Harry Leon Wilson,
The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old West
“ Poor little man! And see, here’s another grave all grown around with sage and the stones worn smooth; but there’s the cross he spoke of. It must be some one that he wanted to lie beside. Poor little sorry father! Oh, you will have to be so much to me!” The train was under way again. In the box of the big wagon, on a springy couch of spruce boughs and long bunch-grass, Prudence lay at rest, hurt by her grief, yet soothed by her love, her thoughts in a whirl about her. Follett, mounted on Dandy, rode beside her wagon. ”
