And Laurence--always Laurence--my fair-haired, laughing, child
playmate, would come calling and calling for me: "Esther, where are
you? We miss you; come in, Esther, come in with me." And if I did
not turn at once to him and follow, he would come and place his
strong hands on my shoulders and laugh into my eyes and say,
"Truant, truant, Esther; can't _we_ make you happy?"
My old childhood playmate had vanished years ago. He was a tall,
slender young man now, handsome as a young chief, but with laughing
blue eyes, and always those yellow curls about his temples. He was
my solace in my half-exile, my comrade, my brother, until one night
it was, "Esther, Esther, can't _I_ make you happy?"
I did not answer him; only looked out across the plains and thought
of the tepees. He came close, close. He locked his arms about me,
and with my face pressed up to his throat he stood silent. I felt
the blood from my heart sweep to my very finger-tips. I loved him.
O God, how I loved him! In a wild, blind instant it all came, just
because he held me so and was whispering brokenly, "Don't leave me,
don't leave me, Esther; _my_ Esther, my child-love, my playmate, my
girl-comrade, my little Cree sweetheart, will you go away to your
people, or stay, stay for me, for my arms, as I have you now?"
No more, no more the tepees; no more the wild stretch of prairie,
the intoxicating fragrance of the smoke-tanned buckskin; no more the
bed of buffalo hide, the soft, silent moccasin; no more the dark
faces of my people, the dulcet cadence of the sweet Cree tongue--only
this man, this fair, proud, tender man who held me in his arms, in
his heart.
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