn of his eyes, the grim, stark strangeness of him then had for Carley a terrible harmony with this passionate denunciation of her, of her kind, of the America for whom he had lost all. "Oh, Glenn! forgive me!" she faltered. "I was only talking.
Only you must hurry and listen to it or " "Or what?" queried Carley. Aunt Mary shook her gray head sagely. "Never mind what. Carley, I'd like your idea of the most significant thing in Glenn's letter." "Why, his love for me, of course!" replied Carley. "Naturally you think that. But I don't. What struck me most were his words, 'out of the West. Carley, you'd do well to ponder over them."
Carley worked in the mornings with her hands and her brains. In the afternoons she rode and walked and climbed with a double object, to work herself into fit physical condition and to explore every nook and corner of her six hundred and forty acres. Then what she had expected and deliberately induced by her efforts quickly came to pass.
And the stock I'm raisin'. You see I have to feed corn. And believe me, Carley, those cornfields represent some job." "I can well believe that," replied Carley. "You you looked it." "Oh, the hard work is over. All I have to do now it to plant and keep the weeds out." "Glenn, do sheep eat corn?" "I plant corn to feed my hogs." "Hogs?" she echoed, vaguely. "Yes, hogs," he said, with quiet gravity.
Every quarter of a mile or so the road crossed the stream; and at these fords Carley again held on desperately and gazed out dubiously, for the creek was deep, swift, and full of bowlders. Neither driver nor horses appeared to mind obstacles. Carley was splashed and jolted not inconsiderably.
"Oh, Carley, we sure are locoed. ... Why, we only heard an hour ago that you were at Deep Lake.... Charley rode in. He told us.... I thought my heart would break. Poor Glenn! When he heard it.... But never mind me. Jump your horse and run to West Fork!" The spirit of her was like the strength of her arms as she hurried Carley across the porch and shoved her down the steps.
But I think I'd like it better if it were strong and brown, and coarse on the inside from useful work." "Like Flo Hutter's?" queried Carley. "Yes." Carley looked proudly into his eyes. "People are born in different stations. I respect your little Western friend, Glenn, but could I wash and sweep, milk cows and chop wood, and all that sort of thing?"
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