"And do you mean to say that because Amos Judson turned you off and cut you out of his will, you had to come out to this forsaken land? I thought better of the town," I declared.
"Oh, don't you mind! Cris Mead offered me a place in the bank. Dr. Hemingway was fur havin' me fill his pulpit off an' on. He's gettin' old. An' Judge Baronet was all but ready to adopt me in the place av a son he'd lost. But I knowed the boy'd soon be back."
O'mie gave me a sidelong glance, but I gave no hint of any feeling.
"No, I was like Bud, ready to try the frontier," he added more seriously. "I'm goin' down with you to join this Kansas regiment."
"Now what the deuce can you do in the army, O'mie?" I could not think of him anywhere but in Springvale.
"I want to live out av doors till I get rid av this cough," he answered. "And ye know I can do a stunt in the band. Don't take giants to fiddle and fife. Little runts can do that. Who do you reckon come to Springvale last month?"
"Where has he been? and where was he going?" I asked coldly.
O'mie looked at me curiously. He was shrewder than Bud, and he caught the tone I had meant to conceal.
"Where? Just now he's gone to St. Louis. He's in a hospital there. He's been sick. I never saw him so white and thin as whin he left. He told me he expected to be with the Osages this Winter."
"Oh, I was afraid he might go out West. It's hard on priests in the West."
O'mie looked steadily at me, but said nothing.
"Who taketh your plathe, O'mie?" Bud asked.
"That's the beauty av it. It's a lady," O'mie answered.
Somehow my heart grew sick. Could it be Marjie, I wondered. I knew money matters were a problem with the Whatelys, but I had hoped for better fortune through my father's help. Maybe, though, they would have none of him now any more than of myself. When Marjie and I were engaged I did not care for her future, for it was to be with me, and my burden was my joy then. Not that earning a living meant any disgrace to the girl. We all learned better than that early in the West.
"Well, who be thaid lady?" Bud questioned.
"Miss Letitia Conlow," O'mie answered with a grave face.
"Oh, well, don't grieve, O'mie; it might be worse. Cheer up!" I said gayly.
"It couldn't be, by George! It just couldn't be no worse." O'mie was more than grave, he was sad now. "Not for me, bedad! I'm glad." He breathed deeply of the sweet, pure air of the Plains. "I can live out here foine, but there's goin' to be the divil to pay in the town av Springvale in the nixt six months. I'm glad to be away."