"
"Sorry, but I can't go," he called as he turned toward the companion
ladder. "I'm Cardigan, and I own this sawmill and must stay here and
look after it."
There was a light, exultant feeling in his middle-aged heart as he
scampered along the deck. The girl had wonderful dark auburn hair and
brown eyes, with a milk-white skin that sun and wind had sought in
vain to blemish. And for all her girlhood she was a woman--bred from
a race (his own people) to whom danger and despair merely furnished a
tonic for their courage. What a mate for a man! And she had looked at
him pridefully.
They were married before the ship was loaded, and on a knoll of the
logged-over lands back of the town and commanding a view of the bay,
with the dark-forested hills in back and the little second-growth
redwoods flourishing in the front yard, he built her the finest home
in Sequoia. He had reserved this building-site in a vague hope that
some day he might utilize it for this very purpose, and here he spent
with her three wonderfully happy years. Here his son Bryce was born,
and here, two days later, the new-made mother made the supreme
sacrifice of maternity.
For half a day following the destruction of his Eden John Cardigan
sat dumbly beside his wife, his great, hard hand caressing the auburn
head whose every thought for three years had been his happiness and
comfort.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25