That was always Phil's way, she thought. He seemed always to know
instinctively her every mood and wish.

"Perhaps I was a little lonely," she admitted. "I am glad that you
came."

Then they were at the porch, and her ambitious brothers were telling
Phil in detail their all-absorbing designs against the peace of the
coyote tribe, and asking his advice. Mrs. Reid came to sit with them
a-while, and again the talk followed around the narrow circle of their
lives, until Kitty felt that she could bear no more. Then Mrs. Reid,
more merciful than she knew, sent the boys to bed and retired to her own
room.

"And so you are tired of us all, and want to go back," mused Phil,
breaking one of the long, silent periods that in these days seemed so
often to fall upon them when they found themselves alone.

"That's not quite fair, Phil," she returned gently. "You know it's not
that."

"Well, then, tired of this"--his gesture indicated the sweep of the
wide land--"tired of what we are and what we do?"

The girl stirred uneasily, but did not speak.

"I don't blame you," he continued, as if thinking aloud. "It must seem
mighty empty to those who don't really know it."