You people was good frien' to me, but I'm kin' of shif'less feller, you know.

Mebbe I forget all 'bout Flambeau, an' stop on my 'New Countree'-- you never can tol' w'at dose Franchemans goin' do." "It's the wander-lust," murmured Burrell to himself; "he'll never rest." "What a child you are!" cried Necia, half angrily.

"Can't you conquer that roving spirit and settle down like a man ?" She laid her hand on his arm appealingly.

"Haven't I told you there isn't any 'far country'?
Haven't I told you that this path leads only to hardship and suffering and danger?
The land you are looking for is there"-- she touched his breast--"so why don't you stay in Flambeau and let us help you to find it ?" He was deeply grateful for her blindness, and yet it hurt him so that his great heart was nigh to bursting.

Why couldn't she see the endless, hopeless yearning that consumed him, and know that if he stayed in sight and touch of her it would be like a living death?
Perhaps, then, she would have given over urging him to do what he longed to do, and let him go on that search he knew was hopeless, and in which he had no joy.