The Angel of the Gila Part 34

"I am glad you do. Will you study your Bible?"

He did not tell her he had no Bible, but he promised to study one.

"Will you pray too?" she asked, with a little choke in her voice.

"Would you have me read the prayers of the church?"

"No; the prayer of your own heart."

Then the man became rash.

"The prayer of my heart?" he repeated, with evident emotion. "The prayer of my heart? That prayer is that I may win your love, and your hand in marriage. That is my religion; you, I wors.h.i.+p."

"Don't! Don't!" she said, withdrawing her hand from his arm. "Don't; that seems blasphemous."

"If you could only love me, I might begin to comprehend what you tell us of the love of G.o.d. I love _you_. That I _know_, I understand. You are the embodiment of all I hold sweet and dear. Can't you love me--sometime?"

"I do not know," she responded. "What I _do_ know surely is that I do not love you now. I believe that love of the deep and abiding kind does not fall at man's feet as manna, nor does it grow like a mushroom in a night. It takes time for the mighty, resistless forces of nature to develop a single blade of gra.s.s. So love, I take it, must have time to grow."

"Then I may hope to win your love?" he said eagerly.

"Oh, no; don't think of love. You have my friends.h.i.+p; let us not spoil the friends.h.i.+p by dreaming of a love that I cannot give you."

"Do you believe," he asked, "that you will never love any other man?"

"I believe if such love ever grows in my heart, I shall walk in glory all my days. It is a sacred thing, and I could never speak of it lightly, as many do."

"Good night," he said, "and G.o.d bless you."

They had reached the Clayton home. The door closed, and Kenneth was alone. He turned; and before him, on the foothills, flamed the burning cross.

CHAPTER XIII

THE ADOPTION OF A MOTHER

Bobbie had become a personality. What is more, he had adopted Esther Bright as his mother, without any formalities of the law. He had found a mother heart, and had taken his place there by the divine right of love. No one seemed to know how it had all come about; all anyone knew, positively, was that Bobbie suddenly began to call his teacher "Mither."

At first the children laughed when Bobbie would call her by this new name; then the baby of the school was broken-hearted, until the teacher had mended the break with kisses and tender words.

Sometimes at midday recess, the drowsy child would climb into Esther's lap; and when she would cuddle him, his great blue eyes would look up into hers with a look of content and trusting love. After a while the heavy lids would close, and the flaxen hair lie moist on the ruddy forehead. Then Bobbie would be laid on an improvised bed, to finish his siesta.

Day after day went by, with increasing love on Bobbie's part, and deepening tenderness on the part of Esther Bright.

He was not always good. Far from it. He was a healthy little animal, bright and attractive. His activity sometimes got him into trouble.

Then to divert his mind, his teacher would tell him little stories.

When she would finish, he would say coaxingly, "More."

After a while, he would call for certain stories she had already told him, and interrupt her all the way along, his face alive with intelligent interest. At last he himself wanted to tell the stories to his teacher, with many interpolations and funny variations.

But the funniest thing happened one day when he refused to go home, and announced that he would stay with his adopted mother.

"Oh, no, Bobbie dear," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"What would your father do without you?"

"He tan det another wain," he said, in a tone of satisfaction.

"No, Bobbie," insisted the teacher; "you must go home."

Still he refused. Then all his Scotch stubbornness a.s.serted itself. He could not be driven or coaxed home. And when the older children tried to carry him, he kicked and screamed and fought, till he had freed himself. He ran to his teacher with heart-rending sobs. She sent the other children home, and took him in her arms. Gradually his sobs ceased and he fell asleep. His face was wet with tears. In his sleep, great sighs, the aftermath of the storm, seemed to come from his innermost heart.

The adopted mother sat with her arms clasped about him. Such a look of tender love came into her face as one sometimes sees in the face of a young mother, bending over her sleeping babe. If ever Esther Bright was beautiful, it was at that moment. Kenneth Hastings stood a short distance away, watching her. He lifted his hat and stood with bowed head. At last he spoke her name. She turned, and nodded toward the sleeping boy in her arms.

"Come sit down," she said, moving to make room for him on the doorstep.

"You seem to be a good nurse, too," he responded, taking the proffered seat. "What's Bobbie doing here this time of day?"

She told him of the child's decision to stay with her, and his refusal to go home, his fight, and his stormy sorrow. He listened, with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"Poor little chap," he said; "he has my sympathy in refusing to be parted from you."

She flushed slightly.

"Don't waste your sympathy," she replied saucily. Somehow that provoking smile of his nettled her. He had found her vulnerable.

"Bigger chaps than he feel the same way towards you," he said, smiling still.

He saw that she was badly teased, and the spirit of mischief led him on.

"Now _I'd_ like to stay with you always, myself."

She looked as though she would annihilate him.

"And what is more, I'd like to change places with Bobbie this very minute."

She rose suddenly, but with some effort, for the child was stout and heavy for his years.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, looking admiringly upon Bobbie.

"I'm going to carry him home."

"How cruel to Bobbie!" he said, stepping near her and extending his arms for the child. "Let _me_ carry him, do."

"I can carry him myself, thank you," she said, with a sudden air of independence.