and at the ensuing clash, but she could not feel in the least sorry. Instead, she found she was angry and hurt.
“If it’s—true,” she faltered, “I’ll—I’ll—somehow I’ll bring Ben back to his old self.”
Chapter Three
INA spent the rest of the morning under the pine tree in the grove; and after she had recovered her equanimity she applied some solid and tolerant thought to the problem which confronted her.
The complexity of that problem would have to be understood and dealt with as it became obvious. She would not try to cross any bridges before she came to them. Disappointment must not be allowed to get a hold on her.
She had lunch alone with her mother. Kate had gone to Hammell with Mr. Blaine. Ina exerted herself to be amusing and sympathetic, to reach her mother, and was not wholly unsuccessful. She had quickly sensed that if she let herself be guided by the desires and whims of her family there would be no strife. Mrs. Blaine seemed preoccupied with the innumerable duties of a rancher’s wife, when these duties had mostly been made impossible for her. For thirty years she had been a slave to labor, early and late, to the imperative need of saving. She now occupied a position where these things, though fixed in habit and mind, must not be thought of at all. It was impossible to forget them, and her trouble rose from the consequent bewilderment. The truth was, she was a sorely puzzled and unhappy woman because the circumstances of the Blaines had vastly changed. Yet she did not know this. It would have been natural for her to talk to Ina about the past, and their trials and joys, about all the homely tasks that had once been and were now no more, about neighbors as poor as they used to be, gossip, blame, worries, praise, and the possibility of a manly young rancher who might come wooing Ina. But as she had to talk of things relating to this new and different life, she was no longer natural. Ina thought her mother a rather pathetic person, yet recalling the severe toil and endless complaint of earlier years she concluded this was to be preferred.
“Mother, tell me about the Ides,” asked Ina, among other casual queries.
“Well, I’m sorry to say the Blaines and the Ides are not the neighbors they used to be,” replied Mrs. Blaine, reflectively. “I reckon it’s your father’s fault. Amos Ide has made money, but it’s never got him anywhere. He thinks we’re stuck up. Mrs. Ide these late years has kept more to herself. She used to go to church regular. But since the parson preached about prodigal sons she has stayed away. I haven’t been over there in ages. But I’ve seen Hettie. She has grown up. Fred was sweet on her once, but lately he’s taken to a town girl.”
“How about Ben?” inquired Ina.
“He’s a wild-horse hunter now, the cowboys say.”
“Sort of a—an outcast, isn’t he?” went on Ina.
“The story goes that Amos Ide gave Ben a choice between plowin’ fields an’ livin’ his wild life in the hills. Ben preferred to leave home. It was hard on his mother.”
Ina gained some little grain of comfort from her mother’s talk, and she decided to go over and call on Mrs. Ide and Hettie some day. But once the idea had come, it gave her no peace. Ina spent the early part of the afternoon unpacking her belongings and changing her room into a more comfortable and attractive abode. Books, photographs, pennants, served her in good stead, and were reminders of happy college days. While she was thus occupied her mind was busy with the Ides, and when she had finished she decided to go that very afternoon to visit them.
Once upon a time there had been a well-trodden path between Tule Lake Ranch and the farm of the Ides. Ina had observed that it had been plowed up in places, and fenced in others. She would take the lane out to the road, and upon her return wait for Dall and Marvie to pick her up on their way home from school.
While changing her dress Ina suddenly realized that she was being rather particular about her appearance, something which since her arrival home had not caused her concern. She could not deny that she had unconsciously desired to look well for the Ides. “What Ide? Do I mean Mrs. Ide or Hettie?” she asked, gravely, of the dark-eyed, fair-faced girl in the mirror. The answer was a blush. Ina became somewhat resentful with her subtle new self.
It happened that Kate saw Ina come down the front stairs.
“For the land’s sake!” she ejaculated, in genuine surprise. “Goin’ to a party?” Her hawk eyes swept over Ina from head to toe and a flush and a twinge appeared on her sallow face.
The look and the tone completely inhibited Ina’s natural frank impulse, which was to tell where she was going.
“Like my dress, Kate?” she asked, coolly. “Aunt Eleanor got it for me in St. Louis. It’s only a simple afternoon dress, but quite up to date.”
“I’m not crazy about it,” snapped Kate.
Ina laughed and went out. Her elder sister bade fair to be quite amusing. Ina’s genuine love of home and family had buried for the whole of her school period certain irritating traits, especially peculiar to Kate. They were recalled.
“It almost looks as if Kate does not like my coming home, and especially my clothes. Wait till she sees my graduation dress!”
There was a clean footpath along one side of the lane, and when Ina started down it she found herself facing the sage mountains, far across the level lake basin land, and the bulge of red rocky ground beyond. The afternoon sun, low in the sky, cast a soft light upon the round gray domes and the beautiful slopes. Suddenly her heart beat quicker and fuller. An old love of the open country, of lonely hills, of the wind in her face and the fragrance of sage revived in her. That was another reason for her inward joy at returning to the scenes of her childhood. Moreover, as she gazed intently, these mountains of gray, with the shadows of purple in the clefts, seemed to call to her. It was a distinct sensation almost like an audible voice. The beckoning hills! Then it occurred to her that beyond them lay Forlorn River. She checked her thought and hurried on, with pensive gaze on the black buttes of lava to the west.
Before she realized it she had come to the Ide farm. The same old barred gate! The untrimmed hedge! The green shady yard and the lane that led into the old house seemed exactly to fit her expectations. Almost she expected to see Rover, Ben’s dog, come bounding out to meet her. But Rover did not come. Ina entered the gate, and found that habit led her round to the back door. Yard and house had the homely appearance of use and comfort. Ina crossed the wide porch and knocked on the door.
It opened at once, revealing a pleasant-faced girl with fine blue eyes and curly hair. She had freckles that Ina remembered. She wore a gingham apron; her sleeves were rolled up to firm round elbows; in one hand she held a broom. For a moment she stared at Ina.
“Hettie, don’t you know me?” asked Ina.
“I—I do and—I don’t,” gasped the girl, with her face lighting.
“I’m Ina Blaine.”
“Oh—of course—I knew you were, but you’re so different—so—so changed and lovely,” replied Hettie in charming confusion. “We heard you were home. I’m glad to see you. Come in. Mother is here.”
“Hettie, you’ve grown up wonderfully, much more than Dall or Marvie,” said Ina, as she entered the big light kitchen that made her remember raids on the cupboard. “And I can return your compliment.”
“Thanks,” replied Hettie, blushing. “You always used to say nice things, Ina. Come in and see
