The stranger observed with surprise and some pride the great respect with which this girl, who had once been under her own care, was treated by all she met. The few soldiers on duty that morning saluted her with a smile and military precision, while the women hailed her coming with exclamations of:
"Oh, Kitty! You here? I'm so glad; for I wanted to ask you about my work"; or: "Say, Kit! There are a lot of new newspapers, only a week old, that I've hidden for you to read first before the others get hold of them."
One called after her, as they started homeward:
"Oh, that house on the edge of the village is a sort of hospital and school combined. I am there most of the time, though my real home is with the Littlejohns, just as it has always been; though the Doctor is not rich, as you fancied, in anything save wisdom and goodness."
"You're a great scholar now, Kitty, I s'pose--could even do figurin' an' writin' letters."
"I can do that much without being a 'scholar.' I've learned all sorts of things that came my way, from civil engineering--enough to survey lots for people--to a little Greek. The surveying was taught me by a man who was in our sick-room, and in gratitude for the care we gave him. It's very useful here."
"I always sang, you know; and I can play the violin to guide the hymns 'in meeting.'"
"Yes. Why not, since it's the only instrument we have?"
"My land! You'll be dancin' at worship next!"
"Maybe. There _are_ religious people who dance at their services. But here we are. This is the Doctor's house, and you'll meet Wahneenah."
"Wahneeny! You don't tell me that good, pious parson is consortin' with that bad-tempered Indian squaw!"
"Wait, Mercy. You must not speak like that of her, nor think so. She is as my very own mother. She is nobility itself. Everybody acknowledges that. I want there should be peace, even if there can't be love, between you two. It's better, isn't it, to understand thing in the beginning?"
"Hmm! You can speak your mind out yet, I see. But that's all right. I don't care, child. I don't care. It does my old eyes good just to look at you; an', for once, I'll 'low Abel was right in wantin' to move out here. I'm lookin' for him 'fore night, by the way. But hold on! Who's that out in the back yard, with feathers in his hair, an' a blue check shirt, grinnin' like a hyena, an' a knife stickin' out his pocket? Wait till I get hold of him, my sake!"