A Master's Degree [38]
savage sorority sisters require you to do time in so many minutes?" Vic asked, as they left the cave and came again into the sunlight, and all the sweetness of the April woodland, and the rugged beauty of the glen.
"I'm glad to rest," Elinor said, dropping down on a stone. Her cheeks were blooming from the exercise of the tramp, and her pretty hair was in disorder.
Far away from the west prairie came the faint note of a child's voice in song.
"Victor," Elinor said, as they listened, "do you know that the Sunrise girls envy Bug Buler? They say you would have more time for the girls if it wasn't for him. What you spend for him you could spend on light refreshments for them, don't you see?"
"I know I'm a stingy cuss," Vic said, carelessly, but a deeper red touched his cheek.
"You know you are not," Elinor insisted, "and I've always thought it was a beautiful thing for a big grown man like you to care for a little orphan boy. All the girls think so, too."
Burleigh looked down at her gratefully.
"I thought once--in fact, I was told once--that my care for him was sufficient reason why I should let all the girls alone, most of all why I should not think of Elinor Wream."
"How strange!" Elinor's face had a womanly expression. "I've never had a little child to love me. I've been brought up with only AEneas's small son Ascanius, and other classical children, on Uncle Joshua's Dead Language book shelves. I feel sometimes as if I'd been robbed."
"You? I didn't know you had ever wanted anything you did n't get."
Victor had thought all things were due to her and came as duly. The womanly look on her face now was a revelation to him. But then he had not dared to study her face for months, and he did not yet realize what life in Dr. Fenneben's home must mean to her character-building.
"I'll tell you some time about something I ought to have had, a sacrifice I was forced to make; but not now, Tell me about Bug."
There was no bitterness in Elinor's tone, yet the idea of her having the capacity to endure gave her a newer charm to the man beside her.
"I have never known whose child Bug is," he began. "The way in which he came to me is full of terrible memories, and it all happened on the blackest day of my life-- the hard life of a lonely boy on a Kansas claim. That's why I never speak of it and try always to forget it. I found him by mere accident, helpless and in awful danger. He was about two years old then and all he could say was `bad man' and his name, `Bug Buler.' I've wondered if Bug is his name, or if he could not speak his real name plainly then."
Burleigh paused, and a sense of Elinor's interest brought a thrill of joy to him.
"Where was he?" she asked.
Vic slowly unfastened his cuff and slipped his coat sleeve up to his elbow.
"Do you remember that scar?" he asked. "It is not the only one I have. I fought with death for that baby boy and I shall always carry the scars of that day. Bug was alone in a lonely little deserted dugout. Somebody had left him there to perish. He was on a low chair, the only furniture in the room, and on the earth floor between him and me were five of the ugliest rattlesnakes that ever coiled for a deadly blow. Little Bug held out his arms to me, and I'll never forget his baby face-- and--I killed them all and carried him away. It was a dangerous, hard job, but the boy I saved has been the blessing of my life ever since. I could not have endured the days that followed without his need for care and his love and innocence. He's kept me good, Elinor. When I got back home with him my mother, who had been very sick, was dead, and our house had been robbed of every valuable by some thief--a wayside tragedy of western Kansas. That was the day the pitcher was stolen. A note was left warning me not to follow nor try to find out who had done the stealing, but I thought I knew anyhow. That's why I killed that bull snake the first day I came to Sunrise and that's why I must have looked like a bulldog to you, soft-sheltered Cambridge folks. Life has been
"I'm glad to rest," Elinor said, dropping down on a stone. Her cheeks were blooming from the exercise of the tramp, and her pretty hair was in disorder.
Far away from the west prairie came the faint note of a child's voice in song.
"Victor," Elinor said, as they listened, "do you know that the Sunrise girls envy Bug Buler? They say you would have more time for the girls if it wasn't for him. What you spend for him you could spend on light refreshments for them, don't you see?"
"I know I'm a stingy cuss," Vic said, carelessly, but a deeper red touched his cheek.
"You know you are not," Elinor insisted, "and I've always thought it was a beautiful thing for a big grown man like you to care for a little orphan boy. All the girls think so, too."
Burleigh looked down at her gratefully.
"I thought once--in fact, I was told once--that my care for him was sufficient reason why I should let all the girls alone, most of all why I should not think of Elinor Wream."
"How strange!" Elinor's face had a womanly expression. "I've never had a little child to love me. I've been brought up with only AEneas's small son Ascanius, and other classical children, on Uncle Joshua's Dead Language book shelves. I feel sometimes as if I'd been robbed."
"You? I didn't know you had ever wanted anything you did n't get."
Victor had thought all things were due to her and came as duly. The womanly look on her face now was a revelation to him. But then he had not dared to study her face for months, and he did not yet realize what life in Dr. Fenneben's home must mean to her character-building.
"I'll tell you some time about something I ought to have had, a sacrifice I was forced to make; but not now, Tell me about Bug."
There was no bitterness in Elinor's tone, yet the idea of her having the capacity to endure gave her a newer charm to the man beside her.
"I have never known whose child Bug is," he began. "The way in which he came to me is full of terrible memories, and it all happened on the blackest day of my life-- the hard life of a lonely boy on a Kansas claim. That's why I never speak of it and try always to forget it. I found him by mere accident, helpless and in awful danger. He was about two years old then and all he could say was `bad man' and his name, `Bug Buler.' I've wondered if Bug is his name, or if he could not speak his real name plainly then."
Burleigh paused, and a sense of Elinor's interest brought a thrill of joy to him.
"Where was he?" she asked.
Vic slowly unfastened his cuff and slipped his coat sleeve up to his elbow.
"Do you remember that scar?" he asked. "It is not the only one I have. I fought with death for that baby boy and I shall always carry the scars of that day. Bug was alone in a lonely little deserted dugout. Somebody had left him there to perish. He was on a low chair, the only furniture in the room, and on the earth floor between him and me were five of the ugliest rattlesnakes that ever coiled for a deadly blow. Little Bug held out his arms to me, and I'll never forget his baby face-- and--I killed them all and carried him away. It was a dangerous, hard job, but the boy I saved has been the blessing of my life ever since. I could not have endured the days that followed without his need for care and his love and innocence. He's kept me good, Elinor. When I got back home with him my mother, who had been very sick, was dead, and our house had been robbed of every valuable by some thief--a wayside tragedy of western Kansas. That was the day the pitcher was stolen. A note was left warning me not to follow nor try to find out who had done the stealing, but I thought I knew anyhow. That's why I killed that bull snake the first day I came to Sunrise and that's why I must have looked like a bulldog to you, soft-sheltered Cambridge folks. Life has been