"
"And so you're going to stay here in your garden," he said musingly.
"You think it's better to keep on walking these sunshiny gravel paths
between your flower-beds, and growing to look like a pensive garden
lady in a Victorian engraving."
"I suppose I'm like the tribe that lived here, papa. I had too much
unpleasant excitement. It was unpleasant--but it was excitement. I
don't want any more; in fact, I don't want anything but you."
"You don't?" He looked at her keenly, and she laughed and shook her
head; but he seemed perplexed, rather doubtful. "What was the name of
the grove?" he asked. "The Indian name, I mean."
"Mola-Haha."
"No, it wasn't; that wasn't the name you said."
"I've forgotten."
"I see you have," he said, his look of perplexity remaining. "Perhaps
you remember the chief's name better."
She shook her head again. "I don't!"
At this he laughed, but not very heartily, and walked slowly to the
house, leaving her bending over a rose-bush, and a shade more pensive
than the most pensive garden lady in any Victorian engraving.
Pages:
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485