His parents had died when he was very
young, and he had been brought up and educated by a missionary, a gentle,
scholarly old Presbyterian minister, whose memory his adopted son held in
loving reverence.
The story of our acquaintance with Richard Moore is too long to be told
here. Four years before he had come with us from the Pawnee country. He
had married Minny Adams with the full consent of her parents and the
opposition of all her other friends. Contrary to all prophecies, and with
that inartistic disregard of the probable which events often show, they
had been very happy together.
Mr. Moore--otherwise Wyanota--was a civil engineer, and stood high in his
profession.
"Look here, mamma," he said as he drove up. "Will you take in the wife and
the small child for to-night? I must go away."
"Certainly," said I, overjoyed. "But where are you going, to be caught in
a storm?"
"Oh, they have got into a fuss with the hands over on the railroad, and
have sent for me. I might have known Robinson wouldn't manage when I left
him?"
"Why not?"
"English!" said Wyn, most expressively. "No one can stand the airs he puts
on."
Now, such airs as Mr. Moore possessed--and they were neither few nor far
between--were not put on, but were perfectly natural to him.
Pages:
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304