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Hill, Grace Livingston, 1865-1947

"The Girl from Montana"

The doctor says
nothin' but a 'noperation will ever get her up, and we can't pay fer
'noperations. It's a long ways to the hospital in Chicago where he wants
her sent, and M'ria and I, we ain't allowin' to part. It can't be many
years--"
But Elizabeth was not waiting to hear. She had slipped into the old
bedroom that she remembered now so well and was kneeling beside the bed
talking to the white faced woman on the thin pillow:
"Don't you remember me," she asked, "I'm the girl you tried to get to stay
with you once. The girl that came here with a man she had met in the
wilderness. You told me things that I didn't know, and you were kind and
wanted me to stay here with you? Don't you remember me? I'm Elizabeth!"
The woman reached out a bony hand and touched the fair young face that she
could see but dimly in the flare of the candle that the old man now
brought into the room:
"Why, yes, I remember," the woman said, her voice sounded alive yet in
spite of her illness, "Yes, I remember you. You were a dear little girl,
and I was so worried about you. I would have kept you for my own--but you
wouldn't stay. And he was a nice looking young man, but I was afraid for
you--You can't always tell about them--You _mostly_ can't--!"
"But he was all right Mother!" Elizabeth's voice rang joyously through the
cabin, "He took care of me and got me safely started toward my people, and
now he's my husband. I want you to see him.


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