Mrs. Reid came to sit with them
a-while, and again the talk followed around the narrow circle of their
lives, until Kitty felt that she could bear no more. Then Mrs. Reid,
more merciful than she knew, sent the boys to bed and retired to her own
room.
"And so you are tired of us all, and want to go back," mused Phil,
breaking one of the long, silent periods that in these days seemed so
often to fall upon them when they found themselves alone.
"That's not quite fair, Phil," she returned gently. "You know it's not
that."
"Well, then, tired of this"--his gesture indicated the sweep of the
wide land--"tired of what we are and what we do?"
The girl stirred uneasily, but did not speak.
"I don't blame you," he continued, as if thinking aloud. "It must seem
mighty empty to those who don't really know it."
"And don't I know it?" challenged Kitty. "You seem to forget that I was
born here--that I have lived here almost as many years as you."
"But just the same you don't know," returned Phil gently. "You see,
dear, you knew it as a girl, the same as I did when I was a boy. But
now--well, I know it as a man, and you as a woman know something that
you think is very different.
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