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Updated: June 7, 2025
"Where is the house?" she asked, bewildered by the barrenness of the spot on which the topsy turvy house had stood for so many years. "It is gone," said he. Cyclona pressed both hands to her face and rocked back and forth, sobbing. God had spared her, true, but He had offered her this delicate irony of leaving her homeless.
Cyclona looked at him long and earnestly, at the strong, fine lines of sadness brought beautifully out by this unexpected high-light of the skies, accentuated Rembrandt-like, against the darkness of the earth-colored hole in the ground. Then she bent her sunburnt head and a tear fell on her hand outstretched upon the table.
"Yes," she answered. "Then this," said they, "is where we will build our city." "The Magic City," repeated Cyclona, without surprise. "When we have finished it," they smiled, "it will be a Magic City." Cyclona looked wistfully out along the weary track of the wind. "But Seth," said she, "will never see it maybe. He has given up and gone back home."
Theah shall be nothing about this house I shall build fo' the Princess in any way resemblin' a hole in the ground. Holes in the ground are fo' wolves and prairie dogs and...." "And us," Cyclona finished grimly, then smiled. Seth, drawing himself up, gazed at her. In her own wild way Cyclona had grown to be beautiful, still brown as a Gypsy, but large of eye and red of lip.
The twigs tapped at the pane like human fingers. "There, there!" soothed Cyclona, and she changed the baby's position, so that his little body curled warmly about her and his face was upturned to hers to coax him into the belief that she was Celia. Once more she drifted into the lullaby, crooning it very softly in her lilting young voice: "Sleep, baby, sleep.
With a wild yell it burst the door of the dugout open. Cyclona put the baby back on the bed, faced the fury of the wind a moment, then cried out to it: "Why can't you behave?" Then she shut the door and placed a chair against it, taking the baby up and again walking it back and forth, up and down and back and forth. "It's just tryin' itself," she repeated.
There are not many women on the prairies now. Then they were even more scarce. It was not long before his admiring eyes centered themselves upon Cyclona. He fell to wondering why it was that she appeared to consider her own home so excellent a place to stay away from.
"A species of insanity it is," he muttered, "to bring such a woman to a hole in the ground." He bit his lip and frowned, "fo' theah ah women in whom the love of home, of country, is pa'amount. Above all human things, above husband, above children, she loves her home. Child! Celia has no child. Cyclona, has no one written to Celia that she has no child?" This wildly, his eyes insanely bright.
Cyclona looked straight at him out of her big dark eyes framed by their heavy lashes. "I am a neighbor of yourn," she said. "I'm glad of that," responded Seth with ready Southern cordiality. "Wheah do you live?" Cyclona turned and pointed to the horizon. "About ten or twelve miles away," she explained. "There!" "Been theah long?" asked Seth.
It will cost a fortune. Why not use some other wood? There are others as beautiful." "We will use cedar," determined Cyclona without further explanation, and cedar they used, carved curiously in pomegranate and lily work, very beautiful, Hugh had to acknowledge, though the expense was more than it should have been, no matter how much money a young woman had to throw to the birds.
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