I
now devoted myself to the memory of my old dreams for my mother, and
blamed myself for treason to her memory, getting out that old letter and
the poor work-worn shoe, and weeping over them in my lonely nights in
the cabin on the prairie. I can not now think of this without pity for
myself; and though Grandma Thorndyke was one of the best women that ever
lived on this footstool, and was much to me in my after life, I can not
think of her happiness at my despair without blaming her memory a
little. But she meant well. She had better plans, as she thought, for
Virginia, than any which she thought I could have.
3
It was not more than a week after this donation picnic, when I came home
for my nooning one day, and found a covered wagon in the yard, and two
strange horses in the stable. When I went to the house, there were Old
Man Fewkes and Mrs. Fewkes, and Surajah Dowlah and Celebrate Fourth. I
welcomed them heartily. I was so lonesome that I would have welcomed a
stray dog, and that is pretty nearly what I was doing.
"I guess," ventured the old man, after we had finished our dinner, "that
you are wondering where we're goin', Jake."
"A long ways," I said, "by the looks of your rig."
"You see us now," he went on, "takin' steps that I've wanted to take
ever sen' I found out what a den of inikerty we throwed ourselves into
when we went out yon'," pointing in the general direction of the
Blue-grass Manor.
"What steps are you takin'?" I asked.
Pages:
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347