Then
his suspicion returned. He struck the horse with the whip and drove
furiously along the lonely roads. "Well, there's something wrong," he
muttered aloud. "Men don't just look at women and approach them boldly, as
that young fellow did with Clara. He did it before my very eyes. He's been
given some encouragement." An old suspicion awoke in him. "There was
something wrong with her mother, and there's something wrong with her. I'll
be glad when the time comes for her to marry and settle down, so I can get
her off my hands," he thought bitterly.
On the evening when Clara left the farm to go to the train that was to
take her away, her father said he had a headache, a thing he had never
been known to complain of before, and told Jim Priest to drive her to the
station. Jim took the girl to the station, saw to the checking of her
baggage, and waited about until her train came in. Then he boldly kissed
her on the cheek. "Good-by, little girl," he said gruffly. Clara was so
grateful she could not reply. On the train she spent an hour weeping
softly. The rough gentleness of the old farm hand had done much to take the
growing bitterness out of her heart. She felt that she was ready to begin
life anew, and wished she had not left the farm without coming to a better
understanding with her father.
CHAPTER IX
The Woodburns of Columbus were wealthy by the standards of their day.
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