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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"The Quirt"

Lorraine stared after him wide-eyed, wondering and yet not
daring to wonder.
Her father called to her fretfully, and she went in to him again and
told him what Sorry had said about the cracked doubletree, and persuaded
him to let her bring his supper at once, and to have the fruit later
when Frank arrived. Brit did not say much, but she sensed his
uneasiness, and her own increased in proportion. Later she saw two tiny,
glowing points down by the corral and knew that Sorry and Jim were down
there, waiting and listening, ready to do whatever was needed of them;
although what that would be she could not even conjecture.
She made her father comfortable, chattered aimlessly to combat her
understanding of his moody silence, and listened and waited and tried
her pitiful best not to think that anything could be wrong. The subdued
chuckling of the wagon in the sand outside the gate startled her with
its unmistakable reality after so many false impressions that she heard
it.
"Frank's coming, dad," she announced relievedly, "and I'll go and get
the mail and the fruit."
She ran down the path again, almost light-hearted in her relief from
that vague terror which had held her for the past hour.


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