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"I didn't think it was in you," declares Mr. Darling, with wild but suppressed admiration. "You would make your fortune on the stage. Keep it up, I tell you; it couldn't be better." The young man replied, "I am mourning day and night, crying all the while. My little son, who is the only one left me, also mourns." Mona hardly hears him. She is thinking of Nicholas's face as it was half an hour ago when he had leaned against the deserted doorway and looked at pretty Dorothy..
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As the children whose ancestors came from Europe have stories about the heroes who killed wicked and cruel monsters—like Jack the Giant Killer, for example—so the Indian children hear stories about persons who had magic power and who went about the world destroying those who treated cruelly or killed the Indians of the camps. Such a hero was Kŭt-o-yĭs´, and this is how he came to be alive and to travel about from place to place, helping the people and destroying their enemies. "I want you to see my own work," she says, going up markedly to Mona. "I am glad my garden has pleased you. I could see by your eyes how well you appreciated it. To see the beautiful in everything, that is the only true religion." She smiles her careful absent smile again as she says this, and gazes earnestly at Mona. Perhaps, being true to her religion, she is noting "the beautiful" in her Irish guest. At home—in Sydney, I mean—the life was different. It was free, unfettered, and in a degree lawless. It suited me better." "I regret that I met them," says Mona, who will not say she regrets she told the truth..
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