uch an awful gap in my life--maybe you'll
understand. You always do."

The day that letter was written, Ward drew a plan of the house he meant
to build some day, with a wide porch on the front, where a hammock
would swing comfortably. He figured upon lumber and shingles and rock
foundation, and mortar for a big, deep fireplace. He managed to put in
the whole forenoon planning and making estimates, and he was so
cheerful afterwards that he whistled and sang, and later he tied a
piece of jerky on the end of a string and teased a fat fieldmouse,
whose hunger made him venturesome. Ward would throw the jerky as far
as the string would permit and wait till the mouse came out to nibble
at it; then he would pull the meat closer and closer to the bed and
laugh at the very evident perturbation of the mouse. For the time
being he was a boy indulging his love of teasing something.

And while Ward played with that mouse, Billy Louise was longing for his
comforting presence while she faced alone one of the bitterest things
in life--which is death. He had no presentiment of her need of him,
which was just as well, since he was absolutely powerless to help her.

CHAPTER XX

"WE BEEN SORRY FOR YOU"

Billy Louise, having arrived unexpectedly on the stage, pulled off her
fur-lined mittens and put her chilled hands before the snapping blaze
in the fireplace. Her eyes were tired and sunken, and her mouth
drooped pitifully at the corners, but aside from that she did not seem
much changed from the girl who had left the ranch two months and more
before.

"I'll take a cup of tea, Phoebe, but I'm not a bit hungry," she said.
"I ate just before I left town. How have you been, Phoebe?"

"We been fine. We been so sorry for you--"

"Never mind that now, Phoebe. I'd rather not talk about it.
Has--anybody been here lately?"

"Charlie Fox, he come las' week--mebby week before las'. Marthy, she
got rheumatis in her knee. Charlie, he say she been pretty bad one
night. I guess she's better now. I tol' I wash for her if he brings
me clo'es, but he says he wash them clo'es hisself. I guess Charlie
pretty good to that old lady. He's awful p'lite, that feller is."

"Yes, he is. I'll go up and see her when I get rested a little. I
feel tired to death, somehow; maybe it's the drive. The road is
terribly rough, and it was awful tiresome on the train. Has--Ward been
around lately?"

"Ward, he ain't been here for long time