Tish Marches On (26 page)

“It
is
you, I suppose?” she said. “It looks like you. It sounds like you. But if it
is
you—”

“Why, of course it is, my dear child. If there is any difference, it is that you only knew the office slave, not the man. Thank God,
that’s
over.”

“The office slave would at least have asked how I got here.”

“But, my dear,” he said in a hurt voice, “what business is that of mine? Once, I grant you, I had the right, but now—! You see, Suzanne dear, the East without you was empty, so I came west. Here I have found myself, and here I shall probably stay. I find that I love the wild and the creatures of the wild—just a moment: I’ll give the little bear a biscuit—and I dote on the open spaces. Give me a horse and some cans of beans, and I ask no more. Let me sleep under the stars, gazing up at the Dipper and—and the rest of them, and I am happy and content.”

“And that’s all?”

“That’s all, lacking you, my dear.”

“And if you had me?”

“I love you, of course,” he said. “Perhaps I never really found you until I lost you, if you know what I mean. Alone under the—the Dipper, I can think of you. On my stanch and sturdy horse, following the white trail over the hills, you have belonged to me as never before. I shall always remember you, my dear.”

“You’d rather dream of me than have me, I dare say,” she said sharply.

“A dream is better than nothing, my darling.”

And then she began to cry.

“I can’t do it,” she wailed. “I love you. I was just a fool, that’s all. But I can’t stay out here. I want to go home. I want to sleep in a bed and sit in a chair. I want a decent haircut and a manicure, and if I ever see another bean I’ll scream. You can take your choice. Me or—or the Dipper.”

“And that’s final?”

“That’s final.”

He drew a long breath. Then he started toward her. His spurs caught in a twig and almost threw him, but when he recovered his balance his arms were around her. I looked at our dear Tish, and she was faintly smiling.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1929, 1930, 1936, 1937 by Mary Roberts Rinehart

Cover design by Biel Parklee

978-1-4804-4622-9

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