Читать книгу Days on the Road: Crossing the Plains in 1865 онлайн

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The front of Mr. Milburn’s wagon almost touches the back of ours, forming an angle. I had been writing a few moments when I heard sobbing. I was out in a jiffy, and had gone to the front of their wagon without stopping to think whether I was intruding. “May I come in?” I asked, as I stepped upon the wagon-tongue.

“Oh, yes, come in, Miss Sallie, but I am ashamed to let you see me crying, somehow I could not help it. I felt so lonely and homesick.”

“I am sorry you feel lonely and homesick. Did any of us say, or do anything this evening that could have hurt you?”

“Oh, no; not at all, only I always feel that I am one too many, when I am with you all; you seem so light-hearted and happy, so free from care, so full of life and fun, that I feel that I am a damper to your joyousness, for I cannot get over feeling homesick and sad, especially when night comes.”

“How sweetly Ernest sleeps, and how much he seems to enjoy this manner of life.”

“Yes; he is a great comfort to me, as well as a great care. He is dearer to me than to any one else in the world; his father seems to be weaned from him, since they have been separated so long. He has not seen him more than half a dozen times since his mother died. I feel that he is altogether mine. May God help me to train him for Heaven. He will never know what I have sacrificed for him. I have a mind to tell you, if you care to hear, why I am here, and why I am not happy.”