The room was in great confusion,-- beds
made on the floor, open boxes half unpacked, saddles and harness
thrown down in the corners; evidently there were new-comers into
the house. The window was open by an inch. It had warped, and
would not shut down. Bitterly Alessandro recollected how he had
put off from day to day the planing of that window to make it shut
tight. Now, thanks to the crack, he could hear all that was said.
The woman looked weary and worn. Her face was a sensitive one,
and her voice kindly; but the man had the countenance of a brute,--
of a human brute. Why do we malign the so-called brute creation,
making their names a unit of comparison for base traits which
never one of them possessed?
"It seems as if I never should get to rights in this world!" said the
woman. Alessandro understood enough English to gather the
meaning of what she said. He listened eagerly. "When will the next
wagon get here?"
"I don't know," growled her husband. "There's been a slide in that
cursed canon, and blocked the road. They won't be here for several
days yet.
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