Then came the day of the round-up. Why should
she have to stay while all went after the cattle? The Duke would
have remained, but she impatiently sent him away. She was weary and
heart-sick, and, worst of all, she began to feel that most terrible of
burdens, the burden of her life to others. I was much relieved when The
Pilot came in fresh and bright, waving a bunch of wild-flowers in his
hand.
"I thought they were all gone," he cried. "Where do you think I found
them? Right down by the big elm root," and, though he saw by the
settled gloom of her face that the storm was coming, he went bravely on
picturing the canyon in all the splendor of its autumn dress. But the
spell would not work. Her heart was out on the sloping hills, where the
cattle were bunching and crowding with tossing heads and rattling horns,
and it was in a voice very bitter and impatient that she cried:
"Oh, I am sick of all this! I want to ride! I want to see the cattle
and the men and--and--and all the things outside." The Pilot was cowboy
enough to know the longing that tugged at her heart for one wild race
after the calves or steers, but he could only say:
"Wait, Gwen. Try to be patient."
"I am patient; at least I have been patient for two whole months, and
it's no use, and I don't believe God cares one bit!"
"Yes, He does, Gwen, more than any of us," replied The Pilot, earnestly.
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