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Updated: May 7, 2025
She looks very young, not nearly old enough to have a son or daughter who would do anything very dreadful, so we'll count them out. "You forget aunts, uncles, and cousins!" interposed Cynthia. "Oh, Cyn! how absurd! They are much too distant. It must have been some one nearer than that, to matter so much!" "I think it's most likely her husband, then," decided Cynthia. "He'd matter most of all."
He took off the cloak and hood and then stood back. "I reckon the longing for home did it, Sandy." "You have been homesick?" "Oh! mighty homesick. I have wanted the mountain until my soul hurt." "Poor lil' Cyn." "Say it again, Sandy, say it again!" The dimmed eyes implored him. "Poor lil' Cyn." No suggestion of impropriety had entered with Cynthia.
"Ain't I done something for the mountings?" he asked; "I know what some folks think about me, little Miss Cyn, but you be a right peart miss, and I ask you straight and true wouldn't things be worse, bad as they be, if I didn't take folks and pay 'em?
She turned, and her colour faded. Pale, imploring, she almost ran to him. "Sandy!" Now that she had understood and triumphed she could afford to be kind, too, and strong and brave. Something in the frank, unflinching eyes warned Sandy to content himself with the outstretched hands, although the soul of him yearned to hold the girl to him. "You are glad to see me back, lil' Cyn?"
"Good!" cried Crothers, "and I'll send up the mule we'll put its feed in saddle bags I'll throw that in and " the smile on the man's face almost frightened Cynthia, though the words that followed seemed to give it the lie. "I'm going to have one of the men stack wood for you, too, and lay in some winter vegetables. I don't want you to think badly of me, little Miss Cyn. I want to help you-all."
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