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The dog stood before the old woman, and listened to all that she said, turning his head from side to side, as if paying close attention. Next morning it was done as the chief had said. The children were tied to the tree with raw hide strings, and the people tore down all the lodges and moved off. The old woman called her dog to follow her, but he was digging at a gopher hole and would not come.
It will be sweet to see Vida and Guy and the Clarks. And I'm going to see my baby! All the words he'll be able to say now! It's a new start. Everything will be different!" Thus on April first, among dappled hills and the bronze of scrub oaks, while Kennicott seesawed on his toes and chuckled, "Wonder what Hugh'll say when he sees us?" Three days later they reached Gopher Prairie in a sleet storm.
The head had fallen back, and was partly hidden in a gopher burrow, but the white, upturned face and closed eyes had less of helpless death in them than those wretched enwrappings. Indeed, one limp hand that lay across the swollen abdomen lent itself to the grotesquely hideous suggestion of a gentleman sleeping off the excesses of a hearty dinner.
Carol wondered why Guy Pollock went on digging at routine law-cases; why he remained in Gopher Prairie. She had no one whom she could ask. Neither Kennicott nor Vida Sherwin would understand that there might be reasons why a Pollock should not remain in Gopher Prairie. She enjoyed the faint mystery. She felt triumphant and rather literary. She already had a Group.
The sunshine was dizzy on open stubble; shadows from immense cumulus clouds were forever sliding across low mounds; and the sky was wider and loftier and more resolutely blue than the sky of cities . . . she declared. "It's a glorious country; a land to be big in," she crooned. Then Kennicott startled her by chuckling, "D' you realize the town after the next is Gopher Prairie? Home!"
And, when with a swirl of his spattering sleeve, he drove back the gopher in a shower of spray and leaped to the bank, he seemed to have accepted his felonious hiding-place as a mere picnicking bower. A slight breeze was unmistakably permeating the wood from the west.
A show-window delicately rich in error: vases starting out to imitate tree-trunks but running off into blobs of gilt an aluminum ash-tray labeled "Greetings from Gopher Prairie" a Christian Science magazine a stamped sofa-cushion portraying a large ribbon tied to a small poppy, the correct skeins of embroidery-silk lying on the pillow.
Look kind of grouchy tonight, Milt." "Too much excitement in this burg. Saw three people on the streets all simultaneously to-once." "What's been eatin' you lately?" "Me? Nothing. Only I do get tired of this metropolis. One of these days I'm going to buck some bigger place." "Try Gopher Prairie maybe?" suggested Mac, through the hiss and steam of the frying hamburger sandwich. "Rats. Too small."
I'll bet I know woodchuck holes and gopher holes them kids never would find if they had a whole passel of dogs," and he went out to the barn and pretty soon Aunt Almira heard him yell, "Whoa, gosh darn ye, take in that bit!" and she put on her sunbonnet and went out to the barn to see if he had actually gone crazy.
"Speaking of dogs," said Uncle Ike, as he and the boy sat down to breakfast, and the other boys went out on the street to wait for the red-headed boy to finish eating, "where you boys going?" "Just going to follow the dog," said the warm-haired proposition, as he kicked because the melon was not ripe. "Did you ever drown out a gopher, Uncle Ike?"
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