The Desire of the Moth; and The Come On | Page 3

Mr. John Wesley Also-Ran Pringle, and give an
account of yourself!"
He sat beside her: she laid her hand across his gnarled brown fingers
with an unconscious caress.
"It's good to see you, old-timer! Begin now--I, John Wesley Pringle,
am come from going to and fro upon the earth and from walking up and
down in it. But I didn't ask you where you were living. Perhaps you
have a--home of your own now."
John Wesley firmly lifted her slim fingers from his hand and as firmly
deposited them in her lap.
"Kindly keep your hands to yourself, young woman," he said with
stately dignity.
"Here is an exact account of all my time since I saw you: I have been
hungry, thirsty, sleepy, tired. To remedy these evils, upon expert advice
I have eaten, drunk, slept, and rested. I have worked and played, been
dull and gay, busy and idle, foolish and unwise. That's all. Oh, yes--I'm
living in Rainbow Mountain; cattle. Two pardners--nice boys but
educated. Had another one; he's married now, poor dear--and just as
happy as if he had some sense."
"You're not?"
"Not what--happy or married?"
"Married, silly!"
"And I'm not. Now it's your turn. Where do you live? Here in town?"
"Oh, no. Dad's got a farm twenty miles up the river and a ranch out on
the flat. I just came down on the morning train to do a little shopping

and go back on the four-forty-eight--and I'll have to be starting soon.
You'll walk down to the station with me?"
"But the sad story of your life?" objected Pringle.
"Oh, I'll tell you that by installments. You're to make us a long, long
visit, you know--just as long as you can stay. You're horseback, of
course? Well, then, ride up to-night. Ask for Aden Station. We live just
beyond there."
"But the Major was a very hostile major when I saw him last."
"Oh, father's got all over that. He hadn't heard your side of it then. He
often speaks of you now and he'll be glad to see you."
"To-morrow, then. My horse is tired--I'll stay here to-night."
"You'll find dad changed," said the girl. "This is the first time in his life
he has ever been at ease about money matters. He's really quite
well-to-do."
"That's good. I'm doing well in that line too. I forgot to tell you." There
was no elation in his voice; he looked back with a pang to the bold and
splendid years of their poverty. "Then the Major will quit wandering
round like a lost cat, won't he?"
"I think he likes it here--only for the crazy-mad political feeling; and I
think he's settled down for good."
"High time, I think, at his age."
"You needn't talk! Dad's only ten years older than you are." She leaned
her cheek on her hand, she brushed back a little stray tendril of
midnight hair from her dark eyes, and considered him thoughtfully.
"Why, John Wesley, I've known you nearly all my life and you don't
look much older now than when I first saw you."
"That was in Virginia City. You were just six years old and your pony
ran away with you. We were great old chums for a month or so. The

next time I saw you was--"
"At Bakersfield--at mother's funeral," said the girl softly. "Then you
came to Prescott, and you had lost your thumb in the meantime; and I
was Little Next Door to you--"
"And Prescott and me, we agreed it was best for both of us that I should
go away."
"Yes; and when you came back you were going to stay. Why didn't you
stay, John Wesley?"
"I think," said Pringle reflectively, "that I have forgotten that."
"Do you know, John Wesley, I have never been back to any place we
have left once? And of all the people I have ever known, you are the
only one I have ever lost track of and found again. And you're always
just the same old John Wesley; always gay and cheerful; nearly always
in trouble; always strong and resourceful--"
"How true!" said Pringle. "Yes, yes; go on!"
"Well, you are! And you're so--so reliable; like Faithful John in the
fairy story. You're different from anyone else I know. You're a good
boy; when you are grown up you shall have a yoke of oxen, over and
above your wages."
"This is very gratifying indeed," observed Pringle. "But--a sweetly
solemn thought comes to me. You were going to tell me about another
boy--the onliest little boy?"
"He's not a boy," said Stella, flushing hotly. "He's a man--a man's man.
You'll like him, John Wesley--he's just your kind. I'm not going to tell
you. You'll see him at our house, with the others.