There were snowdrifts in places
along the road, and when I reached a place about where Mt. Horeb now is,
I had to stop and lie up for three days for a snow-storm. I was ahead
of the stream of immigrants that poured over that road in the spring of
1855 in a steady tide.
As I made my start from Madison I saw Rucker and Alice standing at the
door of the tavern seemingly making sure that I was really getting out
of town. He dodged back into the house when I glanced at them; but she
walked out into the street and stopped me, as bold as brass.
"I'm waiting," said she. "Where shall I ride?" And she put one foot on
the hub and stepped up with the other into the wagon box.
"I'm just pulling out for Iowa," I said, my face as red as her hair, I
suppose.
"_We're_ just pulling out," said she.
"I've got to move on," said I; "be careful or you'll get your dress
muddy on the wheel."
She couldn't have expected me to take her, of course; but I thought she
looked kind of hurt. There seemed to be something like tears in her eyes
as she put her arms around my neck.
"Kiss your little step-sister good-by," she said. "She's been a better
friend of yours than you'll ever know--you big, nice, blundering
greenhorn!"
She laid her lips on mine. It was the first kiss I had ever had from any
one since I was a little boy; and as I half struggled against but
finally returned it, it thrilled me powerfully. Afterward I was
disgusted with myself for kissing this castaway; but as I drove on,
leaving her standing in the middle of the road looking after me, it
almost seemed as if I were leaving a friend.
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