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diff --git a/2809.txt b/2809.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..95157f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/2809.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11469 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext Main-Travelled Roads, by Hamlin Garland + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + +*It must legally be the first thing seen when opening the book.* +In fact, our legal advisors said we can't even change margins. + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Prepared by David Reed haradda@aol.com or davidr@inconnect.com + + + + + +Main-Travelled Roads + + +by + +Hamlin Garland + + + + +To + +My Father And Mother Whose Half-Century Pilgrimage on the +Main-Travelled Road of Life Has Brought Them Only Toil and +Deprivation, This Book of Stories Is Dedicated By a Son to Whom +Every Day Brings a Deepening Sense of His Parents' Silent Heroism + + + + +_The main-travelled road in the West (as everywhere) is hot and +dusty in summer, and desolate and drear with mud in fall and +spring, and in winter the winds sweep the snow across it; but it +does sometimes cross a rich meadow where the songs of the larks +and bobolinks and blackbirds are tangled. Follow it far enough, it +may lead past a bend in the river where the water laughs eternally +over its shallows._ + +_Mainly it is long and wearyful and has a dull little town at one end, +and a home of toil at the other. Like the main-travelled road of life, +it is traversed by many classes of people, but the poor and the +weary predominate._ + + + + +Table of Contents + + Preface + A Branch Road + Up the Coulee + Among the Corn Rows + The Return of a Private + Under the Lion's Paw + The Creamery Man + A Day's Pleasure + Mrs Ripley's Trip + Uncle Ethan Ripley + God's Ravens + A "Good Fellow's" Wife + + + + +PREFACE + +In the summer of 1887, after having been three years in Boston and +six years absent from my old home in northern Iowa, I found +myself with money enough to pay my railway fare to Ordway, +South Dakota, where my father and mother were living, and as it +cost very little extra to go by way of Dubuque and Charles City, I +planned to visit Osage, Iowa, and the farm we had opened on Dry +Run prairie in 1871. + +Up to this time I had written only a few poems and some articles +descriptive of boy life on the prairie, although I was doing a good +deal of thinking and lecturing on land reform, and was regarded as +a very intense disciple of Herbert Spencer and Henry George a +singular combination, as I see it now. On my way westward, that +summer day in 1887, rural life presented itself from an entirely +new angle. The ugliness, the endless drudgery, and the loneliness +of the farmer's lot smote me with stern insistence. I was the +militant reformer. + +The farther I got from Chicago the more depressing the landscape +became. It was bad enough in our former home in Mitchell +County, but my pity grew more intense as I passed from northwest +Iowa into southern Dakota. The houses, bare as boxes, dropped on +the treeless plains, the barbed-wire fences running at right angles, +and the towns mere assemblages of flimsy wooden sheds with +painted-pine battlement, produced on me the effect of an almost +helpless and sterile poverty. + +My dark mood was deepened into bitterness by my father's farm, +where I found my mother imprisoned in a small cabin on the +enormous sunburned, treeless plain, with no expectation of ever +living anywhere else. Deserted by her sons and failing in health, +she endured the discomforts of her life uncomplainingly-but my +resentment of "things as they are" deepened during my talks with +her neighbors, who were all housed in the same unshaded cabins in +equal poverty and loneliness. The fact that at twenty-seven I was +without power to aid my mother in any substantial way added to +my despairing mood. + +My savings for the two years of my teaching in Boston were not +sufficient to enable me to purchase my return ticket, and when my +father offered me a stacker's wages in the harvest field I accepted +and for two weeks or more proved my worth with the fork, which +was still mightier-with me-than the pen. + +However, I did not entirely neglect the pen. In spite of the dust and +heat of the wheat rieks I dreamed of poems and stories. My mind +teemed with subjects for fiction, and one Sunday morning I set to +work on a story which had been suggested to me by a talk with my +mother, and a few hours later I read to her (seated on the low sill +of that treeless cottage) the first two thousand words of "Mrs. +Ripley's Trip," the first of the series of sketches which became +Main-Travelled Roads. + +I did not succeed in finishing it, however, till after my return to +Boston in September. During the fall and winter of '87 and the +winter and spring of '88, I wrote the most of the stories in +Main-Travelled Roads, a novelette for the Century Magazine, and +a play called "Under the Wheel." The actual work of the +composition was carried on in the south attic room of Doctor +Cross's house at 21 Seaverns Avenue, Jamaica Plain. + +The mood of bitterness in which these books were written was +renewed and augmented by a second visit to my parents in 1889, +for during my stay my mother suffered a stroke of paralysis due to +overwork and the dreadful heat of the summer. She grew better +before the time came for me to return to my teaching in Boston, +but I felt like a sneak as I took my way to the train, leaving my +mother and sister on that bleak and sun-baked plain. + +"Old Paps Flaxen," "Jason Edwards," "A Spoil of Office," and +most of the stories gathered into the second volume of +Main-Travelled Roads were written in the shadow of these defeats. +If they seem unduly austere, let the reader remember the times in +which they were composed. That they were true of the farms of +that day no one can know better than I, for I was there-a farmer. + +Life on the farms of Iowa and Wisconsin-even on the farms of +Dakota-has gained in beauty and security, I will admit, but there +are still wide stretches of territory in Kansas and Nebraska where +the farmhouse is a lonely shelter. Groves and lawns, better roads, +the rural free delivery, the telephone, and the motorcar have done +much to bring the farmer into a frame of mind where he is +contented with his lot, but much remains to be done before the +stream of young life from the country to the city can be checked. + +The two volumes of Main-Travelled Roads can now be taken to be +what William Dean Howells called them, "historical fiction," for +they form a record of the farmer's life as I lived it and studied it. In +these two books is a record of the privations and hardships of the +men and women who subdued the midland wilderness and +prepared the way for the present golden age of agriculture. + +H.G. + +March 1, 1922 + + + + + +A BRANCH ROAD + + +I + +"Keep the main-travelled road till you come to a branch leading +off-keep to the right." + +IN the windless September dawn a voice went singing, a man's +voice, singing a cheap and common air. Yet something in the elan +of it all told he was young, jubilant, and a happy lover. + +Above the level belt of timber to the east a vast dome of pale +undazzling gold was rising, silently and swiftly. Jays called in the +thickets where the maples flamed amid the green oaks, with +irregular splashes of red and orange. The grass was crisp with frost +under the feet, the road smooth and gray-white in color, the air was +indescribably sweet, resonant, and stimulating. No wonder the man +sang. + +He came Into view around the curve in the lane. He had a fork on +his shoulder, a graceful and polished tool. His straw hat was tilted +on the back of his head, his rough, faded coat was buttoned close +to the chin, and he wore thin buckskin gloves on his hands. He +looked muscular and intelligent, and was evidently about +twenty-two or -three years of age. + +As he walked on, and the sunrise came nearer to him, he stopped +his song. The broadening heavens had a majesty and sweetness +that made him forget the physical joy of happy youth. He grew +almost sad with the great vague thoughts and emotions which +rolled in his brain as the wonder of the morning grew. + +He walked more slowly, mechanically following the road, his eyes +on the ever-shifting streaming banners of rose and pale green, +which made the east too glorious for any words to tell. The air was +so still it seemed to await expectantly the coming of the sun. + +Then his mind flew back to Agnes. Would she see it? She was at +work, getting breakfast, but he hoped she had time to see it. He +was in that mood so common to him now, when he could not fully +enjoy any sight or sound unless he could share it with her. Far +down the road he heard the sharp clatter of a wagon. The roosters +were calling near and far, in many keys and tunes. The dogs were +barking, cattle bells jangling in the wooded pastures, and as the +youth passed farmhouses, lights in the kitchen windows showed +that the women were astir about breakfast, and the sound of voices +and curry-combs at the barn told that the men were at their daily +chores. + +And the east bloomed broader. The dome of gold grew brighter, +the faint clouds here and there flamed with a flush of red. The frost +began to glisten with a reflected color. The youth dreamed as he +walked; his broad face and deep earnest eyes caught and reflected +some of the beauty and majesty of the sky. + +But as he passed a farm gate and a young man of about his own +age joined him, his brow darkened. The other man was equipped +for work like himself. + +"Hello, Will!" + +"Hello, Ed!" + +"Going down to help Dingman thrash?" + +"Yes," replied Will shortly. It was easy to see he didn't welcome +company. + +"So'm I. Who's goin' to do your thrashin-Dave McTurg?" + +"Yes, I guess so. Haven't spoken to anybody yet." + +They walked on side by side. Will didn't feel like being rudely +broken in on in this way. The two men were rivals, but Will, being +the victor, would have been magnanimous, only he wanted to be +alone with his lover's dream. + +"When do you go back to the sem'?" Ed asked after a little. + +"Term begins next week. I'll make a break about second week." + +"Le's see: you graduate next year, don't yeh?" + +"I expect to, if I don't slip up on it." + +They walked on side by side, both handsome fellows; Ed a little +more showy in his face, which had a certain clean-cut precision of +line and a peculiar clear pallor that never browned under the sun. +He chewed vigorously on a quid of tobacco, one of his most +noticeable bad habits. + +Teams could be heard clattering along on several roads now, and +jovial voices singing. One team coming along behind the two men, +the driver sung out in good-natured warning, "Get out o' the way, +there." And with a laugh and a chirp spurred his horses to pass +them. + +Ed, with a swift understanding of the driver's trick, flung out his +left hand and caught the end-gate, threw his fork in, and leaped +after it. Will walked on, disdaining attempt to catch the wagon. On +all sides now the wagons of the plowmen or threshers were getting +out into the fields, with a pounding, rumbling sound. + +The pale red sun was shooting light through the leaves, and +warming the boles of the great oaks that stood in the yard, and +melting the frost off the great gaudy threshing machine that stood +between the stacks. The interest, picturesqueness of it all got hold +of Will Hannan, accustomed to it as he was. The homes stood +about in a circle, hitched to the ends of the six sweeps, all shining +with frost. + +The driver was oiling the great tarry cogwheels underneath. +Laughing fellows were wrestling about the yard. Ed Kinney had +scaled the highest stack, and stood ready to throw the first sheaf. +The sun, lighting him where he stood, made his fork handle gleam +like dull gold. Cheery words, jests, and snatches of song +everywhere. Dingman bustled about giving his orders and placing +his men, and the voice of big Dave McTurg was heard calling to +the men as they raised the long stacker into place: + +"Heave-ho, there! Up she rises!" + +And, best of all, Will caught a glirnpse of a smiling girl face at the +kitchen window that made the blood beat in his throat. + +"Hello, Will!" was the general greeting, given with some constraint +by most of the young fellows, for Will had been going to Rock +River to school for some years, and there was a little feeling of +jealousy on the part of those who pretended to sneer at the +"seminary chaps like Will Hannan and Milton Jennings." + +Dingrnan came up. "Will, I guess you'd better go on the stack with +Ed." + +"All ready. Hurrah, there!" said David in his soft but resonant bass +voice that always had a laugh in it. "Come, come, every sucker of +yeh git hold o' something. All ready!" He waved his hand at the +driver, who climbed upon his platform. Everybody scrambled into +place. + +"Chk, chk! All ready, boys! Stiddy there, Dan! Chk, chk! All ready, +boys! Stiddy there, boys! All ready now!" The horses began to +strain at the sweeps. The cylinder began to hum. + +"Grab a root there! Where's my band cutter? Here, you, climb on +here!" And David reached down and pulled Shep Watson up by the +shoulder with his gigantic hand. + +Boo-oo-oom, Boo-woo-woo-oom-oom-ow-owm, yarryarr! The +whirling cylinder boomed, roared, and snarled as it rose in speed. +At last, when its tone became a rattling yell, David nodded to the +pitchers, rasped his hands together, the sheaves began to fall from +the stack, the band cutter, knife in hand, slashed the bands in +twain, and the feeder with easy majestic motion gathered them +under his arm, rolled them out into an even belt of entering wheat, +on which the cylinder tore with its frightful, ferocious snarl. + +Will was very happy in Its quiet way. He enjoyed the smooth roll +of his great muscles, the sense of power he felt in his hands as he +lifted, turned, and swung the heavy sheaves two by two down upon +the table, where the band cutter madly slashed away. His frame, +sturdy rather than tall, was nevertheless lithe, and he made a fine +figure to look at, so Agnes thought, as she came out a moment and +bowed and smiled to both the young men. + +This scene, one of the jolliest and most sociable of the western +farm, had a charm quite aside from human companionship. The +beautiful yellow straw entering the cylinder; the clear +yellow-brown wheat pulsing out at the side; the broken straw, +chaff, and dust puffing out on the great stacker; the cheery +whistling and calling of the driver; the keen, crisp air, and the +bright sun somehow weirdly suggestive of the passage of time. + +Will and Agnes had arrived at a tacit understanding of mutual love +only the night before, and Will was power-fully moved to glance +often toward the house, but feared somehow the jokes of his +companions. He worked on, therefore, methodically, eagerly; but +his thoughts were on the future-the rustle of the oak tree nearby, +the noise of whose sere leaves he could distinguish beneath the +booming snarl of the machine; on the sky, where great fleets of +clouds were sailing on the rising wind, like merchantmen bound to +some land of love and plenty. + +When the Dingmans first came in, only a couple of years before, +Agnes had been at once surrounded by a swarm of suitors. Her +pleasant face and her abounding good nature made her an instant +favorite with all. Will, however, had disdained to become one of +the crowd, and held himself aloof, as he could easily do, being +away at school most of the time. + +The second winter, however, Agnes also attended the seminary, +and Will saw her daily and grew to love her. He had been just a bit +jealous of Ed Kinney all the time, for Ed had a certain rakish grace +in dancing and a dashing skill in handling a team which made him +a dangerous rival. + +But, as Will worked beside him all this Monday, he felt so secure +in his knowledge of the caress Agnes had given him at parting the +night before that he was perfectly happy-so happy that he didn't +care to talk, only to work on and dream as he worked. + +Shrewd David McTurg had his joke when the machine stopped for +a few minutes. "Well, you fellers do better'n I expected yeh to, +after bein' out so late last night. The first feller I find gappin' has +got to treat to the apples." + +"Keep your eye on me," said Shep. + +"You?" laughed one of the others. "Anybody knows if a girl so +much as looked crossways at you, you'd fall in a fit." + +"Another thing," said David. "I can't have you fellers carryin' grain, +going to the house too often for fried cakes or cookies." + +"Now you git out," said Bill Young from the straw pile. "You ain't +goin' to have all the fun to yerself." + +Will's blood began to grow hot in his face. If Bill had said much +more, or mentioned her name, he would have silenced him. To +have this rough joking come so close upon the holiest and most +exquisite evening of his life was horrible. It was not the words they +said, but the tones they used, that vulgarized it all. He breathed a +sigh of relief when the sound of the machine began again. + +This jesting made him more wary, and when the call for dinner +sounded and he knew he was going in to see her, he shrank from it. +He took no part in the race of the dust-blackened, half-famished +men to get at the washing place first. He took no part in the scurry +to get seats at the first table. + +Threshing time was always a season of great trial to +the housewife. To have a dozen men with the appetites of +dragons to cook for was no small task for a couple of women, in +addition to their other everyday duties. Preparations usually began +the night before with a raid on a hen roost, for "biled chickun" +formed the piece de resistance of the dinner. The table, enlarged +by boards, filled the sitting room. Extra seats were made out of +planks placed on chairs, and dishes were borrowed of neighbors +who came for such aid, in their turn. + +Sometimes the neighboring women came in to help; but Agnes and +her mother were determined to manage the job alone this year, and +so the girl, with a neat dark dress, her eyes shining, her cheeks +flushed with the work, received the men as they came in dusty, +coatless, with grime behind their ears, but a jolly good smile on +every face. + +Most of them were farmers of the neighborhood and schoolmates. +The only one she shrank from was Young, with his hard, glittering +eyes and red, sordid face. She received their jokes, their noise, +with a silent smile which showed her even teeth and dimpled her +round cheek. "She was good for sore eyes," as one of the fellows +said to Shep. She seemed deliciously sweet and dainty to these +roughly dressed fellows. + +They ranged along the table with a great deal of noise, boots +thumping, squeaking, knives and forks rattling, voices bellowing +out. + +"Now hold on, Steve! Can't have yeh so near that chickun!" + +"Move along, Shep! I want to be next to the kitchen door! I won't +get nothin' with you on that side o' me." + +"Oh, that's too thin! I see what you're-" + +"No, I won't need any sugar, if you just smile into it." This from +gallant David, greeted with roars of laughter. + +"Now, Dave, s'pose your wife 'ud hear o' that?" + +"She'd snatch 'im bald-headed, that's what she'd do." + +"Say, somebody drive that ceow down this way," said Bill. + +"Don't get off that drive! It's too old," criticised Shep, passing the +milk jug. + +Potatoes were seized, cut in halves, sopped in gravy, and taken +one, two! Corn cakes went into great jaws like coal into a steam +engine. Knives in the right hand cut and scooped gravy up. Great, +muscular, grimy, but wholesome fellows they were, feeding like +ancient Norse, and capable of working like demons. They were +deep in the process; half-hidden by steam from the potatoes and +stew, in less than sixty seconds from their entrance. + +With a shrinking from the comments of the others upon his regard +for Agnes, Will assumed a reserved and almost haughty air toward +his fellow workmen, and a curious coldness toward her. As he +went in, she came forward smiling brightly. + +"There's one more place, Will." A tender, involuntary droop in her +voice betrayed her, and Will felt a wave of hot blood surge over +him as the rest roared. + +"Ha, ha! Oh, there'd be a place for him!" + +"Don't worry, Will! Always room for you here!" + +Will took his seat with a sudden angry flame. "Why can't she keep +it from these fools?" was his thought. He didn't even thank her for +showing him the chair. + +She flushed vividly, but smiled back. She was so proud and happy, +she didn't care very much if they did know it. But as Will looked at +her with that quick angry glance, and took his seat with scowling +brow, she was hurt and puzzled. She redoubled her exertions to +please him, and by so doing added to the amusement of the crowd +that gnawed chicken bones, rattled cups, knives and forks, and +joked as they ate with small grace and no material loss of time. + +Will remained silent through it all, eating in marked contrast to the +others, using his fork instead of his knife in eating his potato, and +drinking his tea from his cup rather than from his saucer--"finickies" +which did not escape the notice of the girl nor the sharp eyes of +the other workmen. + +"See that? That's the way we do down to the sem! See? Fork for +pie in yer right hand! Hey? I can't do it. Watch me." + +When Agnes leaned over to say, "Won't you have some more tea, +Will?" they nudged each other and grinned. "Aha! What did I tell +you?" + +Agnes saw at last that for some reason Will didn't want her to +show her regard for him, that be was ashamed of it in some way, +and she was wounded. To cover it up, she resorted to the feminine +device of smiling and chatting with the others. She asked Ed if he +wouldn't have another piece of pie. + +"I will-with a fork, please." + +"This is 'bout the only place you can use a fork," said Bill Young, +anticipating a laugh by his own broad grin. + +"Oh, that's too old," said Shep Watson. "Don't drag that out agin. A +man that'll eat seven taters-" + +"Shows who docs the work." + +"Yes, with his jaws," put in Jim Wheelock, the driver. "If you'd put +in a little more work with soap 'n' water before comin' in to dinner, +it 'ud be a religious idee," said David. + +"It ain't healthy to wash." + +"Well, you'll live forever, then." + +"He ain't washed his face sence I knew 'im." + +"Oh, that's a little too tought! He washes once a week," said Ed +Kinney. + +"Back of his ears?" inquired David, who was munching a +doughnut, his black eyes twinkling with fun. + +"What's the cause of it?" + +"Dade says she won't kiss 'im if he don't." Everybody roared. + +"Good fer Dade! I wouldn't if I was in her place." + +Wheelock gripped a chicken leg imperturbably, and left it bare as a +toothpick with one or two bites at it. His face shone in two clean +sections around his nose and mouth. Behind his ears the dirt lay +undisturbed. The grease on his hands could not be washed off. + +Will began to suffer now because Agnes treated the other fellows +too well. With a lover's exacting jealousy, he wanted her in some +way to hide their tenderness from the rest, but to show her +indifference to men like Young and Kinney. He didn't stop to +inquire of himself the justice of such a demand, nor just how it +was to be done. He only insisted she ought to do it. + +He rose and left the table at the end of his dinner, without having +spoken to her, without even a tender, significant glance, and he +knew, too, that she was troubled and hurt. But he was suffering. It +seemed as if he had lost something sweet, lost it irrecoverably. + +He noticed Ed Kinney and Bill Young were the last to come out, +just before the machine started up again after dinner, and he saw +them pause outside the threshold and laugh back at Agnes standing +in the doorway. Why couldn't she keep those fellows at a distance, +not go out of her way to bandy jokes with them? + +Some way the elation of the morning was gone. He worked on +doggedly now, without looking up, without listening to the leaves, +without seeing the sunlighted clouds. Of course he didn't think that +she meant anything by it, but it irritated him and made him +unhappy. She gave herself too freely. + +Toward the middle of the afternoon the machine stopped for a +time for some repairing; and while Will lay on his stack in the +bright yellow sunshine, shelling wheat in his hands and listening to +the wind in the oaks, he heard his name and her name mentioned +on the other side of the machine, where the measuring box stood. +He listened. + +"She's pretty sweet on him, ain't she? Did yeh notus how she stood +around over him?" + +"Yes; an' did yeh see him when she passed the cup o' tea down +over his shoulder?" + +Will got up, white with wrath as they laughed. + +"Some way he didn't seem to enjoy it as I would. I wish she'd reach +her arm over my neck that way." + +Will walked around the machine, and came on the group lying on +the chaff near the straw pile. + +"Say, I want you fellers to understand that I won't have any more of +this talk. I won't have it." + +There was a dead silence. Then Bill Young rose up. + +"What yeh goen' to do about it?" he sneered. + +"I'm going to stop it." + +The wolf rose in Young. He moved forward, his ferocious soul +flaming from his eyes. + +"W'y, you damned seminary dude, I can break you in two!" + +An answering glare came into Will's eyes. He grasped and slightly +shook his fork, which he had brought with him unconsciously. + +"If you make one motion at me, I'll smash your head like an +eggshell!" His voice was low but terrific. There was a tone in it +that made his own blood stop in his veins. "If you think I'm going +to roll around on this ground with a hyena like you, you've +mistaken your man. I'll kill you, but I won't fight with such men as +you are." + +Bill quailed and slunk away, muttering some epithet like "coward." + +"I don't care what you call me, but just remember what I say: you +keep your tongue off that girl's affairs." + +"That's the talk!" said David. "Stand up for your girl always, but +don't use a fork. You can handle him without that:' + +"I don't propose to try," said Will, as he turned away. As be did so, +he caught a glimpse of Ed Kinney at the well, pumping a pail of +water for Agnes, who stood beside him, the sun on her beautiful +yellow hair. She was laughing at something Ed was saying as he +slowly moved the handle up and down. + +Instantly, like a foaming, turbid flood, his rage swept out toward +her. "It's all her fault," he thought, grinding his teeth. "She's a fool. +If she'd hold herself in like other girls! But no; she must smile and +smile at everybody." It was a beautiful picture, but it sent a shiver +through him. + +He worked on with teeth set, white with rage. He had an impulse +that would have made him assault her with words as with a knife. +He was possessed with a terrible passion which was hitherto latent +in him, and which he now felt to be his worst self. But he was +powerless to exorcise it. His set teeth ached with the stress of his +muscular tension, and his eyes smarted with the strain. + +He had always prided himself on being cool, calm, above these +absurd quarrels that his companions had so often indulged in. He +didn't suppose he could be so moved. As he worked on, his rage +settled down into a sort of stubborn bitterness-stubborn bitterness +of conflict between this evil nature and his usual self. It was the +instinct of possession, the organic feeling of proprietor-ship of a +woman, which rose to the surface and mastered him. He was not a +self-analyst, of course, being young, though he was more +introspective than the ordinary farmer. + +He had a great deal of time to think it over as he worked on there, +pitching the heavy bundles, but still he did not get rid of the +miserable desire to punish Agnes; and when she came out, looking +very pretty in her straw hat, and came around near his stack, he +knew she came to see him, to have an explanation, a smile; and yet +he worked away with his hat pulled over his eyes, hardly noticing +her. + +Ed went over to the edge of the stack and chatted with her; and +she-poor girl!-feeling Will's neglect, could only put a good face on +the matter, and show that she didn't mind it, by laughing back at +Ed. + +All this Will saw, though he didn't appear to be looking. And when +Jim Wheelock-Dirty Jim-with his whip in his hand, came up and +playfully pretended to pour oil on her hair, and she laughingly +struck at him with a handful of straw, Will wouldn't have looked at +her if she had called him by name. + +She looked so bright and charming in her snowy apron and her +boy's straw hat tipped jauntily over one pink ear that David and +Steve and Bill, and even Shep, found a way to get a word with her, +and the poor fellows in the high straw pile looked their +disappoimment and shook their forks in mock rage at the lucky +dogs on the ground. But Will worked on like a fiend, while the +dapples of light and shade fell on the bright face of the merry girl. + +To save his soul from hell flames he couldn't have gone over there +and smiled at her. It was impossible. A wall of bronze seemed to +have arisen between them. Yesterday, last night, seemed a dream. +The clasp of her hands at his neck, the touch of her lips, were like +the caresses of an ideal in some dim reverie. + +As night drew on, the men worked with a steadier, more +mechanical action. No one spoke now. Each man was intent on his +work. No one had any strength or breath to waste. The driver on +his power changed his weight on weary feet, and whistled and sang +at the tired horses. The feeder, his face gray with dust, rolled the +grain into the cylinder so even, so steady, so swift that it ran on +with a sullen, booming roar. Far up on the straw pile the stackers +worked with the steady, rhythmic action of men rowing a boat, +their figures looming vague and dim in the flying dust and chaff, +outlined against the glorious yellow and orange-tinted clouds. + +"Phe-e-eew-ee," whistled the driver with the sweet, cheery, rising +notes of a bird. "Chk, chk, chk! Phe-e-eewee. Go on there, boys! +Chk, chk, chk! Step up, there Dan, step up! (Snap!) Phe-e-eew-ee! +G'-wan-g'-wan, g'-wan! Chk, clik, chk! Wheest, wheest, wheest! +Clik, chk!" + +In the house the women were setting the table for supper. The sun +had gone down behind the oaks, flinging glorious rose color and +orange shadows along the edges of the slate-blue clouds. Agnes +stopped her work at the kitchen window to look up at the sky and +cry silently. "What was the matter with Will?" She felt a sort of +distrust of him now. She thought she knew him so well, but now +he was so strange. + +"Come, Aggie," said Mrs. Dingman, "they're gettin' most down to +the bottom of the stack. They'll be pilin' in here soon." + +"Phe-e-eew-ee! G'-wan, Doll! G'-wan, boys! Chk, chk, chk! +Phe-e-eew-ee!" called the driver out in the dusk, cheerily swinging +the whip over the horses' backs. Boomoo-oo-oom! roared the +machine, with a muffled, monotonous, solemn tone. "G'-wan, +boys! G'-wan, g'-wan!" + +Will had worked unceasingly all day. His muscles ached with +fatigue. His hands trembled. He clenched his teeth, however, and +worked on, determined not to yield. He wanted them to understand +that he could do as much pitching as any of them and read Caesar's +Commentaries besides. It seemed as if each bundle were the last +he could raise. The sinews of his wrist pained him so, they seemed +swollen to twice their natural size. But still he worked on grimly, +while the dusk fell and the air grew chill. + +At last the bottom bundle was pitched up, and he got down on his +knees to help scrape the loose wheat into baskets. What a sweet +relief it was to kneel down, to release the fork and let the worn and +cramping muscles settle into rest! A new note came into the +driver's voice, a soothing tone, full of kindness and admiration for +the work his team had done. + +"Wo-o-o, lads! Stiddy-y-y, boys! Wo-o-o, there, Dan. Stiddy, +stiddy, old man! Ho, there!" The cylinder took on a lower key, with +short rising yells, as it ran empty for a moment. The horses had +been going so long that they came to a stop reluctantly. At last +David called, "Turn out!" The men seized the ends of the sweep, +David uncoupled the tumbling rods, and Shep threw a sheaf of +grain into the cylinder, choking it into silence. + +The stillness and the dusk were very impressive. So long had the +bell-metal cogwheel sung its deafening song into Will's ear that, as +he walked away into the dusk, he had a weird feeling of being +suddenly deaf, and his legs were so numb that he could hardly feel +the earth. He stumbled away like a man paralyzed. + +He took out his handkerchief, wiped the dust from his face as best +he could, shook his coat, dusted his shoulders with a grain sack, +and was starting away, when Mr. Dingman, a rather feeble elderly +man, came up. + +"Come, Will, supper's all ready. Go in and eat." + +"I guess I'll go home to supper." + +"Oh, no, that won't do. The women'll be expecting yeh to stay." + +The men were laughing at the well, the warm yellow light shone +from the kitchen, the chill air making it seem very inviting, and +she was there, waiting! But the demon rose in him. He knew Agnes +would expect him, that she would cry that night with +disappointment, but his face hardened. "I guess I'll go home," he +said, and his tone was relentless. He turned and walked away, +hungry, tired--so tired he stumbled, and so unhappy he could have wept. + + +II + +ON Thursday the county fair was to be held. The fair is one of the +gala days of the year in the country districts of the West, and one +of the times when the country lover rises above expense to the +extravagance of hiring a top buggy in which to take his sweetheart +to the neighboring town. + +It was customary to prepare for this long beforehand, for the +demand for top buggies was so great the livery-men grew +dictatorial and took no chances. Slowly but surely the country +beaux began to compete with the clerks, and in many cases +actually outbid them, as they furnished their own horses and could +bid higher, in consequence, on the carriages. + +Will had secured his brother's "rig," and early on Thursday +morning he was at work, busily washing the mud from the +carriage, dusting the cushions, and polishing up the buckles and +rosettes on his horses' harnesses. It was a beautiful, crisp, clear +dawn-the ideal day for a ride; and Will was singing as he worked. +He had regained his real sell, and, having passed through a bitter +period of shame, was now joyous with anticipation of forgiveness. +He looked forward to the day with its chances of doing a thousand +little things to show his regret and his love. + +He had not seen Agnes since Monday, because Tuesday he did not +go back to help thresh, and Wednesday he had been obliged to go +to town to see about board for the coming term; but he felt sure of +her. It had all been arranged the Sunday before; she'd expect him, +and he was to call at eight o'clock. + +He polished up the colts with merry tick-tack of the brush and +comb, and after the last stroke on their shining limbs, threw his +tools in the box and went to the house. + +"Pretty sharp last night," said his brother John, who was scrubbing +his face at the cistern. + +"Should say so by that rim of ice," Will replied, dipping his hands +into the icy water. + +"I ought'o stay home today an' dig tates," continued the older man +thoughtfully as they went into the wood-shed and wiped +consecutively on the long roller towel. "Some o' them Early Rose +lay right on top o' the ground. They'll get nipped sure." + +"Oh, I guess not. You'd better go, Jack; you don't get away very +often. And then it would disappoint Nettie and the children so. +Their little hearts are overflowing," he ended as the door opened +and two sturdy little boys rushed out. + +"B'ekfuss, Poppa; all yeady!" + +The kitchen table was set near the stove; the room was full of sun, +and the smell of sizzling sausages and the aroma of coffee filled +the room. The kettle was doing its duty cheerily, and the wife with +flushed face and smiling eyes was hurrying to and fro, her heart +full of anticipation of the day's outing. + +There was a hilarity almost like some strange intoxication on the +part of the two children. They danced, and chattered, and clapped +their chubby brown hands, and ran to the windows ceaselessly. + +"Is yuncle Will goin' yide flour buggy?" + +"Yus; the buggy and the colts." + +"Is he goin' to take his girl?" + +Will blushed a little, and John roared. + +"Yes, I'm goin'-" + +"Is Aggie your girl?" + +"H'yer! h'yer! young man," called John, "you're gettin' personal." + +"Well, set up," said Nettie, and with a good deal of clatter they +drew around the cheerful table. + +Will had already begun to see the pathos, the pitiful significance of +this great joy over a day's outing, and he took himself a little to +task at his own selfish freedom. He resolved to stay at home some +time and let Nettie go in his place. A few hours in the middle of +the day on Sunday, three or four holidays in summer; the rest for +this cheerful little wife and her patient husband was work-work +that some way accomplished so little and left no trace on their +souls that was beautiful. + +While they were eating breakfast, teams began to clatter by, huge +lumber wagons with three seats across, and a boy or two jouncing +up and down with the dinner baskets near the end-gate. The +children rushed to the window each time to announce who it was, +and how many there were in. + +But as Johnny said "firteen" each time, and Ned wavered between +"seven" and "sixteen," it was doubtful if they could be relied upon. +They had very little appetite, so keen was their anticipation of the +ride and the wonderful sights before them. Their little hearts +shuddered with joy at every fresh token of preparation-a joy that +made Will say, "Poor little men!" + +They vibrated between the house and the barn while the chores +were being finished, and their happy cries started the young +roosters into a renewed season of crowing. And when at last the +wagon was brought out and the horses hitched to it, they danced +like mad sprites. + +After they had driven away, Will brought out the colts, hitched +them in, and drove them to the hitching post. Then he leisurely +dressed himself in his best suit, blacked his boots with +considerable exertion, and at about 7:30 o'clock climbed into his +carriage and gathered up the reins. + +He was quite happy again. The crisp, bracing air, the strong pull of +the spirited young team put all thought of sorrow behind him. He +had planned it all out. He would first put his arm around her and +kiss her-there would not need to be any words to tell her how sorry +and ashamed he was. She would know! + +Now, when he was alone and going toward her on a beautiful +morning, the anger and bitterness of Monday fled away, became +unreal, and the sweet dream of the Sunday parting grew the reality. +She was waiting for him now. She had on her pretty blue dress and +the wide hat that always made her look so arch. He had said about +eight o'clock. + +The swift team was carrying him along the crossroad, which was +little travelled, and he was alone with his thoughts. He fell again +upon his plans. Another year at school for them both, and then he'd +go into a law office. Judge Brown had told him he'd give +him-"Whoa! Ho!" + +There was a swift lurch that sent him flying over the dasher. A +confused vision of a roadside ditch full of weeds and bushes, and +then he felt the reins in his hands and heard the snorting horses +trample on the hard road. + +He rose dizzy, bruised, and covered with dust. The team he held +securely and soon quieted. He saw the cause of it all: the right +forewheel had come off, letting the front of the buggy drop. He +unhitched the excited team from the carriage, drove them to the +fence and tied them securely, then went back to find the wheel and +the "nut" whose failure to hold its place had done all the mischief. +He soon had the wheel on, but to find the burr was a harder task. +Back and forth he ranged, looking, scraping in the dust, searching +the weeds. + +He knew that sometimes a wheel will run without the burr for +many rods before corning off, and so each time he extended his +search. He traversed the entire half-mile several times, each time +his rage and disappointment getting more bitter. He ground his +teeth in a fever of vexation and dismay. + +He had a vision of Agnes waiting, wondering why he did not +come. It was this vision that kept him from seeing the burr in the +wheel-track, partly covered by a clod. + +Once he passed it looking wildly at his watch, which was showing +nine o'clock. Another time he passed it with eyes dimmed with a +mist that was almost tears of anger. + +There is no contrivance that will replace an axle burr, and +farmyards have no unused axle burrs, and so Will searched. Each +moment he said: "I'll give it up, get onto one of the horses, and go +down and tell her." But searching for a lost axle burr is like +fishing: the searcher expects each moment to find it. And so he +groped, and ran breathlessly, furiously, back and forth, and at last +kicked away the clod that covered it, and hurried, hot and dusty, +cursing his stupidity, back to the team. + +It was ten o'clock as he climbed again into the buggy and started +his team on a swift trot down the road. What would she think? He +saw her now with tearful eyes and pouting lips. She was sitting at +the window, with hat and gloves on; the rest had gone, and she was +waiting for him. + +But she'd know something had happened, because he had promised +to be there at eight. He had told her what team he'd have. (He had +forgotten at this moment the doubt and distrust he had given her on +Monday.) She'd know he'd surely come. + +But there was no smiling or tearful face watching at the window as +he came down the lane at a tearing pace and turned into the yard. +The house was silent and the curtains down. The silence sent a +chill to his heart. Something rose up in his throat to choke him. + +"Agnes!" he called. "Hello! I'm here at last!" + +There was no reply. As he sat there, the part he had played on +Monday came back to him. She may be sick! he thought with a +cold thrill of fear. + +An old man came around the corner of the house with a potato +fork in his hands, his teeth displayed in a grin. + +"She ain't here. She's gone." + +"Gone!" + +"Yes-more'n an hour ago." + +"Who'd she go with?" + +"Ed Kinney," said the old fellow with a malicious grin. "I guess +your goose is cooked." + +Will lashed the horses into a run and swung round the yard and out +of the gate. His face was white as a dead man's, and his teeth were +set like a vise. He glared straight ahead. The team ran wildly, +steadily homeward, while their driver guided them unconsciously. +He did not see them. His mind was filled with a tempest of rages, +despairs, and shames. + +That ride he will never forget. In it he threw away all his plans. +He gave up his year's schooling. He gave up his law aspirations. He +deserted his brother and his friends. In the dizzying whirl of +passions he had only one clear idea-to get away, to go West, to get +away from the sneers and laughter of his neighbors, and to make +her suffer by it all. + +He drove into the yard, did not stop to unharness the team, but +rushed into the house and began packing his trunk. His plan was +formed, which was to drive to Cedarville and hire someone to +bring the team back. He had no thought of anything but the shame, +the insult she had put upon him. Her action on Monday took on the +same levity it wore then, and excited him in the same way. He saw +her laughing with Ed over his dismay. He sat down and wrote a +letter to her at last-a letter that came from the ferocity of the +medieval savage in him: + +"It you want to go to hell with Ed Kinney, you can. I won't say a +word. That's where he'll take you. You won't see me again." + +This he signed and sealed, and then he bowed his head and wept +like a girl. But his tears did not soften the effect of the letter. It +went as straight to its mark as he meant it should. It tore a seared +and ragged path to an innocent, happy heart, and be took a savage +pleasure in the thought of it as he rode away on the cars toward +the South. + + +III + +The seven years lying between 1880 and 1887 made a great +change in Rock River and in The adjacent farming land. Signs +changed and firms went out of business with characteristic +Western ease of shift. The trees grew rapidly, dwarfing The houses +beneath them, and contrasts of +newness and decay thickened. + +Will found The country changed, as he walked along The dusty +road from Rock River toward "The Corners." The landscape was at +its fairest and liberalest, with its seas of corn deep green and +moving with a mournful rustle, in sharp contrast to its flashing +blades; its gleaming fields of barley, and its wheat already mottled +with soft gold in The midst of its pea-green. + +The changes were in The hedges, grown higher, In The greater +predominance of cornfields and cattle pastures, but especially in +The destruction of homes. As he passed on Will saw The grass +growing and cattle feeding on a dozen places where homes had +once stood. They had given place to The large farm and The stock +raiser. Still the whole scene was bountiful and very beautiful to +the eye. + +It was especially grateful to Will, for he had spent nearly all his +years of absence among The rocks, treeless swells, and bleak cliffs +of The Southwest. The crickets rising before his dusty feet +appeared to him something sweet and suggestive and The cattle feeding in +The clover moved him to deep thought-they were so peaceful and +slow-motioned. + +As he reached a little popple tree by The roadside, he stopped, +removed his broad-brimmed hat, put his elbows on The fence, and +looked hungrily upon The scene. The sky was deeply blue, with +only here and there a huge, heavy, slow-moving, massive, sharply +outlined cloud sailing like a berg of ice in a shoreless sea of azure. + +In the fields the men were harvesting the ripened oats and barley, +and The sound of their machines clattering, now low, now loud, +came to his ears. Flies buzzed near him, and a king bird clattered +overhead. He noticed again, as he had many a time when a boy, +that The softened sound of The far-off reaper was at times exactly +like The hum of a bluebottle fly buzzing heedlessly about his ears. + +A slender and very handsome young man was shocking grain near +The fence, working so desperately he did not see Will until greeted +by him. He looked up, replied to The greeting, but kept on till he +had finished his last stook, then he came to the shade of the tree +and took off his hat. + +"Nice day to sit under a tree and fish." + +Will smiled. "I ought to know you, I suppose; I used to live here +years ago." + +"Guess not; we came in three years ago." + +The young man was quick-spoken and very pleasant to look at. +Will felt freer with him. + +"Are The Kinneys still living over there?" He nodded at a group of +large buildings. + +"Tom lives there. Old man lives with Ed. Tom ousted The old man +some way, nobody seems to know how, and so he lives with Ed." + +Will wanted to ask after Agnes, but hardly felt able. "I s'pose John +Hannan is on his old farm?" + +"Yes. Got a good crop this year." + +Will looked again at The fields of rustling wheat over which The +clouds rippled, and said with an air of conviction: "This lays over +Arizona, dead sure." + +"You're from Arizona, then?" + +"Yes-a good ways from it"' Will replied in a way that stopped +further question. "Good luck!" he added as he walked on down The +road toward The creek, musing. "And the spring-I wonder if that's +there yet. I'd like a drink." The sun seemed hotter than at noon, and +he walked slowly. At the bridge that spanned the meadow brook, +just where it widened over a sandy ford, he paused again. He hung +over the rail and looked at the minnows swimming there. + +"I wonder if they're The same identical chaps that used to boil and +glitter there when I was a boy-looks so. Men change from one +generation to another, but The fish remain The same. The same +eternal procession of types. I suppose Darwin 'ud say their +environment remains The same." + +He hung for a long time over The railing, thinking of a vast +number of things, mostly vague, flitting things, looking into the +clear depths of the brook, and listening to the delicious liquid note +of a blackbird swinging on the willow. Red lilies starred the grass +with fire, and goldenrod and chicory grew everywhere; purple and +orange and yellow-green the prevailing tints. + +Suddenly a water snake wriggled across the dark pool above the +ford, and the minnows disappeared under the shadow of the +bridge. Then Will sighed, lifted his head, and walked on. There +seemed to be something prophetic in it, and he drew a long breath. +That's the way his plans broke and faded away. + +Human life does not move with the regularity of a clock. In living +there are gaps and silences when the soul stands still in its flight +through abysses-and then there come times of trial and times of +struggle when we grow old without knowing it. Body and soul +change appallingly. + +Seven years of hard, busy life had made changes in Will. + +His face had grown bold, resolute, and rugged, some of its delicacy +and all of its boyish quality gone. His figure was stouter, erect as +of old, but less graceful. He bore himself like a man accustomed to +look out for himself in all kinds of places. It was only at times that +there came into his deep eyes a preoccupied, almost sad look that +showed kinship with his old self. + +This look was on his face as he walked toward the clump of trees +on the right of the road. + +He reached the grove of popple trees and made his way at once to +the spring. When he saw it, it gave him a shock. They had let it fill +up with leaves and dirt. + +Overcome by the memories of the past, he flung him-sell down on +the cool and shadowy bank, and gave him-sell up to the bittersweet +reveries of a man returning to his boyhood's home. He was filled +somehow with a strange and powerful feeling of the passage of +time; with a vague feeling of the mystery and elusiveness of +human life. The leaves whispered it overhead, the birds sang it in +chorus with the insects, and far above, in the measureless spaces of +sky, the hawk told it in the silence and majesty of his flight from +cloud to cloud. + +It was a feeling hardly to be expressed in words--one of those +emotions whose springs lie far back in the brain. He lay so still, the +chipmunks came curiously up to his very feet, only to scurry away +when he stirred like a sleeper in pain. + +He had cut himself off entirely from the life at The Corners. He +had sent money home to John, but had concealed his own address +carefully. The enormity of this folly now came back to him, +racking him till he groaned. + +He heard the patter of feet and the half-mumbled monologue of a +running child. He roused up and faced a small boy, who started +back in terror like a wild fawn. He was deeply surprised to find a +man there where only boys and squirrels now came. He stuck his +fist in his eye, and was backing away when Will spoke. + +"Hold on, sonny! Nobody's hit you. Come, I ain't goin' to eat yeh." +He took a bit of money from his pocket. "Come here and tell me +your name. I want to talk with you." + +The boy crept upon the dime. + +Will smiled. "You ought to be a Kinney. What is your name?" + +"Tomath Dickinthon Kinney. I'm thix and a half. I've got a colt," +lisped the youngster breathlessly as he crept toward the money. + +"Oh, you are, eh? Well, now, are you Tom's boy or Ed's?" + +"Tomth's boy. Uncle Ed hith gal-" + +"Ed got a boy?" + +"Yeth, thir- lii baby. Aunt Agg letth me hold 'im" + +"Agg! Is that her name?" + +"That's what Uncle Ed callth her." + +The man's head fell, and it was a long time before he asked his +next question. + +"How is she, anyhow?" + +"Purty well," piped the boy with a prolongation of the last words +into a kind of chirp. "She'th been thick, though," he added. + +"Been sick? How long?" + +"Oh, a long time. But she ain't thick abed; she'th awuul poor, +though. Gran'pa thayth she'th poor ath a rake." + +"Oh, he does, eh?" + +"Yeth, thir. Uncle Ed he jawth her, then she crieth." + +Will's anger and remorse broke out in a groaning curse. "O my +God! I see it all. That great lunkin' houn' has made life a hell fer +her." Then that letter came back to his mind; he had never been +able to put it out of his mind-he never would till he saw her and +asked her pardon. + +"Here, my boy, I want you to tell me some more. Where does your +Aunt Agnes live?" + +"At gran'pa'th. You know where my gran'pa livth?" + +"Well, you do. Now I want you to take this letter to her. Give it to +her." He wrote a little note and folded it. "Now dust out o' here." + +The boy slipped away through the trees like a rabbit; his little +brown feet hardly rustled. He was like some little wood animal. +Left alone, the man went back into a reverie that lasted till the +shadows fell on the thick little grove around the spring. He rose ~ +last and, taking his stick in hand, walked out to the wood again and +stood there, gazing at the sky. He seemed loath to go farther. The +sky was full of flame-colored clouds floating in a yellow-green +sea, where bars of faint pink streamed broadly away. + +As he stood there, feeling the wind lift his hair, listening to the +crickets' ever-present crying, and facing the majesty of space, a +strange sadness and despair came into his eyes. + +Drawing a quick breath, he leaped the fence and was about going +on up the road, when he heard, at a little distance, the sound of a +drove of cattle approaching, and he stood aside to allow them to +pass. They snuffed and shied at the silent figure by the fence, and +hurried by with snappug heels-a peculiar sound that made the man +smile with pleasure. + +An old man was driving the cows, crying out: + +"St, boy, there! Go on, there. Whay, boss!" + +Will knew that hard-featured, wiry old man, now entering his +second childhood and beginning to limp painfully. He had his +hands full of hard clods which he threw impatiently at the +lumbering animals. + +"Good evening, uncle!" + +"I ain't y'r uncle, young man." + +His dim eyes did not recognize the boy he had chased out of his +plum patch years before. + +"I don't know yeh, neither." + +"Oh, you will, later on. I'm from the East. I'm a sort of a relative to +John Hannan." + +"I wanto know if y' be!" the old man exclaimed, peering closer. + +"Yes. I'm just up from Rock River. John's harvesting, I s'pose?" + +"Where's the youngest one-Will?" + +"William? Oh! he's a bad aig-he lit out fr the West somewhere. He +was a hard boy. He stole a hatful o' my plums once. He left home +kind o' sudden. He! he! I s'pose he was purty well cut up jest about +them days." + +"How's that?" + +The old man chuckled. + +"Well, y' see, they was both courtin' Agnes then, an' my son cut +William out. Then William he lit out f'r the West, Arizony 'r +California 'r somewhere out West. Never been back sence." + +"Ain't, heh?" + +"No. But they say he's makin' a terrible lot o' money," the old man +said in a hushed voice. "But the way he makes it is awful scaly. I +tell my wife if I had a son like that an' he'd send me home a bushel +basket o' money, earnt like that, I wouldn't touch finger to it-no, +sir!" + +"You wouldn't? Why?" + +"'Cause it ain't right. It ain't made right no way, you-" + +"But how is it made? What's the feller's trade?" + +"He's a gambler-that's his trade! He plays cards, and every cent is +bloody. I wouldn't touch such money no how you could fix it~" + +"Wouldn't, hay?" The young man straightened up. "Well, +look-a-here, old man: did you ever hear of a man foreclosing a +mortgage on a widow and two boys, getting a farm f'r one quarter +what it was really worth? You damned old hypocrite! I know all +about you and your whole tribe-you old bloodsucker!" + +The old man's jaw fell; he began to back away. + +"Your neighbors tell some good stories about you. Now skip along +after those cows or I'll tickle your old legs for you!" + +The old man, appalled and dazed at this sudden change of manner, +backed away, and at last turned and racked off up the road, looking +back with a wild face at which the young man laughed +remorselessly. + +"The doggoned old skeesucks!" Will soliloquized as he walked up +the road. "So that's the kind of a character he's been givin' me!" + +"Hullo! A whippoorwrn. Takes a man back into childhood-No, +don't 'whip poor Will'; he's got all he can bear now." + +He came at last to the little farm Dingman had owned, and he +stopped in sorrowful surprise. The barn had been moved away, the +garden plowed up, and the house, turned into a granary, stood with +boards nailed across its dusty cobwebbed windows. The tears +started into the man's eyes; he stood staring at it silently. + +In the face of this house the seven years that he had last lived +stretched away into a wild waste of time. It stood as a symbol of +his wasted, ruined life. It was personal, intimately personal, this +decay of her home. + +All that last scene came back to him: the booming roar of the +threshing machine, the cheery whistle of the driver, the loud, +merry shouts of the men. He remembered how warmly the +lamplight streamed out of that door as he turned away tired, +hungry, sullen with rage and jealousy. Oh, if he had only had the +courage of a man! + +Then he thought of the boy's words. She was sick. Ed abused her. +She had met her punishment. A hundred times he had been over +the whole scene. A thousand times he had seen her at the pump +smiling at Ed Kinney, the sun lighting her bare head; and he never +thought of it without hardening. + +At this very gate he had driven up that last forenoon, to find that +she had gone with Ed. He had lived that sickening, depressing +moment over many times, but not times enough to keep down the +bitter passion he had felt then, and felt now as he went over it in +detail. + +He was so happy and confident that morning, so perfectly certain +that all would be made right by a kiss and a cheery jest. And now! +Here he stood sick with despair and doubt of all the world. He +turned away from the desolate homestead and walked on. + +"But I'll see her-just once more. And then-" And again the mighty +significance, responsibility of life fell upon him. He felt as young +people seldom do the irrevocableness of living, the determinate, +unalterable character of living. He determined to begin to live in +some new way-just how he could not say. + +IV + +OLD man Kinney and his wife were getting their Sunday school +lessons with much bickering, when Will drove up the next day to +the dilapidated gate and hitched his team to a leaning post under +the oaks. Will saw the old man's head at the open window, but no +one else, though he +looked eagerly for Agnes as he walked up the familiar path. There +stood the great oak under whose shade he had grown to be a man. +How close the great tree seemed to stand to his heart, some way! +As the wind stirred in the leaves, it was like a rustle of greeting. + +In that low old house they had all lived, and his mother had toiled +for thirty years. A sort of prison after all. There they were all born, +and there his father and his little sister had died. And then it had +passed into old Kinney's hands. + +Walking along up the path he felt a serious weakness in his limbs, +and he made a pretense of stopping to look at a flowerbed +containing nothing but weeds. After seven years of separation he +was about to face once more the woman whose life came so near +being a part of his- Agnes, now a wife and a mother. + +How would she look? Would her face have that oldtime peachy +bloom, her mouth that peculiar beautiful curve? She was large and +fair, he recalled, hair yellow and shining, eyes blue-He roused +himself. This was nonsense! He was trembling. He composed +himself by looking around again. + +"The old scoundrel has let the weeds choke out the flowers and +surround the beehives. Old man Kinney neverbelieved in anything +but a petty utility." + +Will set his teeth, and marched up to the door and struck it like a +man delivering a challenge. Kinney opened the door, and started +back in fear when he saw who it was. + +"How de do? How de do?" said Will, walking in' his eyes fixed on +a woman seated beyond, a child in her lap. + +Agnes rose, without a word; a fawnlike, startled widening of the +eyes, her breath coming quick, and her face flushing. They couldn't +speak; they only looked at each other an instant, then Will +shivered, passed his hand over his eyes, and sat down. + +There was no one there but the old people, who were looking at +him in bewilderment. They did not notice any confusion in Agnes's +face. She recovered first. + +"I'm glad to see you back, Will," she said, rising and putting the +sleeping child down in a neighboring room. As she gave him her +hand, he said: + +"I'm glad to get back, Agnes. I hadn't ought to have gone." Then he +turned to the old people: "I'm Will Hannan. You needn't be scared, +daddy; I was jokin' last night." + +"Dew tell! I wanto know!" exclaimed granny. "Wal I never! An, +you're my little Willy boy who ust 'o he in my class. Well! well! +W'y, Pa, ain't he growed tall! Growed handsome tew. I ust 'o think +he was a drelful humly boy; but my sakes, that mustache-" + +"Wal, he give me a tumble scare last night. My land! scared me out +of a year's growth," cackled the old man. + +This gave them all a chance to laugh and the air was cleared. It +gave Agnes time to recover herself and to be able to meet Will's +eyes. Will himself was powerfully moved; his throat swelled and +tears came to his eyes everytime he looked at her. + +$he was worn and wasted incredibly. The blue of her eyes seemed +dimmed and faded by weeping, and the oldtime scariet of her lips +had been washed away. The sinews of her neck showed painfully +when she turned her head, and her trembling hands were worn, +discolored, and lumpy at the joints. + +Poor girl! She felt that she was under scrutiny, and her eyes felt hot +and restless. She wished to run away and cry, but she dared not. +She stayed, while Will began to tell her of his life and to ask +questions about old friends. + +The old people took it up and relieved her of any share in it; and +Will, seeing that she was suffering, told some funny stories which +made the old people cackle in spite of themselves. + +But it was forced merriment on Will's part. Once in a while Agnes +smiled with just a little flash of the old-time sunny temper. But +there was no dimple in the cheek now, and the smile had more +suggestion of an invalid~r even a skeleton. He was almost ready to +take her in his arms and weep, her face appealed so pitifully to +him. + +"It's most time f'r Ed to be gittin' back, ain't it' Pa?" + +"Sh'd say 'twas! He jist went over to Hobkirk's to trade horses. It's +dretful tryin' to me to have him go off tradin' horses on Sunday. +Seems if he might wait till a rainy day, 'r do it evenin's. I never did +believe in horse tradin' anyhow." + +"Have y' come back to stay, Willie?" asked the old lady. + +"Well-it's hard-tellin'," answered Will, looking at Agnes. + +"Well, Agnes, ain't you goin' to get no dinner? I'm 'bout ready fr +dinner. We must git to church eariy today. Elder Wheat is goin' to +preach an' they'll be a crowd. He's goin' to hold communion." + +"You'll stay to dinner, Will?" asked Agnes. + +"Yes-if you wish it." + +"I do wish it." + +"Thank you; I want to have a good visit with you. I don't know +when I'll see you again." + +As she moved about, getting dinner on the table, Will sat with +gloomy face, listening to the "clack" of the old man. The room was +a poor little sitting room, with furniture worn and shapeless; hardly +a touch of pleasant color, save here and there a little bit of Agnes's +handiwork. The lounge, covered with calico, was rickety; the +rocking chair matched it, and the carpet of rags was patched and +darned with twine in twenty places. Everywhere was the influence +of the Kinneys. The furniture looked like them, in fact. + +Agnes was outwardly calm, but her real distraction did not escape +Mrs. Kinney's hawklike eyes. + +"Well, I declare if you hain't put the butter on in one o' my blue +chainy saucers! Now you know I don't allow that saucer to be took +down by nobody. I don't see what's got into yeh. Anybody'd s'pose +you never see any comp'ny b'fore-wouldn't they, Pa?" + +"Sh'd say th' would," said Pa, stopping short in a long story about +Ed. "Seems if we couldn't keep anything in this' house sep'rit from +the rest. Ed he uses my currycomb-" + +He launched out a long list of grievances, which Will shut his ears +to as completely as possible, and was thinking how to stop him, +when there was a sudden crash. Agnes had dropped a plate. + +"Good land o' Goshen!" screamed Granny. "If you ain't the worst I +ever see. I'll bet that's my grapevine plate. If it is-well, of all the +mercies, it ain't! But it naight 'a' ben. I never see your beat-never! +That's the third plate since I came to live here." + +"Oh, look-a-here, Granny," said Will desperately. "Don't make so +much fuss about the plate. What's it worth, anyway? Here's a +dollar." + +Agnes cried quickly: + +"Oh, don't do that, Will! It ain't her pate. It's my plate, and I can +break every plate in the house if I want'o," she cried defiantly. + +"'Course you can," Will agreed. + +"Well, she can't! Not while I'm around," put in Daddy. "I've helped +to pay f'r them plates, if she does call 'em hern-" + +"What the devul is all this row about? Agg, can't you get along +without stirring up the old folks everytime I'm out o' the house?" + +The speaker was Ed, now a tail and slouchily dressed man of +thirty-two or -three; his face still handsome in a certain dark, +cleanly cut style, but he wore a surly loo'k and lounged along in a +sort of hangdog style, in greasy overalls and vest unbuttoned. + +"Hello, Will! I heard you'd got home. John told me as I came +along." + +They shook bands, and Ed slouched down on the lounge. Will +could have kicked him for laying the blame of the dispute upon +Agnes; it showed him in a flash just how he treated her. He +disdained to quarrel; he simply silenced and dominated her. + +Will asked a few questions about crops, with such grace as he +could show, and Ed, with keen eyes in his face, talked easily and +stridently. + +"Dinner ready?" he asked of Agnes. "Where's Pete?" + +"He's asleep." + +"All right. Let 'im sleep. Well, let's go out an' set 'up. Come, Dad, +sling away that Bible and come to grub. Mother, what the devul +are you sniffling at? Say, now, look here. If I hear any more about +this row, I'll simply let you walk down to meeting. Come, Will, set +up." + +He led the way out into the little kitchen where the dinner was set. + +"What was the row about? Hain't been breakin' some dish, Agg?" + +"Yes, she has." + +"One o' the blue ones?" winked Ed. + +"No, thank goodness, it was a white one." + +"Well, now, I'll git into that dod-gasted cubberd some day an' break +the whole eternal outfit. I ain't goin' to have this damned jawin' +goin' on," he ended, brutally unconscious of his own "jawin'." + +After this the dinner proceeded in comparative silence, Agnes +sobbing under breath. The room was small and very hot; the table +was warped so badly that the dishes had a tendency to slide to the +center; the walls were bare plaster grayed with time; the food was +poor and scant, and the flies absolutely swarmed upon everything, +like bees. Otherwise the room was clean and orderly. + +"They say you've made a pile o' money out West, Bill. I'm glad of +it. We fellers back here don't make anything. It's a dam tight +squeeze. Agg, it seems to me the flies are devilish thick today. +Can't you drive 'em out?" + +Agnes felt that she must vindicate herself a little. "I do drive 'em +out, but they come right in again. The screen door is broken, and +they come right in." + +"I told Dad to fix that door." + +"But he won't do it for me." + +Ed rested his elbows on the table and fixed his bright black eyes on +his father. + +"Say, what d'you mean by actin' like a mule? I swear I'll trade you +off f'r a yaller dog. What do I keep you round here. for anyway-to +look purty?" + +"I guess I've as good a right here as you have, Ed Kinney." + +"Oh, go soak y'r head, old man. If you don't tend out here a little +better, down goes your meat house! I won't drive you down to +meetin' till you promise to fix that door. Hear me!" + +Daddy began to snivel. Agnes could not look up for shame. Will +felt sick. Ed laughed. + +"I kin bring the old man to terms that way; he can't walk very well +late years, an' he can't drive my colt. You know what a cuss I used +to be about fast nags? Well, I'm just the same. Hobkirk's got a colt +I want. Say, that re-minds me: your team's out there by the fence. I +forgot. I'll go and put 'em up." + +"No, never mind; I can't stay but a few minutes." + +"Goin' to be round the country long?" + +"A week-maybe." + +Agnes looked up a moment and then let her eyes fall. + +"Goin' back West, I s'pose?" + +"No. May go East, to Europe mebbe." + +"The devul y' say! You must 'a' made a ten-strike out West." + +"They say it didn't come lawful," piped Daddy over his +blackberries and milk. + +"Oh, you shet up. Who wants your put-in? Don't work in any o' +your Bible on us." + +Daddy rose to go into the other room. + +"Hold on, old man. You goin' to fix that door?" + +"'Course I be," quavered he. + +"Well see't y' do, that's all. Now git on y'r duds, an' + +I'll go an' hitch up." He rose from the table. "Don't keep me +waiting." + +He went out unceremoniously, and Agnes was alone with Will. + +"Do you go to church? "he asked. She shook her head. "No, I don't +go anywhere now. I have too much to do; I haven't strength left. +And I'm not fit anyway." + +"Agnes, I want to say something to you; not now-after they're +gone." + +He went into the other room, leaving her to wash the dinner things. +She worked on in a curious, almost dazed way, a dream of +something sweet and irrevocable in her eyes. He represented so +much to her. His voice brought up times and places that thrilled +her like song. He was associated with all that was sweetest and +most carefree and most girlish in her life. + +Ever since the boy had handed her that note she had been reliving +those days. In the midst of her drudgery she stopped to dream-to +let some picture come back into her mind. She was a student again +at the seminary, and stood in the recitation room with suffocating +beat of the heart. Will was waiting outside-waiting in a tremor like +her own, to walk home with her under the maples. + +Then she remembered the painfully sweet mixture of pride and +fear with which she walked up the aisle of the little church behind +him. Her pretty new gown rustled, the dim light of the church had +something like romance in it, and he was so strong and handsome. +Her heart went out in a great silent cry to God-"Oh, let me be a girl +again!" + +She did not look forward to happiness. She hadn't power to look +forward at all. + +As she worked, she heard the high, shrill voices of the old people +as they bustled about and nagged at each other. + +"Ma, where's my specticles?" + +"I ain't seen y'r specticles." + +"You have, too." + +"I ain't neither." + +"You had 'em this forenoon." + +"Didn't no such thing. Them was my own brass-bowed ones. You +had yourn jest 'fore goin' to dinner. If you'd put 'em into a proper +place you'd find 'em again." + +"I want'o know if I would," the old man snorted'. + +"Wal, you'd orter know." + +"Oh, you're awful smart, ain't yeh? You never have no trouble, and +use mine-do yeh?-an' lose 'em so't I can't + +"And if this is the thing that goes on when I'm here, it must be hell +when visitors are gone," thought Will. + +"Willy, ain't you goin' to meetin'?" + +"No, not today. I want to visit a little with Agnes, then I've got to +drive back to John's." + +"Wal, we must be goin'. Don't you leave them dishes f't me to +wash," she screamed at Agnes as she went out the door. "An' if we +don't get home by five, them caaves orter be fed." + +As Agnes stood at the door to watch them drive away, Will studied +her, a smothering ache in his heart as he saw how thin and bent +and weary she was. In his soul he felt that she was a dying woman +unless she had rest and tender care. + +As she turned, she saw something in his face-a pity and an agony +of self-accusation-that made her weak and white. She sank into a +chair, putting her hand on her chest, as if she felt a failing of +breath. Then the blood came back to her face, and her eyes filled +with tears. + +"Don't-don't look at me like that," she said in a whisper. His pity +hurt her. + +At sight of her sitting there pathetic, abashed, bewildered, like +some gentle animal, Will's throat contracted so that he could not +speak. His voice came at last in one terrible cry-"Oh, Agnes! for +God's sake forgive me!" He knelt by +her side and put his arm about her shoulders and kissed her bowed +head. A curious numbness involved his whole body; his voice was +husky, the tears burned in his eyes. His whole soul and body ached +with his pity and remorseful, self-accusing wrath. + +"It was all my fault. Lay it all to me. .. I am the one to bear it. . . . +Oh, I've dreamed a thousand times of sayin' this to you, Aggie! I +thought if I could only see you again and ask your forgiveness, I'd-" +He ground his teeth together in his assault upon himself. "I threw +my life away an' killed you-that's what I did!" + +He rose and raged up and down the room till he had mastered +himself. + +"What did you think I meant that day of the thrashing?" he said, +turning suddenly. He spoke of it as if it were but a month or two +past. + +She lifted her head and looked at him in a slow way. She seemed +to be remembering. The tears lay on her hollow cheeks. + +"I thought you was ashamed of me. I didn't know-why-" + +He uttered a snarl of sell-disgust. + +"You couldn't know. Nobody could tell what I meant. But why +didn't you write? I was ready to come back. I only wanted an +excuse-only a line." + +"How could I, Will-after your letter?" + +He groaned and turned away. + +"And Will, I-I got mad too. I couldn't write." + +"Oh, that letter-I can see every line of it! F'r God's sake, don't think +of it again! But I didn't think, even when I wrote that letter, that I'd +find you where you are. I didn't think, I hoped anyhow, Ed Kinney +wouldn't-" + +She stopped him with a startled look in her great eyes. "Don't talk +about him-it ain't right. I mean it don't do any good. What could I +do, after Father died? Mother and I. Besides, I waited three years +to hear from you, Will." + +He gave a strange, choking cry. It burst from his throat--that +terrible thing, a man's sob of agony. She went on, curiously +calm now. + +"Ed was good to me; and he offered a home, anyway, for Mother--" + +"And all the time I was waiting for some line to break down my +cussed pride, so I could write to you and explain. But you did go +with Ed to the fair," he ended suddenly, seeking a morsel of +justification for himself. + +"Yes. But I waited an' waited; and I thought you was mad at me, +and so when they came I-no, I didn't really go with Ed. There was +a wagonload of them." + +"But I started," he explained, "but the wheel came off. I didn't send +word because I thought you'd feel sure I'd come. If you'd only +trusted me a little more- No! it was all my fault. I acted like a +crazy +fool. I didn't stop to reason about anything." + +They sat in silence alter these explanations. The sound of the +snapping wings of the grasshoppers came through the~windows, +and a locust high in a poplar sent down his ringing whir. + +"It can't be helped now, Will," Agnes said at last, her voice full of +the woman's resignation. "We've got to bear it." + +Will straightened up. "Bear it?" He paused. "Yes, I s'pose so. If you +hadn't married Ed Kinney! Anybody but him. How did you do it?" + +"Oh' I don't know," she answered, wearily brushing her hair back +from her eyes. "It seemed best when I did it-and it can't be helped +now." There was infinite, dull despair and resignation in her voice. + +Will went over to the window. He thought how bright and +handsome Ed used to be, and he felt after all that it was no wonder +that she married him. Life pushes us into such things. Suddenly he +turned, something resolute and imperious in his eyes and voice. + +"It can be helped, Aggie," he said. "Now just listen to me. We've +made an awful mistake. We've lost seven years o' life, but that's no +reason why we should waste the rest of it. Now hold on; don't +interrupt me just yet. I come back thinking just as much of you as +ever. I ain't going to say a word more about Ed; let the past stay +past. I'm going to talk about the future." + +She looked at him in a daze of wonder as he went on. "Now I've +got some money, I've got a third interest in a ranch, and I've got a +standing offer to go back on the Sante Fee road as conductor. +There is a team standing out there. I'd like to make another trip to +Cedarville-with you-" + +"Oh, Will, don't!" she cried; "for pity's sake don't talk-" + +"Wait!" he said imperiously. "Now look at it Here you are in hell! +Caged up with two old crows picking the life out of you. They'll +kill you-I can see it; you're being killed by inches. You can't go +anywhere, you can't have anything. Life is just torture for you-" + +She gave a little moan of anguish and despair and turned her face +to her chairback. Her shoulders shook with weeping, but she +listened. He went to her and stood with his hand on the chairback. + +His voice trembled and broke. "There's just one way to get out of +this, Agnes. Come with me. He don't care for you; his whole idea +of women is that they are created for his pleasure and to keep +house. Your whole life is agony. Come! Don't cry. There's a +chance for life yet." + +She didn't speak, but her sobs were less violent; his voice growing +stronger reassured her. + +"I'm going East, maybe to Europe; and the woman who goes with +me will have nothing to do but get strong and well again. I've made +you suffer so, I ought to spend the rest of my life making you +happy. Come! My wife will sit with me on the deck of the steamer +and see the moon rise, and walk with me by the sea, till she gets +strong and happy again-till the dimples get back into her cheeks. I +never will rest till I see her eyes laugh again. + +She rose flushed, wide-eyed, breathing hard with the emotion his +vibrant voice called up, but she could not speak. He put his hand +gently upon her shoulder, and she sank down again. And he went +on with hi~s appeal. There was something hypnotic, dominating in +his voice and eyes. + +On his part there was no passion of an ignoble sort, only a passion +of pity and remorse, and a sweet, tender, reminiscent love. He did +not love the woman before him so much as the girl whose ghost +she was-the woman whose promise she was. He held himself +responsible for it all, and he throbbed with desire to repair the +ravage he had indirectly caused. There was nothing equivocal in +his position-nothing to disown. How others might look at it he did +not consider and did not care. His impetuous soul was carried to a +point where nothing came in to mar or divert. + +"And then after you're well, after our trip, we'll come back to +Houston, and I'll build my wife a house that'Il make her eyes shine. +My cattle and my salary will give us a good living, and she can +have a piano and books, and go to the theater and concerts. +Come, what do you think of that?" + +Then she heard his words beneath his voice Somehow, and they +produced pictures that dazzled her. Luminous shadows moved +before her eyes, drifting across the gray background of her poor, +starved, work-weary life. + +As his voice ceased the rosy clouds faded, and she realized again +the faded, musty little room, the calico~ covered furniture, and +looking down at her own cheap and ill-fitting dress, she saw her +ugly hands lying there. Then she cried out with a gush of tears: + +"Oh, Will, I'm so old and homely now, I ain't fit to go with you +now! Oh, why couldn't we have married then?" + +She was seeing herself as she was then, and so was he; but it +deepened his resolution. How beautiful she used to be! He seemed +to see her there as if she stood in perpetual sunlight, with a w~arm +sheen in her hair and dimples in her cheeks. + +She saw her thin red wrists, her gaunt and knotted hands. There +was a pitiful droop in the thin pale lips, and the tears fell slowly +from her drooping lashes. He went on: + +"Well, it's no use to cry over what was. We must think of what +we're going to do. Don't worry about your looks; you'll be the +prettiest woman in the country when we get back. Don't wait, +Aggie; make up your mind." + +She hesitated, and was lost. + +"What will people say?" + +"I don't care what they say," he flamed out. "They'd say, stay here +and be killed by inches. I say you've had your share of suffering. +They'd say-the liberal ones-stay and get a divorce; but how do we +know we can get one after you've been dragged through the mud of +a trial? We can get one just as well in some other state. Why +should you be worn out at thirty? What right or justice is there in +making you bear all your life the consequences of our-my +schoolboy folly?" + +As he went on, his argument rose to the level of Browning's +philosophy. + +"We can make this experience count for us yet. But we mustn't let +a mistake ruin us-it should teach us. What right has anyone to keep +you in a hole? God don't expect a toad to stay in a stump and starve +if it can get out. He don't ask the snakes to suffer as you do." + +She had lost the threads of right and wrong out of her hands. She +was lost in a maze. She was not moved by passion. Flesh had +ceased to stir her; but there was vast power in the new and thrilling +words her deliverer spoke. He seemed to open a door for her, and +through it turrets shone and great ships crossed on dim blue seas. + +"You can't live here, Aggie. You'll die in less than five years. It +would kill me to see you die here. Come! It's suicide." + +She did not move, save the convulsive motion of her breath and +the nervous action of her fingers. She stared down at a spot in the +carpet; she couldn't face him. + +He grew insistent, a sterner note creeping into his voice. + +"If I leave this time, of course you know I never come back." + +Her hoarse breathing, growing quicker each moment, was her only +reply. + +"I'm done," he said with a note of angry disappointment. He did +not give her up, however. "I've told you what I'd do for you. Now if +you think-" + +"Oh, give me time to think, Will!" she cried out, lifting her face. + +He shook his head. "No. You might as well decide now. It won't be +any easier tomorrow. Come, one minute more and I go out o' that +door-unless-" He crossed the room slowly, doubtful himself of his +desperate last measure. "My hand is on the knob. Shall I open it?" + +She stopped breathing; her fingers closed convulsively on the +chair. As he opened the door she sprang up. + +"Don't go, Will! Don't go, please don't! I need you here-I-" + +"That ain't the question. Are you going with me, Agnes?" + +"Yes, yes! I tried to speak before. I trust you, Will; you'r-" + +He flung the door open wide. "See the sunlight out there shining +on that field o' wheat? That's where I'll take you-out into the +sunshine. You shall see it shining on the Bay of Naples. Come, get +on your hat; don't take anything more'n you actually need. Leave +the past behind you." + +The woman turned wildly and darted into the little bedroom. The +man listened. He whistled in surprise almost comical. He had +forgotten the baby. He could hear the mother talking, cooing. + +"Mommie's 'ittle pet. She wasn't goin' to leave her 'ittle man-no, +she wasn't! There, there, don't 'e cry. Mommie ain't goin' away and +leave him-wicked Mommie ain't-'ittle treasure!" + +She was confused again; and when she reappeared at the door, +with the child in her arms, there was a wandering look on her face +pititul to see. She tried to speak, tried to say, ''Please go, Will," + +He designedly failed to understand her whisper. He stepped +forward. "The baby! Sure enough. Why, certainly! to the mother +belongs the child. Blue eyes, thank heaven!" + +He put his arm about them both. She obeyed silently. There was +something irresistible in his frank, clear eyes, his sunny smile, his +strong brown hand. He slammed the door behind them. + +"That closes the door on your sufferings," he said' smiling down at +her. "Goodbye to it all." + +The baby laughed and stretched out its hands toward the light. + +"Boo, boo!" he cried. + +"What's he talking about?" + +She smiled in perfect trust and fearlessness, seeing her child's face +beside his own. "He says it's beautiful." + +"Oh, he does? I can't follow his French accent." + +She smiled again, in spite of herself. Will shuddered with a thrill +of fear, she was so weak and worn. But the sun shone on the +dazzling, rustling wheat, the fathomless sky blue, as a sea, bent +above them-and the world lay before them. + +UP THE COULEE + +A STORY OF WISCONSIN + +"Keep the main-travelled road up the coulee-it's the second house +after crossin' the crick." + +THE ride from Milwaukee to the Mississippi is a fine ride at any +time, superb in summer. To lean back in a reclining chair and +whirl away in a breezy July day, past lakes, groves of oak, past +fields of barley being reaped, past hayfields, where the heavy grass +is toppling before the swift sickle, is a panorama of delight, a road +full of delicious surprises, where down a sudden vista lakes open, +or a distant wooded hill looms darkly blue, or swift streams, +foaming deep down the solid rock, send whiffs of cool breezes in +at the window. + +It has majesty, breadth. The farming has nothing apparently petty +about it. All seems vigorous, youthful, and prosperous. Mr. +Howard McLane in his chair let his newspaper fall on his lap and +gazed out upon it with dreaming eyes. It had a certain mysterious +glamour to him; the lakes were cooler and brighter to his eye, the +greens fresher, and the grain more golden than to anyone else, for +he was coming back to it all after an absence of ten years. It was, +besides, his West. He still took pride in being a Western man. + +His mind all day flew ahead of the train to the little town far on +toward the Mississippi, where he had spent his boyhood and youth. +As the train passed the Wisconsin River, with its curiously carved +cliffs, its cold, dark, swift-swirling water eating slowly under +cedar-clothed banks, Howard began to feel curious little +movements of the heart, like a lover as he nears his sweetheart. + +The hills changed in character, growing more intimately +recognizable. They rose higher as the train left the ridge and +passed down into the Black River valley, and specifically into the +La Crosse valley. They ceased to have any hint of upheavals of +rock, and became simply parts of the ancient level left standing +after the water had practically given up its postglacial, scooping +action. + +It was about six o'clock as he caught sight of the dear broken line +of hills on which his baby eyes had looked thirty-five years ago. A +few minutes later and the train drew up at the grimy little station +set in at the hillside, and, giving him just time to leap off, plunged +on again toward the West. Howard felt a ridiculous weakness in +his legs as he stepped out upon the broiling hot splintery planks of +the station and faced the few idlers lounging about. He simply +stood and gazed with the same intensity and absorption one of the +idlers might show standing before the Brooklyn Bridge. + +The town caught and held his eyes first. How poor and dull and +sleepy and squalid it seemed! The one main street ended at the +hillside at his left and stretched away to the north, between two +rows of the usual village stores, unrelieved by a tree or a touch of +beauty. An unpaved street, drab-colored, miserable, rotting +wooden buildings, with the inevitable battlements-the same, only +worse, was the town. + +The same, only more beautiful still, was the majestic amphitheater +of green wooded hills that circled the horizon, and toward which +he lifted his eyes. He thrilled at the sight. + +"Glorious!" he cried involuntarily. + +Accustomed to the White Mountains, to the Allghenies, he had +wondered if these hills would retain their old-time charm. They +did. He took off his hat to them as he stood there. Richly wooded, +with gently sloping green sides, rising to massive square or +rounded tops with dim vistas, they glowed down upon the squalid +town, gracious, lofty in their greeting, immortal in their vivid and +delicate beauty. + +He was a goodly figure of a man as he stood there beside his +valise. Portly, erect, handsomely dressed, and with something +unusually winning in his brown mustache and blue eyes, +something scholarly suggested by the pinch-nose glasses, +something strong in the repose of the head. He smiled as he saw +how unchanged was the grouping of the old loafers on the salt +barrels and nail kegs. He recognized most of them-a little dirtier, a +little more bent, and a little grayer. + +They sat in the same attitudes, spat tobacco with the same calm +delight, and joked each other, breaking into short and sudden fits +of laughter, and pounded each other on the back, just as when he +was a student at the La Crosse Seminary and going to and fro daily +on the train. + +They ruminated on him as he passed, speculating in a perfectly +audible way upon his business. + +"Looks like a drummer." + +"No, he ain't no drummer. See them Boston glasses?" + +"That's so. Guess he's a teacher." + +"Looks like a moneyed cuss." + +"Bos'n, I guess." + +He knew the one who spoke last-Freeme Cole, a man who was the +fighting wonder of Howard's boyhood, now degenerated into a +stoop-shouldered, faded, garrulous, and quarrelsome old man. Yet +there was something epic in the old man's stories, something +enthralling in the dramatic power of recital. + +Over by the blacksmith shop the usual game of quaits" was in +progress, and the drug clerk on the corner was chasing a crony +with the squirt pump, with which he was about to wash the +windows. A few teams stood ankle-deep in the mud, tied to the +fantastically gnawed pine pillars of the wooden awnings. A man +on a load of hay was "jawing" with the attendant of the platform +scales, who stood below, pad and pencil in hand. + +"Hit 'im! hit 'im! Jump off and knock 'im!" suggested a bystander, +jovially. + +Howard knew the voice. + +"Talk's cheap. Takes money t' buy whiskey," he said when the man +on the load repeated his threat of getting off and whipping the +scalesman. + +"You're William McTurg," Howard said, coming up to him. + +"I am, sir," replied the soft-voiced giant turning and looking down +on the stranger with an amused twinkle in his deep brown eyes. He +stood as erect as an Indian, though his hair and beard were white. + +"I'm Howard McLane." + +"Ye begin t' look it," said McTurg, removing his right hand from +his pocket. "How are yeh?" + +"I'm first-rate. How's Mother and Grant?" + +"Saw 'im plowing corn as I came down. Guess he's all right. Want +a boost?" + +"Well, yes. Are you down with a team?" + +"Yep. 'Bout goin' home. Climb right in. That's my rig, right there," +nodding at a sleek bay colt hitched in a covered buggy. "Heave y'r +grip under the seat." + +They climbed into the seat after William had lowered the buggy +top and unhitched the horse from the post. The loafers were mildly +curious. Guessed Bill had got hooked onto by a lightnin'-rod +peddler, or somethin' o' that kind. + +"Want to go by river, or 'round by the hills?" + +"Hills, I guess." + +The whole matter began to seem trivial, as if he had only been +away for a month or two. + +William McTurg was a man little given to talk. Even the coming +back of a nephew did not cause any flow of questions or +reminiscences. They rode in silence. He sat a little bent forward, +the lines held carelessly in his hands, his great leonine head +swaying to and fro with the movement of the buggy. + +As they passed familiar spots, the younger man broke the silence +with a question. + +"That's old man McElvaine's place, ain't it?" + +"Old man living?" + +"I guess he is. Husk more corn 'n any man he c'n hire." + +On the edge of the village they passed an open lot on the left, +marked with circus rings of different eras. + +"There's the old ball ground. Do they have circuses on it just the +same as ever?" + +"Just the same." + +"What fun that field calls up! The games of ball we used to have! +Do you play yet?" + +"Sometimes. Can't stoop so well as I used to." He smiled a little. +"Too much fat." + +It all swept back upon Howard in a flood of names and faces and +sights and sounds; something sweet and stirring somehow, though +it had little of esthetic charm at the time. They were passing along +lanes now, between superb fields of corn, wherein plowmen were +at work. Kingbirds flew from post to post ahead of them; the +insects called from the grass. The valley slowly outspread below +them. The workmen in the fields were "turning out" for the night; +they all had a word of chaff with McTurg. + +Over the western wall of the circling amphitheater the sun was +setting. A few scattering clouds were drifting on the west wind, +their shadows sliding down the green and purple slopes. The +dazzling sunlight flamed along the luscious velvety grass, and shot +amid the rounded, distant purple peaks, and streamed in bars of +gold and crimson across the blue mist of the narrower upper +coulee. + +The heart of the young man swelled' with pleasure almost like +pain, and the eyes of the silent older man took on a far-off, +dreaming look, as he gazed at the scene which had repeated itself a +thousand times in his life, but of whose beauty he never spoke. + +Far down to the left was the break in the wall through which the +river ran on its way to join the Mississippi. As they climbed slowly +among the hills, the valley they had left grew still more beautiful, +as the squalor of the little town was hid by the dusk of distance. +Both men were silent for a long time. Howard knew the +peculiarities of his companion too well to make any remarks or ask +any questions, and besides it was a genuine pleasure to ride with +one who could feel that silence was the only speech amid such +splendors. + +Once they passed a little brook singing in a mourn-fully sweet way +its eternal song over its pebbles. It called back to Howard the days +when he and Grant, his younger brother, had fished in this little +brook for trout, with trousers rolled above the knee and wrecks of +hats upon their heads. + +"Any trout left?" he asked. + +"Not many. Little fellers." Finding the silence broken, William +asked the first question since he met Howard. "Le's see: you're a +show feller now? B'long to a troupe?" + +"Yes, yes; I'm an actor." + +"Pay much?" + +"Pretty well." + +That seemed to end William's curiosity about the matter. + +"Ah, there's our old house, ain't it?" Howard broke out, pointing to +one of the houses farther up the coulee. "It'll be a surprise to them, +won't it?" + +"Yep; only they don't live there." + +"What! They don't!" + +"Who does?" + +"Dutchman." + +Howard was silent for some moments. "Who lives on the Dunlap +place?" + +"'Nother Dutchman." + +"Where's Grant living, anyhow?" + +"Farther up the conlee." + +"Well, then I'd better get out here, hadn't I?" + +"Oh, I'll drive yeh up." + +"No, I'd rather walk." + +The sun had set, and the coulee was getting dusk when Howard got +out of McTurg's carriage and set off up the winding lane toward +his brother's house. He walked slowly to absorb the coolness and +fragrance and color of the hour. The katydids sang a rhythmic song +of welcome to him. Fireflies were in the grass. A whippoorwill in +the deep of the wood was calling weirdly, and an occasional night +hawk, flying high, gave his grating shriek, or hollow boom, +suggestive and resounding. + +He had been wonderfully successful, and yet had carried into his +success as a dramatic author as well as actor a certain puritanism +that made him a paradox to his fellows. He was one of those actors +who are always in luck, and the best of it was he kept and made +use of his luck. Jovial as he appeared, he was inflexible as granite +against drink and tobacco. He retained through it all a certain +freshness of enjoyment that made him one of the best companions +in the profession; and now as he walked on, the hour and the place +appealed to him with great power. It seemed to sweep away the +life that came between. + +How close it all was to him, after all! In his restless life, +surrounded by the giare of electric lights, painted canvas, hot +colors, creak of machinery, mock trees, stones, and brooks, he had +not lost but gained appreciation for the coolness, quiet and low +tones, the shyness of the wood and field. + +In the farmhouse ahead of him a light was shining as he peered +ahead, and his heart gave another painful movement. His brother +was awaiting him there, and his mother, whom he had not seen for +ten years and who had grown unable to write. And when Grant +wrote, which had been more and more seldom of late, his letters +had been cold and curt. + +He began to feel that in the pleasure and excitement of his life he +had grown away from his mother and brother. Each summer he +had said, "Well, now I'll go home this year sure." But a new play to +be produced, or a yachting trip, or a tour of Europe, had put the +homecoming off; and now it was with a distinct consciousness of +neglect of duty that he walked up to the fence and looked into the +yard, where William had told him his brother lived. + +It was humble enough-a small white house, story-and-a-half +structure, with a wing, set in the midst of a few locust trees; a +small drab-colored barn, with a sagging ridge pole; a barnyard full +of mud, in which a few cows were standing, fighting the flies and +waiting to be milked. An old man was pumping water at the well; +the pigs were squealing from a pen nearby; a child was crying. + +Instantly the beautiful, peaceful valley was forgotten. A sickening +chill struck into Howard's soul as he looked at it all. In the dim +light he could see a figure milking a cow. Leaving his valise at the +gate, he entered and walked up to the old man, who had finished +pumping and was about to go to feed the hogs. + +"Good evening," Howard began. "Does Mr. Grant McLane live +here?" + +"Yes, sir, he does. He's right over there milkin'." + +"I'll go over there an-" + +"Don't b'lieve I would. It's darn muddy over there. It's been turrible +rainy. He'll be done in a minute, any-way." + +"Very well; I'll wait." + +As he waited, he could hear a woman's fretful voice, and the +impatient jerk and jar of kitchen things, indicative of ill temper or +worry. The longer he stood absorbing this farm scene, with all its +sordidness, dullness, triviality, and its endless drudgeries, the +lower his heart sank. All the joy of the homecoming was gone, +when the figure arose from the cow and approached the gate, and +put the pail of milk down on the platform by the pump. + +"Good evening," said Howard out of the dusk. + +Grant stared a moment. "Good. evening." + +Howard knew the voice, though it was older and deeper and more +sullen. "Don't you know me, Grant? I am Howard. + +The man approached him, gazing intently at his face. "You are?" +after a pause. "Well, I'm glad to see yeh, but I can't shake hands. +That damned cow had laid down in the mud." + +They stood and looked at each other. Howard's cuffs, collar, and +shirt, alien in their elegance, showed through the dusk, and a glint +of light shot out from the jewel of his necktie, as the light from the +house caught it at the right angle. As they gazed in silence at each +other, Howard divined something of the hard, bitter feeling which +came into Grant's heart as he stood there, ragged, ankle-deep in +muck, his sleeves rolled up, a shapeless old straw hat on his head. + +The gleam of Howard's white hands angered him. When he spoke, +it was in a hard, gruff tone, full of rebellion. + +"Well, go in the house and set down. I'll be in soon's I strain the +milk and wash the dirt off my hands." + +"But Mother-" + +"She's 'round somewhere. Just knock on the door under the porch +'round there." + +Howard went slowly around the corner of the house, past a vilely +smelling rain barrel, toward the west. A gray-haired woman was +sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, her hands in her lap, her +eyes fixed on the faintly yellow sky, against which the hills stood +dim purple silhouettes and the locust trees were etched as fine as +lace. There was sorrow, resignation, and a sort of dumb despair in +her attitude. + +Howard stood, his throat swelling till it seemed as if he would +suffocate. This was his mother-the woman who bore him, the +being who had taken her life in her hand for him; and he, in his +excited and pleasurable life, had neglected her! + +He stepped into the faint light before her. She turned and looked at +him without fear. "Mother!" he said. She uttered one little, +breathing, gasping cry, called his name, rose, and stood still. He +bounded up the steps and took her in his arms. + +"Mother! Dear old Mother!" + +In the silence, almost painful, which followed, an angry woman's +voice could be heard inside: "I don't care. I am't goin' to wear +myself out fer him. He c'n eat out here with us, or else-" + +Mrs. McLane began speaking. "Oh, I've longed to see yeh, Howard. +I was afraid you wouldn't come till-too late." + +"What do you mean, Mother? Ain't you well?" + +"I don't seem to be able to do much now 'cept sit around and knit a +little. I tried to pick some berries the other day, and I got so dizzy I +had to give it up." + +"You mustn't work. You needn't work. Why didn't you write to me +how you were?" Howard asked in an agony of remorse. + +"Well, we felt as if you probably had all you could do to take care +of yourself." + +"Are you married, Howard?" + +"No, Mother; and there ain't any excuse for me-not a bit," he said, +dropping back into her colloquialisms."I'm ashamed when I think +of how long it's been since I saw you. I could have come." + +"It don't matter now," she interrupted gently. "It's the way things +go. Our boys grow up and leave us." + +"Well, come in to supper," said Grant's ungracious voice from the +doorway. "Come, Mother." + +Mrs. McLane moved with difficulty. Howard sprang to her aid, and +leaning on his arm she went through the little sitting room, which +was unlighted, out into the kitchen, where the supper table stood +near the cookstove. + +"How, this is my wife," said Grant in a cold, peculiar tone. + +Howard bowed toward a remarkably handsome young woman, on +whose forehead was a scowl, which did not change as she looked +at him and the old lady. + +"Set down, anywhere," was the young woman's cordial invitation. + +Howard sat down next to his mother, and facing the wife, who had +a small, fretful child in her arms. At Howard's left was the old +man, Lewis. The supper was spread upon a gay-colored oilcloth, +and consisted of a pan of milk, set in the midst, with bowls at each +plate. Beside the pan was a dipper and a large plate of bread, and +at one end of the table was a dish of fine honey. + +A boy of about fourteen leaned upon the table, his bent shoulders +making him look like an old man. His hickory shirt, like that of +Grant, was still wet with sweat, and discolored here and there with +grease, or green from grass. His hair, freshly wet and combed, +was smoothed away from his face, and shone in the light of the +kerosene lamp. As he ate, he stared at Howard, as if he would +make an inventory of each thread of the visitor's clothing. + +"Did I look like that at his age?" thought Howard. + +"You see we live jest about the same's ever," said Grant as they +began eating, speaking with a grim, almost challenging inflection. + +The two brothers studied each other curiously, as they talked of +neighborhood scenes. Howard seemed incredibly elegant and +handsome to them all, with his rich, soft clothing, his spotless +linen, and his exquisite enunciation and ease of speech. He had +always been "smooth-spoken," and he had become "elegantly +persuasive," as his friends said of him, and it was a large factor in +his success. + +Every detail of the kitchen, the heat, the flies buzzing aloft, the +poor furniture, the dress of the people-all smote him like the lash +of a wire whip. His brother was a man of great character. He could +see that now. His deep-set, gray eyes and rugged face showed at +thirty a man of great natural ability. He had more of the Scotch in +his face than Howard, and he looked much older. + +He was dressed, like the old man and the boy, in a checked shirt +without vest. His suspenders, once gay-colored, had given most of +their color to his shirt, and had marked irregular broad bands of +pink and brown and green over his shoulders. His hair was +uncombed, merely pushed away from his face. He wore a +mustache only, though his face was covered with a week's growth +of beard. His face was rather gaunt and was brown as leather. + +Howard could not eat much. He was disturbed by his mother's +strange silence and oppression, and sickened by the long-drawn +gasps with. which the old man ate his bread and milk, and by the +way the boy ate. He had his knife gripped tightly in his fist, +knuckles up, and was scooping honey upon his bread. + +The baby, having ceased to be afraid, was curious, gazing silently +at the stranger. + +"Hello, little one! Come and see your uncle. Eh? 'Course 'e will," +cooed Howard in the attempt to escape the depressing atmosphere. +The little one listened to his inflections as a kitten does, and at last +lifted its arms in sign of surrender. + +The mother's face cleared up a little. "I declare, she wants to go to +you." + +"'Course she does. Dogs and kittens always come to me when I call +'em. Why shouldn't my own niece come?" + +He took the little one and began walking up and down the kitchen +with her, while she pulled at his beard and nose. "I ought to have +you, my lady, in my new comedy. You'd bring down the house." + +"You don't mean to say you put babies on the stage, Howard," said +his mother in surprise. + +"Oh, yes. Domestic comedy must have a baby these days." + +"Well, that's another way of makin' a livin', sure," said Grant. The +baby had cleared the atmosphere a little. "I s'pose you fellers make +a pile of money." + +"Sometimes we make a thousand a week; oftener we don't." + +"A thousand dollars!" They all stared. + +"A thousand dollars sometimes, and then lose it all the next week +in another town. The dramatic business is a good deal like +gambling-you take your chances." + +"I wish you weren't in it, Howard. I don't like to have my son-" + +"I wish I was in somethin' that paid better'n farmin'. Anything +under God's heavens is better'n farmin'," said Grant. + +"No, I ain't laid up much," Howard went on, as if explaining why +he hadn't helped them. "Costs me a good deal to live, and I need +about ten thousand dollars lee-way to work on. I've made a good +living, but I-I ain't made any money." + +Grant looked at him, darkly meditative. + +Howard went on: + +"How'd ye come to sell the old farm? I was in hopes-" + +"How'd we come to sell it?" said Grant with terrible bitterness. +"We had something on it that didn't leave anything to sell. You +probably don't remember anything about it, but there was a +mortgage on it that eat us up in just four years by the almanac. +'Most killed Mother to leave it. We wrote to you for money, but I +don't s'pose you remember that." + +"No, you didn't." + +"Yes, I did." + +"When was it? I don't-why, it's-I never received it. It must have +been that summer I went with Rob Mannmg to Europe." Howard +put the baby down and faced his brother. "Why, Grant, you didn't +think I refused to help?" + +"Well, it locked that way. We never heard a word from yeh all +summer, and when y' did write, it was all about yerself 'n plays 'n +things we didn't know anything about. I swore to God I'd never +write to you again, and I won't." + +"But, good heavens! I never got it." + +"Suppose you didn't. You might of known we were poor as Job's +off-ox. Everybody is that earns a living. We fellers on the farm +have to earn a livin' for ourselves and you fellers that don't work. I +don't blame yeh. I'd do it if I could." + +"Grant, don't talk so! Howard didn't realize-" + +"I tell yeh I don't blame 'im. Only I don't want him to come the +brotherly business over me, after livin' as he has-that's all." There +was a bitter accusation in the man's voice. + +Howard leaped to his feet, his face twitching. "By God, I'll go back +tomorrow morning!" he threatened. + +"Go, an' be damned! I don't care what yeh do," Grant growled, +rising and going out. + +"Boys," called the mother, piteously, "it's terrible to see you +quarrel." + +"But I'm not to blame, Mother," cried Howard in a sickness that +made him white as chalk. "The man is a savage. I came home to +help you all, not to quarrel." + +"Grant's got one o' his fits on," said the young wife, speaking for +the first time. "Don't pay any attention to him. He'll be all right in +the morning." + +"If it wasn't for you, Mother, I'd leave now and never see that +savage again." + +He lashed himself up and down in the room, in horrible disgust +and hate of his brother and of this home in his heart. He +remembered his tender anticipations of the homecoming with a +kind of self-pity and disgust. This was his greeting! + +He went to bed, to toss about on the hard, straw-filled mattress in +the stuffy little best room. Tossing, writhing under the bludgeoning +of his brother's accusing inflections, a dozen times he said, with a +half-articulate snarl: + +"He can go to hell! I'll not try to do anything more for him. I don't +care if he is my brother; he has no right to jump on me like that. +On the night of my return, too. My God! he is a brute, a savage!" + +He thought of the presents in his trunk and valise which he couldn't +show to him that night, after what had been said. He had intended +to have such a happy evening of it, such a tender reunion! It was to +be so bright and cheery! + +In the midst of his cursings, his hot indignation, would come +visions of himself in his own modest rooms. He seemed to be +yawning and stretching in his beautiful bed, the sun shining in, his +books, foils, pictures around him, to say good morning and tempt +him to rise, while the squat little clock on the mantel struck eleven +warningly. + +He could see the olive walls, the unique copper-and-crimson +arabesque frieze (his own selection), and the delicate draperies; an +open grate full of glowing coals, to temper the sea winds; and in +the midst of it, between a landscape by Enneking and an Indian in +a canoe in a canyon, by Brush, he saw a somber landscape by a +master greater than Millet, a melancholy subject, treated with +pitiless fidelity. + +A farm in the valley! Over the mountains swept jagged, gray, +angry, sprawling clouds, sending a freezing, thin drizzle of rain, as +they passed, upon a man following a plow. The horses had a sullen +and weary look, and their manes and tails streamed sidewise in the +blast. The plowman clad in a ragged gray coat, with uncouth, +muddy boots upon his feet, walked with his head inclined t~ ward +the sleet, to shield his face from the cold and sting of it. The soil +rolled away, black and sticky and with a dull sheen upon it. +Nearby, a boy with tears on his cheeks was watching cattle, a dog +seated near, his back to the gale. + +As he looked at this picture, his heart softened. He looked down at +the sleeve of his soft and fleecy nightshirt, at his white, rounded +arm, muscular yet fine as a woman's, and when he looked for the +picture it was gone. Then came again the assertive odor of stagnant +air, laden with camphor; he felt the springless bed under him, and +caught dimly a few soap-advertising lithographs on the walls. He +thought of his brother, in his still more in-hospitable bedroom, +disturbed by the child, condemned to rise at five o'clock and begin +another day's pitiless labor. His heart shrank and quivered, and the +tears started to his eyes. + +"I forgive him, poor fellow! He's not to blame." + +II + +HE woke, however, with a dull, languid pulse and an oppressive +melancholy on his heart. He looked around the little room, clean +enough, but oh, how poor! how barren! Cold plaster walls, a cheap +washstand, a wash set of three pieces, with a blue band around +each; the windows, rectangular, and fitted with fantastic green +shades. + +Outside he could hear the bees humming. Chickens were merrily +moving about. Cowbells far up the road were sounding irregularly. +A jay came by and yelled an insolent reveille, and Howard sat up. +He could hear nothing in the house but the rattle of pans on the +back side of the kitchen. He looked at his watch and saw it was +half-past seven. His brother was in the field by this time, after +milking, currying the horses, and eating breakfast--had been at +work two hours and a half. + +He dressed himself hurriedly in a neglige shirt with a windsor +scad, light-colored, serviceable trousers with a belt, russet shoes, +and a tennis hat-a knockabout costume, he considered. His mother, +good soul, thought it a special suit put on for her benefit and +admired it through her glasses. + +He kissed her with a bright smile, nodded at Laura the young wife, +and tossed the baby, all in a breath, and with the manner, as he +himself saw, of the returned captain in the war dramas of the day. + +"Been to breakfast?" He frowned reproachfully. "Why didn't you +call me? I wanted to get up, just as I used to, at sunrise." + +"We thought you was tired, and so we didn't-" + +"Tired! Just wait till you see me help Grant pitch hay or +something. Hasn't finished his haying, has he?" + +'No, I guess not. He will today if it don't rain again." + +"Well, breakfast is all ready-Howard," said Laura, hesitating a little +on his name. + +"Good! I am ready for it. Bacon and eggs, as I'm a jay! Just what I +was wanting. I was saying to myself. 'Now if they'll only get bacon +and eggs and hot biscuits and honey-' Oh, say, mother, I heard the +bees humming this morning; same noise they used to make when I +was a boy, exactly. must be the same bees. Hey, you young rascal! +come here and have some breakfast with your uncle." + +"I never saw her take to anyone so quick," Laura smiled. Howard +noticed her in particular for the first time. She had on a clean +calico dress and a gingham apron, and she looked strong and fresh +and handsome. Her head was intellectual, her eyes full of power. +She seemed anxious to remove the impression of her unpleasant +looks and words the night before. Indeed, it would have been hard +to resist Howard's sunny good nature. + +The baby laughed and crowed. The old mother could not take her +dim eyes off the face of her son, but sat smiling at him as he ate +and rattled on. When he rose from the table at last, after eating +heartily and praising it all, he said with a smile: + +"Well, now I'll just telephone down to the express and have my +trunk brought up. I've got a few little things in there you'll enjoy +seeing. But this fellow," indicating the baby, "I didn't take into +account. But never mind; Uncle Howard make that all right." + +"You ain't goin' to lay it up agin Grant, be you, my son?" Mrs. +McLane faltered as they went out into the best room. + +"Of course not! He didn't mean it. Now, can't you send word down +and have my trunk brought up? Or shall I have to walk down?" + +"I guess I'll see somebody goin' down," said Laura. + +"All right. Now for the hayfield," he smiled and went out into the +glorious morning. + +The circling hills the same, yet not the same as at night. A cooler, +tenderer, more subdued cloak of color upon them. Far down the +valley a cool, deep, impalpable, blue mist lay, under which one +divined the river Ian, under its elms and basswoods and wild +grapevines. On the shaven slopes of the hills cattle and sheep were +feeding, their cries and bells coming to the ear with a sweet +suggestiveness. There was something immemorial in the sunny +slopes dotted with red and brown and gray cattle. + +Walking toward the haymakers, Howard felt a twinge of pain and +distrust. Would he ignore it all and smile-- + +He stopped short. He had not seen Grant smile in so long-he +couldn't quite see him smiling. He had been cold and bitter for +years. When he came up to them, Grant was pitching on; the old +man was loading, and the boy was raking after. + +"Good morning," Howard cried cheerily. The old man nodded, the +boy stared. Grant growled something, with-out looking up. These +"finical" things of saying good morning and good night are not +much practiced in such homes as Grant McLane's. + +"Need some help? I'm ready to take a hand. Got on my regimentals +this morning." + +Grant looked at him a moment. + +"You look like it." + +"Gimme a hold on that fork, and I'll show you. I'm not so soft as I +look, now you bet." + +He laid hold upon the fork in Grant's hands, who r~ leased it +sullenly and stood back sneering. Howard struck the fork into the +pile in the old way, threw his left hand to the end of the polished +handle, brought it down into the hollow of his thigh, and laid out +his strength till the handle bent like a bow. "Oop she rises!" he +called laughingly, as the whole pile began slowly to rise, and +finally rolled upon the high load. + +"Oh, I ain't forgot how to do it," he laughed as he looked around at +the boy, who was studying the jacket and hat with a devouring +gaze. + +Grant was studying him too, but not in admiration. + +"I shouldn't say you had," said the old man, tugging at the forkful. + +'Mighty funny to come out here and do a little of this. But if you +had to come here and do it all the while, you wouldn't look so +white and soft in the hands," Grant said as they moved on to +another pile. "Give me that fork. You'll be spoiling your fine +clothes." + +"Oh, these don't matter. They're made for this kind of thing." + +"Oh, are they? I guess I'll dress in that kind of a rig. What did that +shirt cost? I need one." + +"Six dollars a pair; but then it's old." + +"And them pants," he pursued; "they cost six dollars, too, didn't +they?" + +Howard's face darkened. He saw his brother's purpose. He resented +it. "They cost fifteen dollars, if you want to know, and the shoes +cost six-fifty. This ring on my cravat cost sixty dollars, and the suit +I had on last night cost eighty-five. My suits are made by +Breckstein, on Fifth Avenue and Twentieth Street, if you want to +patronize him," he ended brutally, spurred on by the sneer in his +brother's eyes. "I'll introduce you." + +"Good idea," said Grant with a forced, mocking smile. "I need just +such a get up for haying and corn plowing. Singular I never +thought of it. Now my pants cost eighty-five cents, s'penders +fifteen, hat twenty, shoes one-fifty; stockin's I don't bother about." + +He had his brother at a disadvantage, and he grew fluent and +caustic as he went on, almost changing places with Howard, who +took the rake out of the boy's hands and followed, raking up the +scatterings. + +"Singular we fellers here are discontented and mulish, am't it? +Singular we don't believe your letters when you write, sayin', 'I just +about make a live of it'? Singular we think the country's goin' to +hell, we fellers, in a two dollar suit, wadin' around in the mud or +sweatin' around in the hayfield, while you fellers lay around New +York and smoke and wear good clothes and toady to millionaires?" + +Howard threw down the rake and folded his arms. 'My God! you're +enough to make a man forget the same mother bore us!" + +"I guess it wouldn't take much to make you forget that. You ain't +put much thought on me nor her for ten years." + +The old man cackled, the boy grinned, and Howard, sick and weak +with anger and sorrow, turned away and walked down toward the +brook. He had tried once more to get near his brother and had +failed. O God! how miserably, pitiably! The hot blood gushed all +over him as he thought of the shame and disgrace of it. + +He, a man associating with poets, artists, sought after by brilliant +women, accustomed to deference even from such people, to be +sneered at, outfaced, shamed, shoved aside, by a man in a stained +hickory shirt and patched overalls, and that man his brother! He +lay down on the bright grass, with the sheep all around him, and +writhed and groaned with the agony and despair of it. + +And worst of all, underneath it was a consciousness that Grant was +right in distrusting him. He had neglected him; he had said, "I +guess they're getting along all right." He had put them behind him +when the invitation to spend summer on the Mediterranean or in +the Adirondacks came. + +"What can I do? What can I do?" he groaned. + +The sheep nibbled the grass near him, the jays called pertly, +"Shame, shame," a quail piped somewhere on the hillside, and the +brook sung a soft, soothing melody that took away at last the sharp +edge of his pain, and he sat up and gazed down the valley, bright +with the sun and apparently filled with happy and prosperous +people. + +Suddenly a thought seized him. He stood up so suddenly the sheep +fled in affright. He leaped the brook, crossed the flat, and began +searching in the bushes on the hillside. "Hurrah!" he said with a +smile. + +He had found an old road which he used to travel when a boy-a +road that skirted the edge of the valley, now grown up to brush, but +still passable for footmen. As he ran lightly along down the +beautiful path, under oaks and hickories, past masses of poison +ivy, under hanging grapevines, through clumps of splendid +hazelnut bushes loaded with great sticky, rough, green burrs, his +heart threw off part of its load. + +How it all came back to him! How many days, when + +Up The Coulee + +73 + +the autumn sun burned the frost off the bushes, had he gathered +hazelnuts here with his boy and girl friends-Hugh and Shelley +McTurg, Rome Sawyer, Orrin McIlvaine, and the rest! What had +become of them all? How he had forgotten them! + +This thought stopped him again, and he fell into a deep muse, +leaning against an oak tree and gazing into the vast fleckless space +above. The thrilling, inscrutable mystery of life fell upon him like +a blinding light. Why was he living in the crush and thunder and +mental unrest of a great city, while his companions, seemingly his +equal, in powers, were milking cows, making butter, and growing +corn and wheat in the silence and drear monotony of the farm? + +His boyish sweethearts! Their names came back to his ear now +with a dull, sweet sound as of faint bells. He saw their faces, their +pink sunbonnets tipped back upon their necks, their brown ankles +flying with the swift action of the scurrying partridge. His eyes +softened; he took off his hat. The sound of the wind and the leaves +moved him almost to tears. + +A woodpecker gave a shrill, high-keyed, sustained cry, "Ki, ki, ki!" +and he started from his reverie, the dapples of sun and shade +falling upon his lithe figure as he hurried on down the path. + +He came at last to a field of corn that tan to the very wall of a large +weather-beaten house, the sight of which made his breathing +quicker. It was the place where he was born. The mystery of his +life began there. In the branches of those poplar and hickory trees +he had swung and sung in the rushing breeze, fearless as a squirrel +Here was the brook where, like a larger Kildee, he with Grant had +waded after crawfish, or had stolen upon some wary trout, +rough-cut pole in hand. + +Seeing someone in the garden, he went down along the corn row +through the rustling ranks of green leaves. An old woman was +picking berries, a squat and shapeless figure. + +"Good morning," he called cheerily. + +"Morgen," she said, looklng up at him with a startled and very red +face. She was German in every line of her body. + +"Ich bin Herr McLane," he said after a pause. + +"So?" she replied with a questioning inflection. + +"Yah; ich bin Herr Grant's bruder." + +"Ach, So!" she said with a downward inflection. "Ich no spick +Inglish. No spick Inglis." + +"Ich bin durstig," he said. Leaving her pans, she went with him to +the house, which was what he wanted to see. + +"Ich bin hier geboren." + +"Ach, so!" She recognized the little bit of sentiment, and said +some sentences in German whose general meaning was sympathy. +She took him to the cool cellar where the spring had been trained +to run into' a tank containing pans of cream and milk, she gave him +a cool draught from a large tin cup, and then at his request they +went upstairs. The house was the same, but somehow seemed cold +and empty. It was clean and sweet, but it had so little evidence of +being lived in. The old part, which was built of logs, was used as +best room, and modeled after the best rooms of the neighboring +Yankee homes, only it was emptier, without the cabinet organ and +the rag carpet and the chromoes. + +The old fireplace was bricked up and plastered-the fireplace beside +which in the far-off days he had lain on winter nights, to hear his +uncles tell tales of hunting, or to hear them play the violin, great +dreaming giants that they were. + +The old woman went out and left him sitting there, the center of a +swarm of memories coming and going like so many ghostly birds +and butterflies. + +A curious heartache and listlessness, a nerveless mood came on +him. What was it worth, anyhow-success? Struggle, strife, +trampling on someone else. His play crowding out some other poor +fellow's hope. The hawk eats the partridge, the partridge eats the +flies and bugs, the bugs eat each other, and the hawk, when he in +his turn is shot by man. So, in the world of business, the life of one +man seemed to him to be drawn from the life of another man, each +success to spring from other failures. + +He was like a man from whom all motives had been withdrawn. +He was sick, sick to the heart. Oh, to be a boy again! An ignorant +baby, pleased with a block and string, with no knowledge and no +care of the great un-known! To lay his head again on his mother's +bosom and rest! To watch the flames on the hearth! + +Why not? Was not that the very thing to do? To buy back the old +farm? It would cripple him a little for the next season, but he could +do it. Think of it! To see his mother back in the old home, with the +fireplace restored, the old furniture in the sitting room around her, +and fine new things in the parlor! + +His spirits rose again. Grant couldn't stand out when he brought to +him a deed of the farm. Surely his debt would be canceled when he +had seen them all back in the wide old kitchen. He began to plan +and to dream. He went to the windows and looked out on the yard +to see how much it had changed. + +He'd build a new barn and buy them a new carriage. His heart +glowed again, and his lips softened into their usual feminine +grace-lips a little full and falling easily into curves. + +The old German woman came in at length, bringing some cakes +and a bowl of milk, smiling broadly and hospitably as she waddled +forward. + +"Ach! Goot!" he said, smacking his lips over the pleasant draught. + +"Wo ist ihre goot mann?" he inquired, ready for business. + +III + +WHEN Grant came in at noon, Mrs. McLane met him at the door +with a tender smile on her face. + +"Where's Howard, Grant?" + +"I don't know," he replied in a tone that implied "I don't care." + +The dim eyes clouded with quick tears. + +"Ain't you seen him?" + +"Not since nine o'clock." + +"Where d'you think he is?" + +"I tell yeh I don't know. He'll take care of himself; don't worry." + +He flung off his hat and plunged into the wash basin. His shirt was +wet with sweat and covered with dust of the hay and fragments of +leaves. He splashed his burning face with the water, paying no +further attention to his mother. She spoke again, very gently, in +reproof: + +"Grant, why do you stand out against Howard so?" + +"I don't stand out against him," he replied harshly, pausing with the +towel in his hands. His eyes were hard and piercing. "But if he +expects me to gush over his coming back, he's fooled, that's all. +He's left us to paddle our own canoe all this while, and, so far as +I'm concerned, he can leave us alone hereafter. He looked out for +his precious hide mighty well, and now he comes back here to play +big gun and pat us on the head. I don't propose to let him come that +over me." + +Mrs. McLane knew too well the temper of her son to say any more, +but she inquired about Howard of the old hired man. + +"He went off down the valley. He 'n' Grant had s'm words, and he +pulled out down toward the old farm. That's the last I see of 'im." + +Laura took Howard's part at the table. "Pity you can't be decent," +she said, brutally direct as usuaL "You treat Howard as if he was +a-a-I do' know what." + +"wrn you let me alone?" + +"No, I won't. If you think I'm going to set by an' agree to your +bullyraggin' him, you're mistaken. It's a shame! You're mad 'cause +he's succeeded and you ain't. He ain't to blame for his brains. If you +and I'd had any, we'd 'a' succeeded, too. It ain't our fault and it ain't +his; so what's the use?" + +There was a look came into Grant's face that the wife knew. It +meant bitter and terrible silence. He ate his dinner without another +word. + +It was beginning to cloud up. A thin, whitish, 'all-pervasive vapor +which meant rain was dimming the sky, and be forced his hands to +their utmost during the afternoon in order to get most of the down +hay in before the rain came. He was pitching hay up into the barn +when Howard came by just before one o'clock. + +It was windless there. The sun fell through the white mist with +undiminished fury, and the fragrant hay sent up a breath that was +hot as an oven draught. Grant was a powerful man, and there was +something majestic in his action as he rolled the huge flakes of hay +through the door. The sweat poured from his face like rain, and he +was forced to draw his dripping sleeve across his face to clear +away the blinding sweat that poured into his eyes. + +Howard stood and looked at him in silence, remembering how +often he had worked there in that furnace heat, his muscles +quivering, cold chills running over his flesh, red shadows dancing +before his eyes. + +His mother met him at the door anxiously, but smiled as she saw +his pleasant face and cheerful eyes. + +"You're a little late, m' son." + +Howard spent most of the afternoon sitting with his mother on the +porch, or under the trees, lying sprawled out like a boy, resting at +times with sweet forgetfulness of the whole world, but feeling a +dull pain whenever he remembered the stern, silent man pitching +hay in the hot sun on the torrid side of the barn. + +His mother did not say anything about the quarrel; she feared to +reopen it. She talked mainly of old times in a gentle monotone of +reminiscence, while he listened, looking up into her patient face. + +The heat slowly lessened as the sun sank down toward the dun +clouds rising like a more distant and majestic line of mountains +beyond the western hills. The sound of cowbells came irregularly +to the ear, and the voices and sounds of the haying fields had a +jocund, thrilling effect on the ear of the city dweller. + +He was very tender. Everything conspired to make him simple, +direct, and honest. + +"Mother, if you'll only forgive me for staying away so long, I'll +surely come to see you every summer." + +She had nothing to forgive. She was so glad to have him there at +her feet-her great, handsome, successful boy! She could only love +him and enjoy him every moment of the precious days. If Grant +would only reconcile himself to Howard! That was the great thorn +in her flesh. + +Howard told her how he had succeeded. + +"It was luck, Mother. First I met Cooke, and he introduced me to +Jake Saulsman of Chicago. Jake asked me to go to New York with +him, and-I don't know why-took a fancy to me some way. He +introduced me to a lot of the fellows in New York, and they all +helped me along. I did nothing to merit it. Everybody helps me. +Anybody can succeed in that way." + +The doting mother thought it not at all strange that they all helped +him. + +At the supper table Grant was gloomily silent, ignoring Howard +completely. Mrs. McLane sat and grieved silently, not daring to +say +a word in protest. Laura and the baby tried to amuse Howard, and +under cover of their talk the meal was eaten. + +The boy fascinated Howard. He "sawed wood" with a rapidity and +uninterruptedness which gave alarm. He had the air of coaling up +for a long voyage. + +"At that age," Howard thought, "I must have gripped my knife in +my right hand so, and poured my tea into my saucer so. I must +have buttered and bit into a huge slice of bread just so, and chewed +at it with a smacking sound in just that way. I must have gone to +the length of scooping up honey with my knife blade." + +It was magically, mystically beautiful over all this squalor and toil +and bitterness, from five till seven-a moving hour. Again the +falling sun streamed in broad banners across the valleys; again the +blue mist lay far down the coulee over the river; the cattle called +from the hills in the moistening, sonorous air; the bells came in a +pleasant tangle of sound; the air pulsed with the deepening chorus +of katydids and other nocturnal singers. + +Sweet and deep as the very springs of his life was all this to the +soul of the elder brother; but in the midst of it, the younger man, in +ill-smelling clothes and great boots that chafed his feet, went out +to milk the. cows-on whose legs the flies and mosquitoes +swarmed, bloated with blood-to sit by the hot side of the cow and +be lashed with her tall as she tried frantically to keep the savage +insects from eating her raw. + +"The poet who writes of milking the cows does it from the +hammock, looking on," Howard soliloquized as he watched the old +man Lewis racing around the filthy yard after one of the young +heifers that had kicked over the pail in her agony with the flies and +was unwilling to stand still and be eaten alive. + +"So, so! you beast!" roared the old man as he finally cornered the +shrinking, nearly frantic creature. + +"Don't you want to look at the garden?" asked Mrs. McLane of +Howard; and they went out among the vegetables and berries. + +The bees were coming home heavily laden and crawling slowly +into the hives. The level, red light streamed through the trees, +blazed along the grass, and lighted a few old-fashioned flowers +into +red ai~d gold flame. It was beautiful, and Howard looked at it +through his half-shut eyes as the painters do, and turned away with +a sigh at the sound of blows where the wet and grimy men were +assailing the frantic cows. + +"There's Wesley with your trunk," Mrs. McLane said, recalling him +to himself. + +Wesley helped him carry the trunk in and waved off thanks. + +"Oh, that's all right," he said; and Howard knew the Western man +too well to press the matter of pay. + +As he went in an hour later and stood by the trunk, the dull ache +came back into his heart. How he had failed! It seemed like a bitter +mockery now to show his gifts. + +Grant had come in from his work, and with his feet released from +his chafing boots, in his wet shirt and milk-splashed overalls, sat at +the kitchen table reading a newspaper which he held close to a +small kerosene lamp. He paid no attention to anyone. His attitude, +Curiously like his father's, was perfectly definite to Howard. It +meant that from that time forward there were to be no words of +any sort between them. It meant that they were no longer brothers, +not even acquaintances. "How inexorable that face!" thought +Howard. + +He turned sick with disgust and despair, and would have closed his +trunk without showing any of the presents, only for the childish +expectancy of his mother and Laura. + +"Here's something for you, Mother," he said, assuming a cheerful +voice as he took a fold of fine silk from the trunk and held it up. +"All the way from Paris." + +He laid it on his mother's lap and stooped and kissed her, and then +turned hastily away to hide the tears that came to his own eyes as +he saw her keen pleasure. + +"And here's a parasol for Laura. I don't know how I came to have +that in here. And here's General Grant's autobiography for his +namesake," he said with an effort at carelessness, and waited to +hear Grant rise. + +"Grant, won't you come in?" asked his mother quiveringly. + +Grant did not reply nor move. Laura took the handsome volumes +out and laid them beside him on the table. He simply pushed them +to one side and went on with his reading. + +Again that horrible anger swept hot as flame over Howard. He +could have cursed him. His hands shook as he handed out other +presents to his mother and Laura and the baby. He tried to joke. + +"I didn't know how old the baby was, so she'll have to grow to +some of these things." + +But the pleasure was all gone for him and for the rest. His heart +swelled almost to a feeling of pain as he looked at his mother. +There she sat with the presents in her lap. The shining silk came +too late for her. It threw into appalling relief her age, her poverty, +her work-weary frame. "My God!" he almost cried aloud, "how +little it would have taken to lighten her life!" + +Upon this moment, when it seemed as if he could endure no more, +came the smooth voice of William McTurg: + +"Hello, folkses!" + +"Hello, Uncle Bill! Come in." + +"That's what we came for," laughed a woman's voice. + +"Is that you, Rose?" asked Laura. + +"It's me-Rose," replied the laughing girl as she bounced into the +room and greeted everybody in a breathless sort of way. + +"You don't mean little Rosy?" + +"Big Rosy now," said William. + +Howard looked at the handsome girl and smiled, saying in a nasal +sort of tone, "Wal, wal! Rosy, how you've growed since I saw +yeh!" + +"Oh, look at all this purple and fine linen! Am I left out?" + +Rose was a large girl of twenty-five or thereabouts, and was called +an old maid. She radiated good nature from every line of her +buxom self. Her black eyes were full of drollery, and she was on +the best of terms with Howard at once. She had been a teacher, but +that did not prevent her from assuming a peculiar directness of +speech. Of course they talked about old friends. + +"Where's Rachel?" Howard inquired. Her smile faded away. + +"Shellie married Orrin McIlvaine. They're way out in Dakota. +Shellie's havin' a hard row of stumps." + +There was a little silence. + +"And Tommy?" + +"Gone West. Most all the boys have gone West. That's the reason +there's so many old maids." + +"You don't mean to say-" + +"I don't need to say-I'm an old maid. Lots of the girls are." + +"It don't pay to marry these days." + +"Are you married?" + +"Not yet." His eyes lighted up again in a humorous way. + +"Not yet! That's good! That's the way old maids all talk." + +"You don't mean to tell me that no young fellow comes prowling +around-" + +"Oh, a young Dutchrnan or Norwegian once in a while. Nobody +that counts. Fact is, we're getting like Boston-four women to one +man; and when you consider that we're getting more particular +each year, the outlook is-well, it's dreadful!" + +"It certainly is." + +"Marriage is a failure these days for most of us. We can't live on +the farm, and can't get a living in the city, and there we are." She +laid her hand on his arm. "I declare, Howard, you're the same boy +you used to be. I ain't a bit afraid of you, for all your success." + +"And you're the same girl? No, I can't say that. It seems to me +you've grown more than I have-I don't mean physically, I mean +mentally," he explained as he saw her smile in the defensive way a +fleshy girl has, alert to ward off a joke. + +They were in the midst of talk, Howard telling one of his funny +stories, when a wagon clattered up to the door and merry voices +called loudly: + +"Whoa, there, Sampson!" + +"Hullo, the house!" + +Rose looked at her father with a smile in her black eyes exactly +like his. They went to the door. + +"Hullo! What's wanted?" + +"Grant McLane live here?" + +"Yup. Right here." + +A moment later there came a laughing, chatting squad of women +to the door. Mrs. McLane and Laura stared at each other in +amazement. Grant went outdoors. + +Rose stood at the door as if she were hostess. + +"Come in, Nettie. Glad to see yeh-glad to see yeh! Mrs. McIlvaine, +come right in! Take a seat. Make yerself to home, do! And Mrs. +Peavey! Wal, I never! This must be a surprise party. Well, I swan! +How many more o' ye air they?" + +All was confusion, merriment, handshakings as Rose introduced +them in her roguish way. + +"Folks, this is Mr. Howard McLane of New York. He's an actor, +but it hain't spoiled him a bit as I can see. How, this is Nettie +McIlvaine-Wilson that was." + +Howard shook hands with Nettie, a tall, plain girl with prominent +teeth. + +"This is Ma McIlvaine." + +"She looks just the same," said. Howard, shaking her hand and +feeling how hard and work-worn it was. + +And so amid bustle, chatter, and invitations "to lay off y'r things +an' stay awhile," the women got disposed about the room at last +Those that had rocking chairs rocked vigorously to and fro to hide +their embarrassment. They all talked in loud voices. + +Howard felt nervous under this furtive scrutiny. He wished his +clothes didn't look so confoundedly dressy. Why didn't he have +sense enough to go and buy a fifteen-dollar suit of diagonals for +everyday wear. + +Rose was the life of the party. Her tongue rattled on in the most +delightful way. + +"It's all Rose an' Bill's doin's," Mrs. McIlvaine explained. "They +told us to come over an' pick up anybody we see on the road. So +we did." + +Howard winced a little at her familiarity of tone. He couldn't help +it for the life of him. + +"Well, I wanted to come tonight because I'm going away next +week, and I wanted to see how he'd act at a surprise party again," +Rose explained. + +"Married, I s'pose," said Mrs. McIlvaine abruptly. + +"No, not yet." + +"Good land! Why, y' Inns' be thirty-five, How. Must a dis'p'inted y'r +mam not to have a young 'un to call 'er granny." + +The men came clumping in, talking about haying and horses. +Some of the older ones Howard knew and greeted, but the younger +ones were mainly too much changed. They were all very ill at ease. +Most of them were in compromise dress-something lying between +working "rig" and Sunday dress. Most of them had on clean shirts +and paper collars, and wore their Sunday coats (thick woolen +garments) over rough trousers. All of them crossed their legs at +once, and most of them sought the wall and leaned back +perilously~upon the hind legs of their chairs, eyeing Howard +slowly. + +For the first few minutes the presents were the subjects of +conversation. The women especially spent a good deal of talk upon +them. + +Howard found himself forced to taking the initiative, so he +inquired about the crops and about the farms. + +"I see you don't plow the hills as we used to. And reap'. What a job +it ust to be. It makes the hills more beautiful to have them covered +with smooth grass and cattle." + +There was only dead silence to this touching upon the idea of +beauty. + +"I s'pose it pays reasonably." + +"Not enough to kill," said one of the younger men. "You c'n see +that by the houses we live in-that is, most of us. A few that came in +early an' got land cheap, like McIlvaine, here-he got a lift that the +rest of us can't get." + +"I'm a free trader, myself," said one young fellow, blushing and +looking away as Howard turned and said cheerily: + +"So'm I." + +The rest semed to feel that this was a tabooed subject--a +subject to be talked out of doors, where one could prance about +and yell and do justice to it. + +Grant sat silently in the kitchen doorway, not saying a word, not +looking at his. brother. + +"Well, I don't never use hot vinegar for mine," Mrs. McIlvaine was +heard to say. "I jest use hot water, an' I rinse 'em out good, and set +'em bottom-side up in the sun. I do' know but what hot vinegar +would be more cleansin'." + +Rose had the younger folks in a giggle with a droll telling of a joke +on herself. + +"How'd y' stop 'em from laffin'?" + +"I let 'em laugh. Oh, my school is a disgrace-so one director says. +But I like to see children laugh. It broadens their cheeks." + +"Yes, that's all handwork." Laura was showing the baby's Sunday +clothes. + +"Goodness Peter! How do you find time to do so much?" + +"I take time." + +Howard, being the lion of the evening, tried his best to be +agreeable. He kept near his mother, because it afforded her so +much pride and satisfaction, and because he was obliged to keep +away from Grant, who had begun to talk to the men. Howard +tall~ed mainly about their affairs, but still was forced more and +more into talking of life in the city. As he told of the theater and +the concerts, a sudden change fell upon them; they grew sober, and +he felt deep down in the hearts of these people a melancholy +which was expressed only elusively with little tones or sighs. Their +gaiety was fitful. + +They were hungry for the world, for art-these young people. +Discontented and yet hardly daring to acknowledge it; indeed, few +of them could have made definite statement of their +dissatisfaction. The older people felt it less. They practically said, +with a sigh of pathetic resignation: + +"Well, I don't expect ever to see these things now.." + +A casual observer would have said, "What a pleasant bucolic-this +little surprise party of welcome!" But Howard with his native ear +and eye had no such pleasing illusion. He knew too well these +suggestions of despair and bitterness. He knew that, like the smile +of the slave, this cheerfulness was self-defense; deep down was +another self. + +Seeing Grant talking with a group of men over by the kitchen door, +he crossed over slowly and stood listening. Wesley Cosgrove-a +tall, rawboned young fellow with a grave, almost tragic face-was +saying: + +"Of course I ain't. Who is? A man that's satisfied to live as we do is +a fool." + +"The worst of it is," said Grant without seeing Howard, a man can't +get out of it during his lifetime, and l don't know that he'll have any +chance in the next-the speculator'll be there ahead of us." + +The rest laughed, but Grant went on grily: + +"Ten years ago Wes, here, could have got land in Dakota pretty +easy, but now it's about all a feller's life's worth to try it. I tell you +things seem shuttin' down on us fellers." + +"Plenty o' land to rent?" suggested someone. + +"Yes, in terms that skin a man alive. More than that, farmin' ain't +so free a life as it used to be. This cattle-raisin' and butter-makin' +makes a nigger of a man. Binds him right down to the grindstone, +and he gets nothin' out of it-that's what rubs it in. He simply +wallers around in the manure for somebody else. I'd like to know +what a man's life is worth who lives as we do? How much higher is +it than the lives the niggers used to live?" + +These brutally bald words made Howard thrill witb emotion like +some great tragic poem. A silence fell on the group. + +"That's the God's truth, Grant," said young Cosgrove after a pause. + +"A man like me is helpless," Grant was saying. "Just like a fly in a +pan of molasses. There ain't any escape for him. The more he tears +around, the more liable he is to rip his legs off." + +"What can he do?" + +The men listened in silence. + +"Oh, come, don't talk politics all night!" cried Rose, breaking in. +"Come, let's have a dance. Where's that fiddle?" + +"Fiddle!" cried Howard, glad of a chance to laugh. "Well, now! +Bring out that fiddle. Is it William's?" + +"Yes, Pap's old fiddle." + +"Oh, gosh! he don't want to hear me play," pr~ tested William. +"He's heard s' many fiddlers." + +"Fiddlers! I've heard a thousand violinists, but not fiddlers. Come, +give us 'Honest John.'" + +William took the fiddle in his work-calloused and crooked hands +and began tuning it. The group at the kitchen door turned to listen, +their faces lighting up a little. Rose tried to get a set on the floor. + +"Oh, good land!" said some. "We're all tuckered out. What makes +you so anxious?" + +"She wants a chance to dance with the New Yorker." + +"That's it exactly," Rose admitted. + +"Wal, if you'd churned and mopped and cooked for hayin' hands as +I have today, you wouldn't be so full o' nonsense." + +"Oh, bother! Life's short. Come quick, get Bettie out. Come, Wes, +never mind your hobbyhorse." + +By incredible exertion she got a set on the floor, and William got +the fiddle in tune. Howard looked across at Wesley, and thought +the change in him splendidly dramatic. His face had lighted up into +a kind of deprecating, boyish smile. Rose could do anything with +him. + +William played some of the old tunes that had a thou-sand +associated memories in Howard's brain, memories of harvest +moons, of melon feasts, and of clear, cold winter nights. As he +danced, his eyes filled with a tender, luminous light. He came +closer to them all than he had been able to do before. Grant had +gone out into the kitchen. + +After two or three sets had been danced, the company took seats +and could not be stirred again. So Laura and Rose disappeared for +a few moments, and returning, served strawberries and cream, +which she "just happened to have in the house." + +And then William played again. His fingers, now grown more +supple, brought out clearer, firmer tones. As he played, silence fell +on these people. The magic of music sobered every face; the +women looked older and more careworn, the men slouched +sullenly in their chairs or leaned back against the wall. + +It seemed to Howard as if the spirit of tragedy had entered this +house. Music had always been William's unconscious expression +of his unsatisfied desires. He was never melancholy except when +he played. Then his eyes grew somber, his drooping face full of +shadows. + +He played on slowly, softly, wailing Scotch tunes and mournful +Irish songs. He seemed to find in the songs of these people, and +especially in a wild, sweet, low-keyed Negro song, some +expression for his indefinable inner melancholy. + +He played on, forgetful of everybody, his long beard sweeping the +violin, his toilworn hands marvelously obedient to his will. + +At last he stopped, looked up with a faint, deprecating smile, and +said with a sigh: + +"Well, folkses, time to go home." + +The going was quiet. Not much laughing. Howard stood at the +door and said good night to them all, his heart very tender. + +"Come and see us," they said. + +"I will," he replied cordially. "I'll try and get around to see +everybody, and talk over old times, before I go back." + +After the wagons had driven out of the yard, Howard turned and +put his arm about his mother's neck. + +"Tired?" + +"A little." + +"Well, now, good night. I'm going for a little stroll." His brain was +too active to sleep. He kissed his mother good night and went out +into the road, his hat in his hand, the cool, moist wind on his hair. + +It was very dark, the stars being partly hidden by a thin vapor. On +each side the hills rose, every line familiar as the face of an old +friend. A whippoorwill called occasionally from the hillside, and +the spasmodic jangle of a bell now and then told of some cow's +battle with the mosquitoes. + +As he walked, he pondered upon the tragedy he had rediscovered +in these people's lives. Out here under the inexorable spaces of the +sky, a deep distaste of his own life took possession of him. He felt +like giving it all up. He thought of the infinite tragedy of these +lives which the world loves to call "peaceful and pastoral." HIS +mind went out in the aim to help them. What could he do to make +life better worth living? Nothing. They must live and die +practically as he saw them tonight. + +And yet he knew this was a mood, and that in a few hours the love +and the habit of life would come back upon him and upon them; +that he would go back to the city in a few days; that these people +would live on and make the best of it. + +"I'll make the best of it," he said at last, and his thought came back +to his mother and Grant. + +IV + +The next day was a rainy day; not a shower, but a steady rain-an +unusual thing in midsummer in the West. A cold, dismal day in the +fireless, colorless farmhouses. It came to Howard in that peculiar +reaction which surely comes during a visit of this character, when +thought is a weariness, when the visitor longs for his own familiar +walls and pictures and books, and longs to meet his friends, feeling +at the same time the tragedy of life which makes friends nearer +and more congenial than blood relations. + +Howard ate his breakfast alone, save Baby and Laura, its mother, +going about the room. Baby and mother alike insisted on feeding +him to death. Already dyspeptic pangs were setting in. + +"Now ain't there something more I can-" + +"Good heavens! No!" he cried in dismay. "I'm likely to die of +dyspepsia now. This honey and milk, and these delicious hot +biscuits-" + +"I'm afraid it ain't much like the breakfasts you have in the city." + +"Well, no, it ain't," he confessed. "But this is the kind a man needs +when he lives in the open air." + +She sat down opposite him, with her elbows on the table, her chin +in her palm, her eyes full of shadows. + +"I'd like to go to a city once. I never saw a town bigger'n +Lumberville. I've never seen a play, but I've read of 'em in the +magazines. It must be wonderful; they say they have wharves and +real ships coming up to the wharf, and people getting off and on. +How do they do it?" + +"Oh, that's too long a story to tell. It's a lot of machinery and paint +and canvas. If I told you how it was done, you wouldn't enjoy it so +well when you come on and see it." + +"Do you ever expect to see me in New York?" + +"Why, yes. Why not? I expect Grant to come On and bring you all +some day, especially Tonikins here. Tonikins, you hear, sir? I +expect you to come on you' for birfday, sure." He tried thus to stop +the woman's gloomy confidence. + +'I hate farm life," she went on with a bitter inflection. "It's nothing +but fret, fret and work the whole time, never going any place, +never seeing anybody but a lot of neighbors just as big fools as you +are. I spend my time fighting flies and washing dishes and +churning. I'm sick of it all." + +Howard was silent. What could he say to such an indictment? The +ceiling swarmed with flies which the cold rain had driven to seek +the warmth of the kitchen. The gray rain was falling with a dreary +sound outside, and down the kitchen stovepipe an occasional drop +fell on the stove with a hissing, angry sound. + +The young wife went on with a deeper note: + +"I lived in Lumberville two years, going to school, and I know a +little something of what city life is. If I was a man, I bet I wouldn't +wear my life out on a farm, as Grant does. I'd get away and I'd do +something. I wouldn't care what, but I'd get away." + +There was a certain volcanic energy back of all the woman said +that made Howard feel she'd make the attempt. She didn't know +that the struggle for a. place to stand on this planet was eating the +heart and soul out of men and women in the city, just as in the +country. But he could say nothing. If be had said in conventional +phrase, sitting there in his soft clothing, "We must make the best of +it all," the woman could justly have thrown the dishcloth in his +face. He could say nothing. + +"I was a fool for ever marrying," she went on, while the baby +pushed a chair across the room. "I made a decent living teaching, I +was free to come and go, my money was my own. Now I'm fled +right down to a churn or a dishpan, I never have a cent of my own. +He's growlin' round half the time, and there's no chance of his ever +being different." + +She stopped with a bitter sob in her throat. She forgot she was +talking to her husband's brother. She was conscious only of his +sympathy. + +As if a great black cloud had settled down upon him, Howard felt +it all-the horror, hopelessness, immanent tragedy of it all. The +glory of nature, the bounty and splendor of the sky, only made it +the more benumbing. He thought of a sentence Millet once wrote: + +I see very well the aureole of the dandelions, and the sun also, far +down there behind the hills, flinging his glory upon the clouds. But +not alone that-I see in the + +plains the smoke of the tired horses at the plough, or, on a +stony-hearted spot of ground, a back-broken man trying to raise +himself upright for a moment to breathe. + +The tragedy is surrounded by glories-that is no invention of mine. + +Howard arose abruptly and went back to his little bedroom, where +he walked up and down the floor till he was calm enough to write, +and then he sat down and poured it all out to "Dearest Margaret," +and his first sentence was this: + +"If it were not for you (just to let you know the mood I'm in)-if it +were not for you, and I had the world in my hands, I'd crush it like +a puffball; evil so predominates, suffering is so universal and +persistent, happiness so fleeting and so infrequent." + +He wrote on for two hours, and by the time he had sealed and +directed several letters he felt calmer, but still terribly depressed. +The rain was still falling, sweeping down from the half-seen hills, +wreathing the wooded peaks with a gray garment of mist and +filling the valley with a whitish cloud. + +It fell around the house drearily. It ran down into the tubs placed to +catch it, dripped from the mossy pump, and drummed on the +upturned milk pails, and upon the brown and yellow beehives +under the maple trees. The chickens seemed depressed, but the +irrepressible bluejay screamed amid it all, with the same insolent +spirit, his plumage untarnished by the wet. The barnyard showed a +horrible mixture of mud and mire, through which Howard caught +glimpses of the men, slumping to and fro without more additional +protection than a ragged coat and a shapeless felt hat. + +In the sitting room where his mother sat sewing there was not an +ornament, save the etching he had brought. The clock stood on a +small shell, its dial so much defaced that one could not tell the +time of day; and when it struck, it was with noticeably +disproportionate deliberation, as if it wished to correct any mistake +into which the family might have fallen by reason of its illegible +dial. + +The paper on the walls showed the first concession of the Puritans +to the Spirit of Beauty, and was made up of a heterogeneous +mixture of flowers of unheard-of shapes and colors, arranged in +four different ways along the wall. There were no books, no music, +and only a few newspapers in sight--a bare, blank, cold, drab-colored +shelter from the rain, not a home. Nothing cozy, nothing +heartwarming; a grim and horrible shed. + +"What are they doing? It can't be they're at work such a day as +this," Howard said, standing at the window. + +"They find plenty to do, even on rainy days," answered his mother. +"Grant always has some job to set the men at. It's the only way to +live." + +"I'll go out and see them." He turned suddenly. "Mother, why +should Grant treat me so? Have I deserved it?" + +Mrs. McLane sighed in pathetic hopelessness. "I don't know, +Howard. I'm worried about Grant. He gets more an' more +downhearted an' gloomy every day. Seem's if he'd go crazy. He +don't care how he looks any more, won't dress up on Sunday. Days +an' days he'll go aroun' not sayin' a word. I was in hopes you could +help him, Howard." + +"My coming seems to have had an opposite effect. He hasn't +spoken a word to me, except when he had to, since I came. +Mother, what do you say to going home with me to New York?" + +"Oh, I couldn't do that!" she cried in terror. "I couldn't live in a big +city-never!" + +"There speaks the truly rural mind," smiled Howard at his mother, +who was looking up at him through her glasses with a pathetic +forlornness which sobered him again. "Why, Mother, you could +live in Orange, New Jersey, or out in Connecticut, and be just as +lonesome as you are here. You wouldn't need to live in the city. I +could see you then every day or two." + +"Well, I couldn't leave Grant an' the baby, anyway," she replied, +not realizing how one could live in New Jersey and do business +daily in New York. + +"Well, then, how would you like to go back into the old house?" he +said, facing her. + +The patient hands fell to the lap, the dim eyes fixed in searching +glance on his face. There was a wistful cry in the voice. + +"Oh, Howard! Do you mean-" + +Up The Coulee + +93 + +He came and sat down by her, and put his arm about her and +hugged her hard. "I mean, you dear, good, patient, work-wear~ old +Mother, I'm going to buy back the old farm and put you in it." + +There was no refuge for her now except in tears, and she put up +her thin, trembling old hands about his neck and cried in that easy, +placid, restful way age has. + +Howard could not speak. His throat ached with remorse and pity. +He saw his forgetfulness of them all once more without relief-the +black thing it was! + +"There, there, Mother, don't cry!" he said, torn with anguish by her +tears. Measured by man's tearlessness, her weeping seemed terrible +to him. "I didn't realize how things were going here. It was all my +fault-or, at least, most of it. Grant's letter didn't reach me. I thought +you were still on the old farm. But no matter; it's all over now. +Come, don't cry any more, Mother dear. I'm going to take care of +you now." + +It had been years since the poor, lonely woman had felt such +warmth of love. Her sons had been like her husband, chary of +expressing their affection; and like most Puritan families, there +was little of caressing among them. Sitting there with the rain on +the roof and driving through the trees, they planned getting back +into the old house. Howard's plan seemed to her full of splendor +and audacity. She began to understand his power and wealth now, +as he put it into concrete form before her. + +"I wish I could eat Thanksgiving dinner there with you," he said at +last, "but it can't be thought of. However, I'll have you all in there +before I go home. I'm going out now and tell Grant. Now don't +worry any more; I'm going to fix it all up with him, sure." He gave +her a parting hug. + +Laura advised him not to attempt to get to the barn; but as he +persisted in going, she hunted up an old rubber coat for him. +"You'll mire down and spoil your shoes," she said, glancing at his +neat calf gaiters. + +"Darn the difference!" he laughed in his old way. "Besides, I've got +rubbers." + +"Better go round by the fence," she advised as he stepped out into +the pouring rain. + +How wretchedly familiar it all was! The miry cow yard, with the +hollow trampled out around the horse trough, the disconsolate hens +standing under the wagons and sheds, a pig wallowing across its +sty, and for atmosphere the desolate, falling rain. It was so familiar +he felt a pang of the old rebellious despair which seized him on +such days in his boyhood. + +Catching up courage, he stepped out on the grass, opened the gate, +and entered the barnyard. A narrow ribbon of turf ran around the +fence, on which he could walk by clinging with one hand to the +rough boards. In this way he slowly made his way around the +periphery, and came at last to the open barn door without much +harm. + +It was a desolate interior. In the open floorway Grant, seated upon +a half-bushel, was mending a harness. The old man was holding +the trace in his hard brown hands; the boy was lying on a wisp of +hay. It was a small barn, and poor at that. There was a bad smell, +as of dead rats, about it, and the rain fell through the shingles here +and there. To the right, and below, the horses stood, looking up +with their calm and beautiful eyes, in which the whole scene was +idealized. + +Grant looked up an instant and then went on with his work. + +"Did yeh wade through?" grinned Lewis, exposing his broken +teeth. + +"No, I kinder circumambiated the pond." He sat down on the little +toolbox near Grant. "Your barn is good deal like that in 'The +Arkansas Traveller.' Needs a new roof, Grant." His voice had a +pleasant sound, full of the tenderness of the scene through which +he had just been. "In fact, you need a new barn." + +"I need a good many things more'n I'll ever get," Grant replied +shortly. + +"How long did you say you'd been on this farm?" + +"Three years this fall." + +"I don't s'pose you've been able to think of buying-Now hold on, +Grant," he cried, as Grant threw his head back. "For God's sake, +don't get mad again! Wait till you see what I'm driving at." + +"I don't see what you're drivin' at, and I don't care. + +All I want you to do is to let us alone. That ought to be easy +enough for you." + +"I tell you, I didn't get your letter. I didn't know you'd lost the old +farm." Howard was determined not to quarrel. "I didn't suppose-" + +"You might 'a' come to see." + +"Well, I'll admit that. All I can say in excuse is that since I got to +managing plays I've kept looking ahead to making a big hit and +getting a barrel of money-just as the old miners used to hope and +watch. Besides, you don't understand how much pressure there is +on me. A hundred different people pulling and hauling to have me +go here or go there, or do this or do that. When it isn't yachting, it's +canoeing, or + +He stopped. His heart gave a painful throb, and a shiver ran +through him. Again he saw his life, so rich, so bright, so free, set +over against the routine life in the little low kitchen, the barren +sitting room, and this still more horrible barn. Why should his +brother sit there in wet and grimy clothing mending a broken trace, +while he enjoyed all the light and civilization of the age? + +He looked at Grant's fine figure, his great strong face; recalled his +deep, stern, masterful voice. "Am I so much superior to him? Have +not circumstances made me and destroyed him?" + +"Grant, for God's sake, don't sit there like that! I'll admit I've been +negligent and careless. I can't understand it all myself. But let me +do something for you now. I've sent to New York for five thousand +dollars. I've got terms on the old farm. Let me see you all back +there once more before I return." + +"I don't want any of your charity." + +"It ain't charity. It's only justice to you." He rose. "Come now, let's +get at an understanding, Grant. I can't go on this way. I can't go +back to New York and leave you here like this." + +Grant rose, too. "I tell you, I don't ask your help. You can't fix this +thing up with money. If you've got more brains 'n I have, why it's +all right. I ain't got any right to take anything that I don't earn." + +"But you don't get what you do earn. It ain't your fault. I begin te +see it now. Being the oldest, I had the best chance. I was going to +town to school while you were plowing and husking corn. Of +course I thought you'd be going soon, yourself. I had three years +the start of you. If you'd been in my place, you might have met a +man like Cooke, you might have gone to New York and have been +where I am'. + +"Well, it can't be helped now. So drop it." + +"But it must be!" Howard said, pacing about, his hands in his coat +pockets. Grant had stopped work, and was gloomily looking out of +the door at a pig nosing in the mud for stray grains of wheat at the +granary door: + +"Good God! I see it all now," Howard burst out in an impassioned +tone. "I went ahead with my education, got my start in life, then +Father died, and you took up his burdens. Circumstances made me +and crushed you. That's all there is about that. Luck made me and +cheated you. It ain't right." + +His voice faltered. Both men were now oblivious of their +companions and of the scene. Both were thinking of the days when +they both planned great things in the way of an education, two +ambitious, dreamful boys. + +"I used to think of you, Grant, when I pulled out Monday morning +in my best suit-cost fifteen dollars in those days." He smiled a little +at the recollection. "While you in overalls and an old 'wammus' +was going out into the field to plow, or husk corn in the mud. It +made me feel uneasy, but, as I said, I kept saying to myself, 'His +turn'll come in a year or two.' But it didn't." + +His voice choked. He walked to the door, stood a moment, came +back. His eyes were full of tears. + +"I tell you, old man, many a time in my boardinghouse down to +the city, when I thought of the jolly times I was having, my heart +hurt me. But I said: 'It's no use to cry. Better go on and do the best +you can, and then help them afterward. There'll only be one more +miserable member of the family if you stay at home.' Besides, it +seemed right to me to have first chance. But I never thought you'd +be shut off, Grant. If I had, I never would have gone on. Come, old +man, I want you to believe that." His voice was very tender now +and almost humble. + +"I don't know as I blame yeh for that, How," said Grant slowly. It +was the first time he had called Howard by his boyish nickname. +His voice was softer, too, and higher in key. But he looked steadily +away. + +"I went to New York. People liked my work. I was very successful, +Grant; more successful than you realize. I could have helped you at +any time. There's no use lying about it. And I ought to have done +it; but some way-it's no excuse, I don't mean it for an excuse, only +an explanation-some way I got in with the boys. I don't mean I was +a drinker and all that. But I bought pictures and kept a horse and a +yacht, and of course I had to pay my share of all expeditions, +and~oh, what's the use!" + +He broke off, turned, and threw his open palms out toward his +brother, as if throwing aside the last attempt at an excuse. + +"I did neglect you, and it's a damned shame! and I ask your +forgiveness. Come, old man!" + +He held out his hand, and Grant slowly approached and took it. +There was a little silence. Then Howard went on, his voice +trembling, the tears on his face. + +"I want you to let me help you, old man. That's the way to forgive +me. Will you?" + +"Yes, if you can help me." + +Howard squeezed his hand. "That's right, old man. Now you make +me a boy again. Course I can help you. I've got ten-" + +"I don't mean that, How." Grant's voice was very grave. "Money +can't give me a chance now." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean life ain't worth very much to me. I'm too old to take a new +start. I'm a dead failure. I've come to the conclusion that life's a +failure for ninety-nine per cent of us. You can't help me now. It's +too late." + +The two men stood there, face to face, hands clasped, the one +fair-skinned, full-lipped, handsome in his neat sult; the other +tragic, somber in his softened mood, his large, long, rugged Scotch +face bronzed with sun and scarred with wrinkles that had histories, +like saber cuts on a veteran, the record of his battles. + +AMONG THE CORN ROWS + +I + +"But the road sometimes passes a rich meadow, where the songs o/ +larks and bobolinks and blackbirds are tangled." + +ROB held up his hands, from which the dough depended in ragged +strings. + +"Biscuits," he said with an elaborate working of his jaws, intended +to convey the idea that they were going to be specially delicious. + +Seagraves laughed, but did not enter the shanty door. "How do you +like baching it?" + +"Oh, don't mention it!" entreated Rob, mauling the dough again. +"Come in an' sit down. Why in thunder y' standin' out there for?" + +"Oh, I'd rather be where I can see the prairie. Great weather!" + +"Im-mense!" + +"How goes breaking?" + +"Tip-top! A leette dry now; but the bulls pull the plow through two +acres a day. How's things in Boomtown?" + +"Oh, same old grind." + +"Judge still lyin'?" + +"Still at it." + +"Major Mullens still swearin' to it?" + +"You hit it like a mallet. Railroad schemes are thicker'n prairie +chickens. You've got grit, Rob. I don't have anything but crackers +and sardines over to my shanty, and here you are making soda +biscuit." + +"I have t' do it. Couldn't break if I didn't. You editors c'n take +things easy, lay around on the prairie, and watch the plovers and +medderlarks; but we settlers have got to work." + +Leaving Rob to sputter over his cooking, Seagraves took his slow +way off down toward the oxen grazing in a little hollow. The scene +was characteristically, wonderfully beautiful. It was about five +o'clock in a day in late June, and the level plain was green and +yellow, and infinite in reach as a sea; the lowering sun was casting +over its distant swells a faint impalpable mist, through which the +breaking teams on the neighboring claims plowed noiselessly, as +figures in a dream. The whistle of gophers, the faint, wailing, +fluttering cry of the falling plover, the whir of the swift-winged +prairie pigeon, or the quack of a lonely duck, came through the +shimmering air. The lark's infrequent whistle, piercingly sweet, +broke from the longer grass in the swales nearby. No other climate, +sky, plain, could produce the same unnamable weird charm. No +tree to wave, no grass to rustle; scarcely a sound of domestic life; +only the faint melancholy soughing of the wind in the short grass, +and the voices of the wild things of the prairie. + +Seagraves, an impressionable young man (junior editor of the +Boomtown Spike), threw himself down on the sod, pulled his hat +rim down over his eyes, and looked away over the plain. It was the +second year of Boom-town's existence, and Seagraves had not yet +grown restless under its monotony. Around him the gophers played +saucily. Teams were moving here and there across the sod, with a +peculiar noiseless, effortless motion that made them seem as calm, +lazy, and unsubstantial as the mist through which they made their +way; even the sound of passing wagons was a sort of low, well-fed, +self-satisfied chuckle. + +Seagraves, "holding down a claim" near Rob, had come to see his +neighboring "bach" because of feeling the need of company; but +now that he was near enough to hear him prancing about getting +supper, he was content to lie alone on a slope of the green sod. + +The silence of the prairie at night was well-nigh terrible. Many a +night, as Seagraves lay in his bunk against the side of his cabin, he +would strain his ear to hear the slightest sound, and he listening +thus sometimes for minutes before the squeak of a mouse or the +step of a passing fox came as a relief to the aching sense. In the +daytime, however, and especially on a morning, the prairie was +another thing. The pigeons, the larks; the cranes, the multitudinous +voices of the ground birds and snipes and insects, made the air +pulsate with sound-a chorus that died away into an infinite murmur +of music. + +"Hello, Seagraves!" yelled Rob from the door. "The biscuit are +'most done." + +Seagraves did not speak, only nodded his head and slowly rose. +The faint clouds in the west were getting a superb flame color +above and a misty purple below, and the sun had shot them with +lances of yellow light. As the air grew denser with moisture, the +sounds of neighboring life began to reach the ear. Children +screamed and laughed, and afar off a woman was singing a lullaby. +The rattle of wagons and voices of men speaking to their teams +multiplied. Ducks in a neighboring lowland were quacking. The +whole scene took hold upon Seagraves with irresistible power. + +"It is American," he exclaimed. 'No other land or time can match +this mellow air, this wealth of color, much less the strange social +conditions of life on this sunlit Dakota prairie." + +Rob, though visibly affected by the scene also, couldn't let his +biscuit spoil or go without proper attention. + +"Say, ain't y' comin' t' grub?" he asked impatiently. + +"Th a minute," replied his friend, taking a last wistful look at the +scene. "I want one more look at the landscape." + +"Landscape be blessed! If you'd been breakin' all day-Come, take +that stool an' draw up." + +"No; I'll take the candle box." + +"Not much. I know what manners are, if I am a bull driver." + +Seagraves took the three-legged and rather precarious-looking +stool and drew up to the table, which was a flat broad box nailed +up against the side of the wall, with two strips of board nailed at +the outer corners for legs. + +"How's that f'r a layout?" Rob inquired proudly. + +"Well, you have spread yourself! Biscuit and canned peaches and +sardines and cheese. why, this is-is- prodigal." + +"It ain't nothin' else." + +Rob was from one of the finest counties of Wisconsin, over toward +Milwaukee. He was of German parentage, a middle-sized, cheery, +wide-awake, good-looking young fellow-a typical claimholder. He +was always confident, jovial, and full of plans for the future. He +had dug his own well, built his own shanty, washed and mended +his own clothing. He could do anything, and do it well. He had a +fine field of wheat, and was finishing the plowing of his entire +quarter section. + +"This is what I call settin' under a feller's own vine an' fig +tree"-after Seagraves's compliments-"an' I like it. I'm my own boss. +No man can say 'come here' 'n' 'go there' to me. I get up when I'm a +min' to, an' go t' bed when I'm a min' t'." + +"Some drawbacks, I s'pose?" + +"Yes. Mice, f'r instance, give me a devilish lot o' trouble. They get +into my flour barrel, eat up my cheese, an' fall into my well. But it +ain't no use t' swear." + +"The rats and the mlce they made such a strife +He had to go to London to buy him a wife," + +quoted Seagraves. "Don't blush. I've probed your secret thought." + +"Well, to tell the honest truth," said Rob a little sheepishly, leaning +across the table, "I ain't satisfied with my style o' cookin'. It's good, +but a little too plain, y' know. I'd like a change. It ain't much fun to +break all day and then go to work an' cook y'r own supper." + +"No, I should say not." + +"This fall I'm going back to Wisconsin. Girls are thick as +huckleberries back there, and I'm goin' t' bring one back, now you +hear me." + +"Good! That's the plan," laughed Seagraves, amused at a certain +timid and apprehensive look in his companion's eye. "Just think +what a woman 'd do to put this shanty in shape; and think how nice +it would be to take her arm and saunter out after supper, and look +at the farm, and plan and lay out gardens and paths, and tend the +chickens!" + +Rob's manly and self-reliant nature had the settler's typical +buoyancy and hopefulness, as well as a certain power of analysis, +which enabled him now to say: "The fact is, we fellers holdin' +down claims out here ain't fools clear to the rine. We know a +couple o' things. Now I didn't leave Waupac County f'r fun. Did y' +ever see Wanpac? Well, it's one o' the handsomest counties the sun +ever shone on, full o' lakes and rivers and groves of timber. I miss +'em all out here, and I miss the boys an' girls; but they wa'n't no +chance there f'r a feller. Land that was good was so blamed high +you couldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole from a balloon. Rent was +high, if you wanted t' rent, an' so a feller like me had t' get out, an' +now I'm out here, I'm goin' f make the most of it. An other thing," +he went on, after a pause-"we fellers work-in' out back there got +more 'n' more like hands, an' less like human beings. Y'know, +Waupac is a kind of a summer resort, and the people that use' t' +come in summers looked down on us cusses in the fields an' +shops. I couldn't stand it. By God!" he said with a sudden im pulse +of rage quite unlike him, "I'd rather live on an ice-berg and claw +crabs f'r a livin' than have some feller passin' me on the road an' +callin' me fellah!'" + +Seagraves knew what he meant and listened in astonishment at this +outburst. + +"I consider myself a sight better 'n any man who lives on somebody +else's hard work. I've never had a cent I didn't earn with them +hands." He held them up and broke into a grin. "Beauties, ain't +they? But they never wore gloves that some other poor cuss +earned." + +Seagraves thought them grand hands, worthy to grasp the hand of +any man or woman living. + +"Well, so I come West, just like a thousand other fellers, to get a +start where the cussed European aristocracy hadn't got a holt on the +people. I like it here-course I'd like the lakes an' meadows of +Waupac better-but I'm my own boss, as I say, an' I'm goin' to stay +my own boss if I haf to live on crackers an' wheat coffee to do it; +that's the kind of a hairpin I am." + +In the pause which followed, Seagraves, plunged deep into thought +by Rob's words, leaned his head on his hand. This working farmer +had voiced the modem idea. It was an absolute overturn of all the +ideas of nobility and special privilege born of the feudal past. Rob +had spoken upon impulse, but that impulse appeared to Sea-graves +to be right. + +"I'd like to use your idea for an editorial, Rob," he said. + +"My ideas!" exclaimed the astounded host, pausing in the act of +filling his pipe. "My ideas! why, I didn't know I had any." + +"Well, you've given me some, anyhow." + +Seagraves felt that it was a wild, grand upstirring of the modem +democrat against the aristocratic, against the idea of caste and the +privilege of living on the labor of others. This atom of humanity +(how infinitesimal this drop in the ocean of humanity!) was feeling +the name-less longing of expanding personality, and had already +pierced the conventions of society and declared as nil the laws of +the land-laws that were survivals of hate and prejudice. He had +exposed also the native spring of the emigrant by uttering the +feeling that it is better to be an equal among peasants than a +servant before nobles. + +"So I have good reasons f'r liking the country," Rob resumed in a +quiet way. "The soil is rich, the climate good so far, an' if I have a +couple o' decent crops you'll see a neat upright goin' up here, with +a porch and a bay winder." + +"And you'll still be livin' here alone, frying leathery slapjacks an' +choppin' taters and bacon." + +"I think I see myself," drawled Rob, "goin' around all summer +wearin' the same shirt without washin', an' wipin' on the same +towel four straight weeks, an' wearin' holes in my socks, an' eatin' +musty gingersnaps, moldy bacon, an' canned Boston beans f'r the +rest o' my endurin' days! Oh, yes; I guess not! Well, see y' later. +Must go water my bulls." + +As he went off down the slope, Seagraves smiled to hear him sing: + +"I wish that some kindhearted girl +Would pity on me take, +And extricate me from the mess I'm in. +The angel-how I'd bless her, +li this her home she'd make, +In my little old sod shanty on the plain!" + +The boys nearly fell off their chairs in the Western House dining +room, a few days later, at seeing Rob come into supper with a +collar and necktie as the finishing touch of a remarkable outfit. + +"Hit him, somebody!" + +"It's a clean collar!" + +"He's started f'r Congress!" + +"He's going to get married," put in Seagraves in a tone that brought +conviction. + +"What!" screamed Jack Adams, O'Neill, and Wilson in one breath. +"That man?" + +"That man," replied Seagraves, amazed at Rob, who coolly took +his seat, squared his elbows, pressed his collar down at the back, +and called for the bacon and eggs. + +The crowd stared at him in a dead silence. + +"Where's he going to do it?" asked Jack Adarns. "where's he going +to find a girl?" + +"Ask him," said Seagraves. + +"I ain't tellin'," put in Rob, with his mouth full of potato. + +"You're afraid of our competition." + +"That's right; our competition, Jack; not your competition. Come, +now, Rob, tell us where you found her." + +"I ain't found her." + +"What! And yet you're goin' away t' get married!" + +"I'm goin' t' bring a wife back with me ten days fr'm date." + +"I see his scheme," put in Jim Rivers. "He's goin' back East +somewhere, an' he's goin' to propose to every girl he meets." + +"Hold on!" interrupted Rob, holding up his fork. "Ain't quite right. +Every good-lookin' girl I meet." + +"Well, I'll be blanked!" exclaimed Jack impatientiy; "that simply +lets me out. Any man with such a cheek ought to-" + +"Succeed," interrupted Seagraves. + +"That's what I say," bawled Hank whiting, the proprietor of the +house. "You fellers ain't got any enterprise to yeh. Why don't you +go to work an' help settle the country like men? 'Cause y' ain't got +no sand. Girls are thicker'n huckleberries back East. I say it's a +dum shame!" + +"Easy, Henry," said the elegant bank clerk, Wilson, looking +gravely about through his spectacles. "I commend the courage and +the resolution of Mr. Rodemaker. I pray the lady may not + +"Mislike him for his complexion, +The shadowed livery of the burning sun." + +"Shakespeare," said Adams at a venture. + +"Brother in adversity, when do you embark? Another 3ason on an +untried sea~" + +"Hay!" said Rob, winking at Seagraves. "Oh, I go tonight-night +train." + +"And return?" + +"Ten days from date." + +"I'll wager a wedding supper he brings a blonde," said Wilson in +his clean-cut, languid speech. + +"Oh, come now, Wilson; that's too thin! We all know that rule +about dark marryin' light." + +"I'll wager she'll be tall," continued Wilson. "I'll wager you, friend +Rodemaker, she'll be blonde and tall." + +The rest roared at Rob's astonishment and contusion. The absurdity +of it grew, and they went into spasms of laughter. But Wilson +remained impassive, not the twitching of a muscle betraying that +he saw anything to laugh at in the proposition. + +Mrs. Whiting and the kitchen girls came in, wondering at the +merriment. Rob began to get uneasy. + +"What is it? What is it?" said Mrs. Whiting, a jolly little matron. + +Rivers put the case. "Rob's on his way back to Wisconsin t' get +married, and Wilson has offered to bet him that his wife will be a +blonde and tall, and Rob dassent bet!" And they roared again. + +"Why, the idea! The man's crazy!" said Mrs. Whiting. The crowd +looked at each other. This was hint enough; they sobered, nodding +at each other. + +"Aha! I see; I understand." + +"It's the heat." + +"And the Boston beans." + +"Let up on him, Wilson. Don't badger a poor irresponsible fellow. I +thought something was wrong when I saw the collar." + +"Oh, keep it up!" said Rob, a little nettled by their evident intention +to "have fun" with him. + +"Soothe him-soo-o-o-o-the him!" said Wilson. "Don't be harsh." + +Rob rose from the table. "Go to thunder! You make me tired." + +"The fit is on him again!" + +He rose disgustedly and went out. They followed him in singie file. +The rest of the town "caught on." Frank Graham heaved an apple +at him and joined the procession. Rob went into the store to buy +some tobacco. They followed and perched like crows on the +counters till he went out; then they followed him, as before. They +watched him check his trunk; they witnessed the purchase of the +ticket. The town had turned out by this time. + +"Waupac!" announced the one nearest the victim. + +"Waupac!" said the next man, and the word was passed along the +street up town. + +"Make a note of it," said Wilson: "Waupa-a county where a man's +proposal for marriage is honored upon presentation. Sight drafts." + +Rivers struck up a song, while Rob stood around, patientiy bearing +the jokes of the crowd: + +"We're lookin' rather seedy now, +While holdin' down our claims, +And our vittles are not always of the best, +And the mice play slyly round us +As we lay down to sleep +In our little old tarred shanties on the claim. + +"Yet we rather like the novelty +Of livin' in this way, +Though the bill of fare is often rather tame; +An' we're happy as a clam +On the land of Uncle Sam +In our little old tarred shanty on the claim." + +The train drew up at length, to the immense relief of Rob, whose +stoical resiguation was beginning to weaken. + +"Don't y' wish y' had sand?" he yelled to the crowd as he plunged +into the car, thinking he was rid of them. + +But no; their last stroke was to follow him into the car, nodding, +pointing to their heads, and whispering, managing in the +half-minute the train stood at the platform to set every person in +the car staring at the crazy man. Rob groaned and pulled his hat +down over his eyes-an action which confirmed his tormentors' +words and made several ladies click their tongues in +sympathy-"Tick! tick! poor fellow!" + +"All abo-o-o-a-rd!' said the conductor, grinning his appreciation at +the crowd, and the train was off. + +"Oh, won't we make him groan when he gets back!" said Barney, +the young lawyer who sang the shouting tenor. + +"We'll meet him with the timbrel and the harp. Anybody want to +wager? I've got two to one on a short brunette," said Wilson. + +II + +"Follow it far enough and it may pass the bend in the river where +the water laughs eternally over its shallows." + +A CORNFIELD in July is a hot place. The soil is hot and dry; the +wind comes across the lazily murmuring leaves laden with a warm +sickening smell drawn from the rapidly growing, broad-flung +banners of the corn. The sun, nearly vertical, drops a flood of +dazzing light and heat upon the field over which the cool shadows +run, only to make the heat seem the more intense. + +Julia Peterson, faint with fatigue, was tolling back and forth +between the corn rows, holding the handles of the double-shovel +corn plow while her little brother Otto rode the steaming horse. +Her heart was full of bitterness, and her face flushed with heat, and +her muscles aching with fatigue. The heat grew terrible. The corn +came to her shoulders, and not a breath seemed to reach her, while +the sun, nearing the noon mark, lay pitilessly upon her shoulders, +protected only by a calico dress. The dust rose under her feet, and +as she was wet with perspiration it soiled her till, with a woman's +instinctive cleanliness, she shuddered. Her head throbbed +dangerously. what matter to her that the king bird pitched jovially +from the maples to catch a wandering bluebottle fly, that the robin +was feeding its young, that the bobolink was singing? All these +things, if she saw them, only threw her bondage to labor into +greater relief. + +Across the field, in another patch of corn, she could see her +father-a big, gruff-voiced, wide-bearded Norwegian-at work also +with a plow. The corn must be plowed, and so she toiled on, the +tears dropping from the shadow of the ugly sunbonnet she wore. +Her shoes, coarse and square-toed, chafed her feet; her hands, +large and strong, were browned, or more properly burned, on the +backs by the sun. The horse's harness "creak-cracked" as he swung +steadily and patientiy forward, the moisture pouring from his sides, +his nostrils distended. + +The field ran down to a road, and on the other side of the road ran +a river-a broad, clear, shallow expanse at that point, and the eyes +of the boy gazed longingly at the pond and the cool shadow each +time that he turned at the fence. + +"Say, Jule, I'm goin' in! Come, can't I? Come-say!" he pleaded as +they stopped at the fence to let the horse breathe. + +"I've let you go wade twice." + +"But that don't do any good. My legs is all smarty, 'cause ol' Jack +sweats so." The boy turned around on the horse's back and slid +back to his rump. "I can't stand it!" he burst out, sliding off and +darting under the fence. "Father can't see." + +The girl put her elbows on the fence and watched her little brother +as be sped away to the pool, throwing off his clothes as he ran, +whooping with uncontrollable delight. Soon she could hear him +splashing about in the water a short distance up the stream, and +caught glimpses of his little shiny body and happy face. How cool +that water looked! And the shadows there by the big basswood! +How that water would cool her blistered feet! An impulse seized +her, and she squeezed between the rails of the fence and stood in +the road looking up and down to see that the way was clear. It was +not a main-travelled road; no one was likely to come; why not? + +She hurriedly took off her shoes and stockings-how delicious the +cool, soft velvet of the grass!-and sitting down on the bank under +the great basswood, whose roots formed an abrupt bank, she slid +her poor blistered, chafed feet into the water, her bare head leaned +against the huge tree trunk. + +And now as she rested, the beauty of the scene came to her. Over +her the wind moved the leaves. A jay screamed far off, as if +answering the cries of the boy. A kingfisher crossed and recrossed +the stream with dipping sweep of his wings. The river sang with its +lips to the pebbles. The vast clouds went by majestically, far above +the treetops, and the snap and buzzing and ringing whir of July +insects made a ceaseless, slumberous undertone of song solvent of +all else. The tired girl forgot her work. She began to dream. This +would not last always. Some one would come to release her from +such drudgery. This was her constant, tenderest, and most secret +dream. He would be a Yankee, not a Norwegian; the Yankees +didn't ask their wives to work in the field. He would have a home. +Perhaps he'd live in town-perhaps a merchant! And then she +thought of the drug clerk in Rock River who had looked at her- A +voice broke in on her dream, a fresh, manly voice. + +"Well, by jinks! if it ain't Julia! Just the one I wanted to see!" + +The girl turned, saw a pleasant-faced young fellow in a derby hat +and a fifteen-dollar suit of diagonals. + +"Rod Rodemaker! How come-" + +She remembered her situation, and flushed, looked down at the +water, and remained perfectly still. + +"Ain't ye goin' to shake hands? Y' don't seem very glad t' see me." + +She began to grow angry. "If you had any eyes you'd see!" + +Rob looked over the edge of the bank, whistled, turned away. "Oh, +I see! Excuse me! Don't blame yeh a bit, though. Good weather f'r +corn," he went on' looking up at the trees. 'Corn seems to be pretty +well for-ward," he continued in a louder voice as he walked away, +still gazing into the air. "Crops is looking first-class in Boomtown. +Hello! This Otto? H'yare y' little scamp! Get onto that horse agin. +Quick, 'r I'll take y'r skin off an, hang it on the fence. what y' been +doing?" + +"Ben in swimmm'. Jimminy, ain't it fun! when 'd y' get back?" said +the boy, grinning. + +"Never you mind," replied Rob, leaping the fence by laying his left +hand on the top rail. "Get onto that horse." He tossed the boy up on +the horse, hung his coat on the fence. "I s'pose the ol' man makes +her plow same as usual?" + +"Yup," said Otto. + +"Dod ding a man that'll do that! I don't mind if it's necessary, but it +ain't necessary in his case." He continued to mutter in this way as +he went across to the other side of the field. As they turned to +come back, Rob went up and looked at the horse's mouth. "Gettin' +purty near of age. Say, who's sparkin' Julia now-anybody?" + +"Nobody 'cept some ol' Norwegians. She won't have them. Por +wants her to, but she won't." + +"Good f'r her. Nobody comes t' see her Sunday nights, eh?" + +"Nope, only 'Tias Anderson an' Ole Hoover; but she goes off an' +leaves 'em." + +"Chk!" said Rob, starting old Jack across the field. + +It was almost noon, and Jack moved reluctantly. He knew the time +of day as well as the boy. He made this round after distinct protest. + +In the meantime Julia, putting on her shoes and stockings, went to +the fence and watched the man's shining white shirt as he moved +across the cornfield. There had never been any special tenderness +between them, but she had always liked him. They had been at +school together. She wondered why he had come back at this time +of the year, and wondered how long he would stay. How long had +he stood looking at her? She flushed again at the thought of it. But +he wasn't to blame; it was a public road. She might have known +better. + +She stood under a little popple tree, whose leaves shook musically +at every zephyr, and her eyes through half-shut lids roved over the +sea of deep-green glossy leaves, dappled here and there by +cloud-shadows, stirred here and there like water by the wind, and +out of it all a longing to be free from such toil rose like a breath, +filling her throat, and quickening the motion of her heart. Must this +go on forever, this life of heat and dust and labor? what did it all +mean? + +The girl laid her chin on her strong red wrists, and looked up into +the blue spaces between the vast clouds--aerial mountains +dissolving in a shoreless azure sea. How cool and sweet and restful +they looked! li she might only lie out on the billowy, snow-white, +sunlit edge! The voices of the driver and the plowman recalled her, +and she fixed her eyes again upon the slowly nodding head of the +patient horse, on the boy turned half about on the horse, talking to +the white-sleeved man, whose derby hat bobbed up and down quite +curiously, like the horse's head. Would she ask him to dinner? +what would her people say? + +"Phew! it's hot!" was the greeting the young fellow gave as he +came up. He smiled in a frank, boyish way as he hung his hat on +the top of a stake and looked up at her. "D' y' know, I kind o' enjoy +getting at it again. Fact. It ain't no work for a girl, though," he +added. + +"When 'd you get back?" she asked, the flush not yet out of her +face. Rob was looking at her thick, fine hair and full Scandinavian +face, rich as a rose in color, and did not reply for a few seconds. +She stood with her hideous sun bonnet pushed back on her +shoulders. A kingbird was chattering overhead. + +"Oh' a few days ago." + +"How long y' goin' t' stay?" + +"Oh, I d' know. A week, mebbe." + +A far-off halloo came pulsing across the shimmering air. The boy +screamed "Dinner!" and waved his hat with an answering whoop, +then flopped off the horse like a turtle off a stone into water. He +had the horse unhooked in an instant, and had flung his toes up +over the horse's back, in act to climb on, when Rob said: + +"H'yare, young feller! wa!t a minute. Tired?" he asked the girl with +a tone that was more than kindly; it was almost tender. + +"Yes," she replied in a low voice. "My shoes hurt me." + +"Well, here y' go," he replied, taking his stand by the horse and +holding out his hand like a step. She colored and smiled a little as +she lifted her foot into his huge, hard, sunburned hand. + +"Oop-a-daisy!" he called. She gave a spring and sat the horse like +one at home there. + +Rob had a deliciously unconscious, abstracted, businesslike air. He +really left her nothing to do but enjoy his company, while he went +ahead and did precisely as he pleased. + +"We don't raise much corn out there, an' so I kind o' like to see it +once more." + +"I wish I didn't have to see another hill of corn as long as I live!" +replied the girl bitterly. + +"Don't know as I blame yeh a bit. But, all the same, I'm glad you +was working in it today," he thought to hiniseif as he walked +beside her horse toward the house. + +"Will you stop to dinner?" she inquired bluntly, almost surmy. It +was evident that there were reasons why she didn't mean to press. +hirn to'. do so. + +"You bet I will," he replied; "that is, if you want I should." + +"You know how we live," she replied evasively. "I' you c'n stand it, +why-" She broke off abruptly. + +Yes, he remembered how they lived in that big, square, dirty, +white frame house. It had been- three or four years since he had +been ill it, but the smell of the cabbage and onions, the +penetrating, peculiar mixture of odors, assailed his memory as +something unforgettable. + +"I guess I'll stop," he said as she hesitated. She said no more, but +tried to act as if she were not in any way responsible for what +came afterward. + +"I guess I c'n stand fr one meal what you stand all the while," he +added. + +As she left them at the well and went to the house, he saw her limp +painfully, and the memory of her face so close to his 1ips as he +helped her down from the horse gave him pleasure, at the same +time that he was touched by its tired and gloomy look. Mrs. +Peterson came to the door of the kitchen, looking just the same as +ever. Broadfaced, unwieldly, flabby, apparently wearing the same +dress he remembered to have seen her in years before a dirty +drab-colored thing-she looked as shapeless as a sack of wool. Her +English was limited to "How de do, Rob?" + +He washed at the pump, while the girl, in the attempt to be +hospitable, held the clean towel for him. + +"You're purty well used up, eh?" he said to her. + +"Yes; it's awful hot out there." + +"Can't you lay off this afternoon? It ain't right" + +"No. He won't listen to that." + +"Well, let me take your place." + +"No; there ain't any use o' that." + +Peterson, a brawny wide-bearded Norwegian, came up at this +moment and spoke to Rob in a sullen, gruff way + +"He ain't very glad to see me," said Rob, winking at Julia. "He ain't +b'ilin' over with enthusiasm; but I c'n stand it, for your sake," he +added with amazing assurance; but the girl had turned away, and it +was wasted. + +At the table he ate heartily of the "bean swaagen," which filled a +large wooden bowl in the center of the table, and which was ladled +into smaller wooden bowls at each plate. Julia had tried hard to +convert her mother to Yankee ways, and had at last given it up in +despair. Rob kept on safe subjects, mainly asking questions about +the crops of Peterson, and when addressing the girl, inquired of +the schoolmates. By skillful questioning, he kept the subject of +marriage uppermost, and seemingly was getting an inventory of the +girls not yet married or engaged. + +It was embarrassing for the girl. She was all too well aware of +the difference between her home and the home of her schoolmates +and friends, She. knew that it was not pleasant for her "Yankee" +friends to come to visit her when they could not feel sure of a +welcome from the tireless, silent, and grim-visaged old Norse, if, +indeed, they could escape insult. Julia ate her food mechanically, +and it could hardly be said that she enjoyed the brisk talk of the +young man, his eyes were upon her so constantly and his smile so +obviously addressed to her, She rose as soon as possible and, going +outside, took a seat on a chair under the trees in the yard. She was +not a coarse or dull girl. In fact, she had developed so rapidly by +contact with the young people of the neighborhood that she no +longer found pleasure, in her own home. She didn't believe in +keeping up the old-fashioned Norwegian customs, and her life with +her mother was not one to breed love or confidence. She was more +like a hired hand. The love of the mother for her "Yulyie" was +sincere though rough and inarticulate, and it was her jealousy of +the young "Yankees" that widened the chasm between the girl +and herself--an inevitable result. + +Rob followed the girl out into the yard, and threw himself on +the grass at her feet, perfectly unconscious of the fact that this +attitude was exceedingly graceful and becoming to them both. He did +it because he wanted to talk to her, and the grass was cool and easy; +there wasn't any other chair, anyway. + +"Do they keep up the ly-ceum and the sociables same as ever?" + +"Yes. The others go a good 'eal, but I don't. We're gettin' such +a stock round us, and father thinks he needs me s' much, I don't +get out often. Fm gettin' sick of it." + +"I sh'd think y' would," he replied, his eyes on her face, + +"I c'd stand the churnin' and housework, but when it comes +it comes t' workin' outdoors in the dirt an' hot sun, gettin' all +sunburned and chapped up, it's another thing. An' then it seems as +if he gets stingier 'n' stingier every year. I ain't had a new dress +in--I d'-know-how-long. He says it's all nonsense, an' Mother's just +about as bad. She don't want a new dress, an' so she thinks I don't." +The girl was feeling the influence of a sympathetic listener and was +making up for her long silence. "I've tried t' go out t' work, but they +won't let me. They'd have t' pay a hand twenty dollars a month f'r +the work I do, an' they like cheap help; but I'm not goin' t' stand it +much longer, I can tell you that." + +Rob thought she was yery handsome as she sat there with her eyes +fixed on the horizon, while these rebellious thoughts found +utterance in her quivering, passionate voice. + +"Yulie! Kom heat!" roared the old man from the well. A frown of +anger and pain came into her face. She looked at Rob. "That +means more work." + +"Say! let me go out in your place. Come, now; what's the use-" + +"No; it wouldn't do no good. It ain't t'day s' much; it's every day, +and-" + +"Yulie!" called Peterson again with a string of impatient +Norwegian. + +"Well, all right, only I'd like to" + +"Well, goodbye," she said, with a little touch of feeling. "When +d'ye go back?" + +"I don't know. I'll see y' again before I go. Goodbye." He stood +watching her slow, painful pace till she reached the well, where +Otto was standing with the horse. He stood watching them as they +moved out into the road and turned down toward the field. He felt +that she had sent him away; but still there was a look in her eyes +which was not altogether-- + +He gave it up in despair at last. He was not good at analyses of this +nature; he was used to plain, blunt expressions. There was a +woman's subtlety here quite beyond his reach. + +He sauntered slowly off up the road after his talk with Julia. His +head was low on his breast; he was thinking as one who is about to +take a decided and important step. + +He stopped at length, and turning, watched the girl moving along +in the deeps of the corn. Hardly a leaf was stirring; the untempered +sunlight fell in a burning flood upon the field; the grasshoppers +rose, snapped, buzzed, and fell; the locust uttered its dry, +heat-intensifving cry. The man lifted his head. + +"It's a d-n shame!" he said, beginning rapidly to retrace his steps. +He stood leaning on the fence, awaiting the girl's coming very +much as she had waited his on the round he had made before +dinner. He grew impatient at the slow gait of the horse and +drummed on their rail while he whistled. Then he took off his hat +and dusted it nervously. As the horse got a little nearer he wiped +his face carefully, pushed his hat back on his head, and climbed +over the fence, where he stood with elbows on the middle rail as +the girl and boy and horse came to the end of the furrow. + +"Hot, ain't it?" he said as she looked up. + +"Jimminy Peters, it's awful!" puffed the boy. The girl did not reply +trn she swung the plow about after the horse, and set it upright into +the next row. Her powerful body had a superb swaying motion at +the waist as she did this-a motion which affected Rob vaguely but +massively. + +"I thought you'd gone," she said gravely, pushing hack her bonnet +trn he could see her face dewed with sweat and pink as a rose. She +had the high cheekbones of her race, but she had also their +exquisite fairess of color. + +"Say, Otto," asked Rob alluringiy, "wan' to go swimming?" + +"You bet!" replied Otto. + +"Well, I'll go a round if-" + +The boy dropped off the horse, not waiting to hear any more. Rob +grinned; but the girl dropped her eyes, then looked away. + +"Got rid o' him mighty quick. Say, Julyie, I hate like thunder t' see +you out here; it ain't right. I wish you'd--I wish--" + +She could not look at him now, and her bosom rose and fell with a +motion that was not due to fatigue. Her moist hair matted around +her forehead gave her a boyish look. + +Rob nervously tried again, tearing splinters from the fence. "Say, +now, I'll tell yeh what I came back here fer t' git married; and if +you're willin', I'll do it tonight. Come, now, whaddy y' say?" + +"What 've I got t' do 'bout it?" she finally asked, the color flooding +her face and a faint smile coming to her lips. "Go ahead. I ain't got +anything-" + +Rob put a splinter in his mouth and faced her. "Oh, looky here, +now, Julyie! you know what I mean. I've got a good claim out near +Boomtown-a rattlin' good claim; a shanty on it fourteen by +sixteen-no tarred paper about it; and a suller to keep butter in; and +a hundred acres wheat just about ready to turn now. I need a wife." + +Here he straightened up, threw away the splinter, and took off his +hat. He was a very pleasant figure as the girl stole a look at him. +His black laughing eyes were especially earnest just now. His +voice had a touch of pleading. The popple tree over their heads +murmured applause at his eloquence, then hushed to listen. A +cloud dropped a silent shadow down upon them, and it sent a +little thrill of fear through Rob, as if it were an omen of failure. As +the girl remained silent, looking away, he began, man-fashion, to +desire her more and more as he feared to lose her. He put his hat +on the post again and took out his jackknife. Her calico dress +draped her supple and powerful figure simply but naturally. The +stoop in her shoulders, given by labor, disappeared as she partly +leaned upon the fence. The curves of her muscular arms showed +through her sleeve. + +"It's all-fired lonesome fr me out there on that claim, and it ain't no +picnic f'r you here. Now, if you'll come out there with me, you +needn't do anything but cook f'r me, and after harvest we can git a +good layout o' furniture, an' I'll lath and plaster the house, an' put a +little hell [ell] in the rear." He smiled, and so did she. He felt +encouraged to say: "An' there we be, as snug as y' please. We're +close t' Boomtown, an' we can go down there to church sociables +an' things, and they're a jolly lot there." + +The girl was still silent, but the man's simple enthusiasm came to +her charged with passion and a sort of romance such as her hard +life had known little of. There was something enticing about this +trip to the West. + +"What 'li my folks say?" she said at last. + +A virtual surrender, but Rob was not acute enough to see it. He +pressed on eagerly: + +"I don't care. Do you? They'll jest keep y' plowin' corn and milkin' +cows till the day of judgment. Come, Julyie, I ain't got no time to +fool away. I've got t' get back t' that grain. It's a whoopin' old crop, +sure's y'r born, an' that means som'pin' purty scrumptious in +furniture this fall. Come, now." He approached her and laid his +hand on her shoulder very much as he would have touched Albert +Seagraves or any other comrade. "Whady y' say?" + +She neither started, nor shrunk, nor looked at him. She simply +moved a step away. "They'd never let me ge," she replied bitterly. +"I'm too cheap a hand. I do a man's work an' get no pay at all." + +"You'll have half o' all I c'n make," he put in. + +"How long c'n you wait?" she asked, looking down at her dress. + +"Just two minutes," he said, pulling out his watch. "It ain't no use t' +wait. The old man 'li be jest as mad a week from now as he is +today. why not go now?" + +"I'm of age day after tomorrow," she mused, wavering, calculating. + +"You c'n be of age tonight if you'll jest call on old Square Hatfield +with me." + +"All right, Rob," the girl said, turning and holding out her hand. + +"That's the talk!" he exclaimed, seizing it. "An' now a kiss, to bind +the bargain, as the fellah says." + +"I guess we c'n get along without that." + +"No, we can't. It won't seem like an engagement without it." + +"It ain't goin' to seem much like one anyway," she answered with a +sudden realization of how far from her dreams of courtship this +reality was. + +"Say, now, Julyie, that ain't fair; it ain't treatin' me right. You don't +seem to understand that I like you, but I do." + +Rob was carried quite out of himself by the time, the place, and the +girl. He had said a very moving thing. + +The tears sprang involuntarily to the girl's eyes. "Do you mean it? +If y' do, you may." + +She was trembling with emotion for the first time. The sincerity of +the man's voice had gone deep. + +He put his arm around her almost timidly and kissed her on the +cheek, a great love for her springing up in his heart. "That setties +it," he said. "Don't cry, Jalyie. You'll never be sorry for it. Don't +cry. It kind o' hurts me to see it." + +He didn't understand her feelings. He was only aware that she was +crying, and tried in a bungling way to soothe her. But now that she +had given way, she sat down in the grass and wept bitterly. + +"Yulyie!" yelled the old Norwegian, like a distant fog-horn. + +The girl sprang up; the habit of obedience was strong. + +"No; you set right there, and I'll go round," he said. "Otto!" + +The boy came scrambling out of the wood half dressed. Rob tossed +him upon the horse, snatched Julia's sun-bonnet, put his own hat +on her head, and moved off down the corn rows, leaving the girl +smiling throgh her tears as he whistled and chirped to the horse. +Farmer Peterson, seeing the familiar sunbonnet above the corn +rows, went back to his work, with a sentence of Norwegian trailing +after him like the tail of a kite-something about lazy girls who +didn't earn the crust of their bread, etc. + +Rob was wild with delight. "Git up there Jack! Hay, you old +corncrib! Say, Otto, can you keep your mouth shet if it puts money +in your pocket?" + +"Jest try me 'n' see," said the keen-eyed little scamp. "Well, you +keep quiet about my being here this alter-noon, and I'll put a dollar +on y'r tongue--hay?--what?--understand?" + +"Show me y'r dollar," said the boy, turning about and showing his +tongue. + +"All right. Begin to practice now by not talkin' to me." + +Rob went over the whole situation on his way back, and when he +got in sight of the girl his plan was made. She stood waiting for +him with a new look on her face. Her sullenness had given way to +a peculiar eagerness and anxiety to believe in him. She was +already living that free life in a far-off wonderful country. No more +would her stern father and sullen mother force her to tasks which +she hated. She'd be a member of a new firm. She'd work, of course, +but it would be because she wanted to, and not because she was +forced to. The independence and the love promised grew more and +more attractive. She laughed back with a softer light in her eyes +when she saw the smiling face of Rob looking at her from her +sun-bonnet + +"Now you mustn't do any more o' this," he said. "You go back to +the house an' tell y'r mother you're too lame to plow any more +today, and it's too late, anyhow. To-night!" he whispered quickiy. +"Eleven! Here!" + +The girl's heart leaped with fear. "I'm afraid." + +"Not of me, are yeh?" + +"No, I'm not afraid of you, Rob." + +"I'm glad o' that. I-I want you to-to like me, Julyie; won't you?" + +"I'll try," she answered with a smile. + +"Tonight, then," he said as she moved away. + +"Tonight. Goodbye." + +"Goodbye." + +He stood and watched her till her tall figure was lost among the +drooping corn leaves. There was a singular choking feeling in his +throat. The girl's voice and face had brought up so many memories +of parties and picnics and excursions on far-off holidays, and at the +same time such suggestions of the future. He already felt that it +was going to be an unconscionably long time before eleven +o'clock. + +He saw her go to the house, and then he turned and walked slowly +up the dusty road. Out of the May weed the grasshoppers sprang, +buzzing and snapping their dull red wings. Butterflies, yellow and +white, fluttered around moist places in the ditch, and slender +striped water snakes glided across the stagnant pools at sound o~ +footsteps. + +But the mind of the man was far away on his claim, building a new +house, with a woman's advice and presence. + + * * * * * * + +It was a windless night. The katydids and an occasional cricket +were the only sounds Rob could hear as he stood beside his team +and strained his ear to listen. At long intervals a little breeze ran +through the corn like a swift serpent, bringing to the nostrils the +sappy smell of the growing corn. The horses stamped uneasily as +the mosquitoes settled on their shining limbs. The sky was full of +stars, but there was no moon. + +"What if she don't come?" he thought. "Or can't come? I can't stand +that. I'll go to the old man an' say, 'Looky here-' Sh!" + +He listened again. There was a rustling in the corn. It was not like +the fitful movement of the wind; it was steady, slower, and +approaching. It ceased. He whistled the wailing, sweet cry of the +prairie chicken. Then a figure came out into the road--a +woman--Julia! + +He took her in his arms as she came panting up to him. + +"Rob!" + +"Julyie!" + + * * * * * * + +A few words, the dull tread of swift horses, the rising of a silent +train of dust, and then the wind wandered in the growing corn. The +dust fell, a dog barked down the road and the katydids sang to the +liquid contralto of the river in its shallows. + +THE RETURN OF A PRIVATE + +On the road leading "back to God's country" and wile and babies. + +I + +The nearer the train drew toward La Crosse, the soberer the little +group of "vets" became. On the long way from New Orleans they +had beguiled tedium with jokes and friendly chaff; or with +planning with elaborate detail what they were going to do now, +after the war. A long journey, slowly, irregularly, yet persistently +pushing northward. when they entered on Wisconsin Territory they +gave a cheer, and another when they reached Madison, but after +that they sank into a dumb expectancy. Comrades dropped off at +one or two points beyond, until there were only four or five left +who were bound for La Crosse County + +Three of them were gaunt and brown, the fourth was gaunt and +pale, with signs of fever and ague upon him. One had a great scar +down his temple; one limped; and they all had unnaturally large +bright eyes, showing emaciation. There were no bands greeting +them at the stations, no banks of gaily dressed ladies waving +hand-kerchiefs and shouting "Bravo!" as they came in on the +caboose of a freight tram into the towns that had cheered and +blared at them on their way to war. As they looked out or stepped +upon the platform for a moment, as the train stood at the station, +the loafers looked at them indifferenfly. Their blue coats, dusty +and grimy, were too familiar now to excite notice, much less a +friendly word. They were the last of the army to return, and the +loafers were surfeited with such sights. + +The train jogged forward so slowly that it seemed likely to be +midnight before they should reach La Crosse. The little squad of +"vets" grumbled and swore, but it was no use, the train would not +hurry; and as a matter of fact, rt was nearly two o'clock when the +engine whistled "down brakes." + +Most of the group were farmers, living in districts several miles +out of the town, and all were poor. + +"Now, boys," said Private Smith, he of the fever and ague, "we are +landed in La Crosse in the night. We've got to stay somewhere till +mornin'. Now, I ain't got no two dollars to waste on a hotel. I've got +a wife and children, so I'm goin' to roost on a bench and take the +cost of a bed out of my hide." + +"Same here," put in one of the other men. "Hide'll grow on again, +dollars come hard. It's goin' to be mighty hot skirmishin' to find a +dollar these days." + +"Don't think they'll be a deputation of citizens waitin' to 'scort us to +a hotel, eh?" said another. His sarcasm was too obvious to require +an answer. + +Smith went on: "Then at daybreak we'll start f'r home; at least I +will." + +"Well, I'll be dummed if I'll take two dollars out o' my hide," one +of the younger men said. "I'm goin' to a hotel, ef I don't never lay +up a cent." + +"That'll do f'r you," said Smith; "but if you had a wife an' three +young 'uns dependin' on yeh-" + +"Which I ain't, thank the Lord! and don't intend havin' while the +court knows itself." + +The station was deserted, chill, and dark, as they came into it at +exactly a quarter to two in the morning. Lit by the oil lamps that +flared a dull red light over the dingy benches, the waiting room +was not an inviting place. The younger man went off to look up a +hotel, while the rest remained and prepared to camp down on the +floor and benches. Smith was attended to tenderly by the other +men, who spread their blankets on the bench for him, and by +robbing themselves made quite a comfortable bed, though the +narrowness of the bench made his sleeping precarious. + +It was chill, though August, and the two men sitting with bowed +heads grew stiff with cold and weariness, and were forced to rise +now and again, and walk about to warm their stiffened limbs It +didn't occur to them, probably, to contrast their coming home with +their going forth, or with the coming home of the generals, +colonels, or even captains-but to Private Smith, at any rate, there +came a sickness at heart almost deadly, as he lay there on his hard +bed and went over his situation. + +In the deep of the night, lying on a board in the town where he had +enlisted three years ago, all elation and enthusiasm gone out of +him, he faced the fact that with the joy of homecoming was +mingled the bitter juice of care. He saw himself sick, worn out, +taking up the work on his half-cleared farm, the inevitable +mortgage standing ready with open jaw to swallow half his +earnings. He had given three years of his life for a mere pittance of +pay, and now-- + +Morning dawned at last, slowly, with a pale yellow dome of light +rising silently above the bluffs which stand like some huge +battlemented castle, just east of the city. Out to the left the great +river swept on its massive yet silent way to the south. Jays called +across the river from hillside to hillside, through the clear, +beautiful air, and hawks began to skim the tops of the hills. +The two vets were astir early, but Private Smith had fallen at last +into a sleep, and they went out without waking him. He lay on his +knapsack, his gaunt face turned toward the ceiling, his hands +clasped on his breast, with a curious pathetic effect of weakness +and appeal. + +An engine switching near woke him at last, and he slowly sat up +and stared about. He looked out of the window and saw that the +sun was lightening the hills across the river. He rose and brushed +his hair as well as he could, folded his blankets up, and went out to +find his companions. They stood gazing silently at the river and at +the hills. + +"Looks nat'cherl, don't it?" they said as he came out. + +"That's what it does," he replied. "An' it looks good. D'yeh see that +peak?" He pointed at a beautiful symmetrical peak, rising like a +slightly truncated cone, so high that it seemed the very highest of +them all. It was lighted by the morning sun till it glowed like a +beacon, and a light scarf of gray morning fog was rolling up its +shadowed side. + +"My farm's just beyond that. Now, ef I can only ketch a ride, we'll +be home by dinnertime." + +"I'm talkin' about breakfast," said one of the others. + +"I guess it's one more meal o' hardtack f'r me," said Smith. + +They foraged around, and finally found a restaurant with a sleepy +old German behind the counter, and procured some coffee, which +they drank to wash down their hardtack. + +"Time'll come," said Smith, holding up a piece by the corner, +"when this'll be a curiosity." + +"I hope to God it will! I bet I've chawed hardtack enough to +shingle every house in the coulee. I've chawed it when my lampers +was down, and when they wasn't. I've took it dry, soaked, and +mashed. I've had it wormy, musty, sour, and blue-moldy. I've had it +in little bits and big bits; 'fore coffee an' after coffee. I'm ready f'r a +change. I'd like t' git hol't jest about now o' some of the hot biscuits +my wife c'n make when she lays herself out f'r company." + +"Well, if you set there gablin', you'll never see yer wife." + +"Come on," said Private Smith. "Wait a moment, boys; less take +suthin'. It's on me." He led them to the rusty tin dipper which hung +on a nail beside the wooden water pail, and they grinned and +drank. (Things were primitive in La Crosse then.) Then, +shouldering their blankets and muskets, which they were "taking +home to the boys," they struck out on their last march. + +"They called that coffee 'Jayvy," grumbled one of them, "but it +never went by the road where government Jayvy resides. I reckon I +know coffee from peas." + +They kept together on the road along the turnpike, and up the +winding road by the river, which they followed for some miles. +The river was very lovely, curving down along its sandy beds, +pausing now and then under broad basswood trees, or running in +dark, swift, silent currents under tangles of wild grapevines, and +drooping alders, and haw trees. At one of these lovely spots the +three vets sat down on the thick green sward to rest, "on Smith's +account." The leaves of the trees were as fresh and green as in +June, the jays called cheery greetings to them, and kingflshers +darted to and fro, with swooping, noiseless flight. + +"I tell yeh, boys, this knocks the swamps of Loueesiana into +kingdom come." + +"You bet. All they c'n raise down there is snakes, niggers, and +p'rticler hell." + +"An' fightin' men," put in the older man. + +"An' fightin' men. If I had a good hook an' line I'd sneak a pick'rel +out o' that pond. Say, remember that time I shot that alligator-" + +"I guess we'd better be crawlin' along," interrupted Smith, rising +and shouldering his knapsack, with considerable effort, which he +tried to hide. + +"Say, Smith, lemme give you a lift on that." + +"I guess I c'n manage," said Smith grimly. + +"'Course. But, yeh see, I may not have a chance right off to pay yeh +back for the times ye've carried my gun and hull caboodie. Say, +now, girne that gun, any-way." + +"All right, if yeh feel like it, Jim," Smith replied, and they trudged +along doggedly in the sun, which was getting higher and hotter +each half mile. + +"Ain't it queer there ain't no teams cornin' along." + +"Well, no, seem's it's Sunday." + +"By jinks, that's a fact! It is Sunday. I'll git home in time fr dinner, +sure. She don't hev dinner usually till-about one on Sundays." And +he fell into a muse, in which he smiled. + +"Well, I'll git home jest about six o'clock, jest about when the boys +are milkin' the cows," said old Jim Cranby. "I'll step into the barn +an' then I'll say, 'Heah! why ain't this milkin' done before this time +o' day? An' then won't they yell!" he added, slapping his thigh in +great glee. + +Smith went on. "I'll jest go up the path. Old Rover'll come down +the road to meet me. He won't bark; he'll know me, an' he'll come +down waggin' his tail an' shonin' his teeth. That's his way of +laughin'. An' so I'll walk up to the kitchen door, an' I'll say 'Dinner +f'r a hungry man!' An' then she'll jump up, an'-" + +He couldn't go on. His voice choked at the thought of it. Saunders, +the third man, hardly uttered a word. He walked silently behind the +others. He had lost his wife the first year he was in the army. She +died of pneumonia caught in the autumn rains, while working in +the fields in his place. + +They plodded along till at last they came to a parting of the ways. +To the right the road continued up the main valley; to the left it +went over the ridge. + +"Well, boys," began Smith as they grounded their muskets and +looked away up the valley, "here's where we shake hands. We've +marched together a good many miles, an' now I s'pose we're done." + +"Yes, I don't think we'll do any more of it f'r a while. I don't want +to, I know." + +"I hope I'll see yeh once in a while, boys, to taik over old times." + +"Of course," said Saunders, whose voice trembled a little, too. "It +ain't exactly like dyin'." + +"But we'd ought'r go home with you," said the younger man. "You +never'll climb that ridge with all them things on yer back." + +"Oh, I'm all right! Don't worry about me. Every step takes me +nearer home, yeh see. Well, goodbye, boys." + +They shook hands. "Goodbye. Good luck!" + +"Same to you. Lemme know how you find things at home." + +He turned once before they passed out of sight and waved his cap, +and they did the same, and all yelled. Then all marched away with +their long, steady, loping, veteran step. The solitary climber in blue +walked on for a time, with his mind filled with the kindness of his +comrades, and musing upon the many jolly days they had had +together in camp and field. + +He thought of his chum, Billy Tripp. Poor Billy! A "mime" ball fell +into his breast one day, fell wailing like a cat, and tore a great +ragged hole in his heart. He looked forward to a sad scene with +Billy's mother and sweet-heart. They would want to know all about +it. He tried to recall all that Billy had said, and the particulars of it, +but there was little to remember, just that wild wailing sound high +in the air, a dull slap, a short, quick, expulsive groan, and the boy +lay with his face in the dirt in the plowed field they were marching +across. + +That was all. But all the scenes he had since been through had not +dimmed the horror, the terror of that moment, when his boy +comrade fell, with only a breath between a laugh and a death +groan. Poor handsome Billy! Worth millions of dollars was his +young wife. + +These somber recollections gave way at length to more cheerful +feelings as he began to approach his home coulee. The fields and +houses grew familiar, and in one or two he was greeted by people +seated in the doorway. But he was in no mood to talk, and pushed +on steadily, though he stopped and accepted a drink of milk once +at the well-side of a neighbor. + +The sun was getting hot on that slope, and his step grew slower, in +spite of his iron resolution. He sat down several times to rest. +Slowly he crawled up the rough, reddish-brown road, which +wound along the hillside, under great trees, through dense groves +of jack oaks, with treetops' far below him on his left hand, and the +hills far above him on his right. He crawled along like some +minute wingless variety of fly. + +He ate some hardtack, sauced with wild berries, when he reached +the summit of the ridge, and sat there for some time, looking down +into his home coulee. + +Somber, pathetic figure! His wide, round, gray eyes gazing down +into the beautiful valley, seeing and not seeing, the splendid +cloud-shadows sweeping over the western hills and across the +green and yellow wheat far below. His head drooped forward on +his palm, his shoulders took on a tired stoop, his cheekbones +showed painfully. An observer might have said, "He is looking +down upon his own grave." + +II + +Sunday comes in a Western wheat harvest with such sweet and +sudden relaxation to man and beast that it would be holy for that +reason, if for no other. And Sundays are usually fair in harvest +time. As one goes out into the field in the hot morning sunshine, +with no sound abroad save the crickets and the indescribably +pleasant, silken rustling of the ripened grain, the reaper and the +very sheaves in the stubble seem to be resting, dreaming. + +Around the house, in the shade of the trees, the men sit, smoking, +dozing, or reading the papers, while the women, never resting, +move about at the housework. The men eat on Sundays about the +same as on other days; and breakfast is no sooner over and out of +the way than dinner begins. + +But at the Smith farm there were no men dozing or reading. Mrs. +Smith was alone with her three children, Mary, nine, Tommy, six, +and littie Ted, just past four. Her farm, rented to a neighbor, lay at +the head of a coulee or narrow galley, made at some far-off +postglacial period by the vast and angry floods of water which +gullied these trememdous furrows in the level prairie-furrows so +deep that undisturbed portions of the original level rose like hills +on either sid~rose to quite considerable mountains. + +The chickens wakened her as usual that Sabbath morning from +dreams of her absent husband, from whom she had not heard for +weeks. The shadows drifted over the hills, down the slopes, across +the wheat, and up the opposite wall in leisurely way, as if, being +Sunday, they could "take it easy," also. The fowls clustered about +the housewife as she went out into the yard. Fuzzy little chickens +swarmed out from the coops where their clucking and perpetually +disgruntled mothers tramped about, petulantly thrusting their +heads through the spaces between the slats. + +A cow called in a deep, musical bass, and a call answered from a +little pen nearby, and a pig scurried guiltily out of the cabbages. +Seeing all this, seeing the pig in the cabbages, the tangle of grass +in the garden, the broken fence which she had mended again and +again--the little woman, hardly more than a girl, sat down and +cried. The bright Sabbath morning was only a mockery without +him! + +A few years ago they had bought this farm, paying part, +mortgaging the rest in the usual way. Edward Smith was a man of +terrible energy. He worked "nights and Sundays," as the saying +goes, to clear the farm of its brush and of its insatiate mortgage. In +the midst of his Herculean struggle came the call for volunteers, +and with the grirn and unselfish devotion to his country which +made the Eagle Brigade able to "whip its weight in wildcats," he +threw down his scythe and his grub ax, turned his cattle loose, and +became a blue-coated cog in a vast machine for killing men, and +not thistles. While the millionnaire sent his money to England for +safekeeping, this man, with his girl-wife and three babies, left +them on a mortgaged farm and went away to fight for an idea. It +was foolish, but it was sublime for all that. + +That was three years before, and the young wife, sitting on the well +curb on this bright Sabbath harvest morning, was righteously +rebellious. It seemed to her that she had borne her share of the +country's sorrow. Two brothers had been killed, the renter in +whose hands her husband had left the farm had proved a villain, +one year the farm was without crops, and now the overripe grain +was waiting the tardy hand of the neighbor who had rented it, and +who was cutting his own grain first. + +About six weeks before, she had received a letter saying, "We'll be +discharged in a little while." But no other word had come from +him. She had seen by the papers that his army was being +discharged, and from day to day other soldiers slowly percolated in +blue streams back into the state and county, but still her private did +not return. + +Each week she had told the children that he was coming' and she +had watched the road so long that it had become unconscious, and +as she stood at the well, or by the kitchen door, her eyes were fixed +unthinkingly on the road that wound down the coulee. Nothing +wears on the human soul like waiting. If the stranded mariner, +'searching the sun-bright seas, could once give up hope of a ship, +that horrible grinding on his brain would cease. It was this waiting, +hoping, on the edge of despair, that gave Emma Smith no rest. + +Neighbors said, with kind intentions, "He's sick, maybe, an' can't +start North just yet. He'll come along one o' these days." + +"Why don't he write?" was her question, which silenced them all. +This Sunday morning it seemed to her as if she couldn't stand it +any longer. The house seemed intolerably lonely. So she dressed +the little ones in their best calico dresses and homemade jackets, +and closing up the house, set off down the coulee to old Mother +Gray's. + +"Old Widder Gray" lived at the "mouth of the coulee." She was a +widow woman with a large family of stalwart boys and laughing +girls. She was the visible incarnation of hospitality and optimistic +poverty. With Western open-heartedness she fed every mouth that +asked food of her, and worked herself to death as cheerfully as her +girls danced in the neighborhood harvest dances. + +She waddled down the path to meet Mrs. Smith with a smile on +her face that would have made the countenance of a convict +expand. + +"Oh, you little dears! Come right to yer granny. Gimme a kiss! +Come right in, Mis' Smith. How are yeh, anyway? Nice mornin', +ain't it? Come in an' set down. Every-thing's in a clutter, but that +won't scare you any." + +She led the way into the "best room," a sunny, square room, +carpeted with a faded and patched rag carpet, and papered with a +horrible white-and-green-striped wallpaper, where a few ghastly +effigies of dead members of the family hung in variously sized +oval walnut frames. The house resounded with singing, laughter, +whistling, tramping of boots, and scufflings. Half-grown boys +came to the door and crooked their fingers at the children, who ran +out, and were soon heard in the midst of the fun. + +"Don't s'pose you've heard from Ed?" Mrs. Smith shook her head. +"He'll turn up some day, when you ain't look-in' for 'm." The good +old soul had said that so many times that poor Mrs. Smith derived +no comfort from it any longer. + +"Liz heard from Al the other day. He's comin' some, day this week. +Anyhow, they expect him." + +"Did he say anything of-" + +"No, he didn't," Mrs. Gray admitted. "But then it was only a short +letter, anyhow. Al ain't much for ritin', anyhow. But come out and +see my new cheese. I tell yeh, I don't believe I ever had hetter luck +in my life. If Ed should come, I want you should take him up a +piece of this cheese." + +It was beyond human nature to resist the influence of that noisy, +hearty, loving household, and in the midst of the singing and +laughing the wife forgot her anxiety, for the time at least, and +laughed and sang with the rest. + +About eleven o'clock a wagonload more drove up to the door, and +Bill Gray, the widow's oldest son, and his whole family from Sand +Lake Coulee piled out amid a good-natured uproar, as +characteristic as it was ludicrous. Everyone talked. at once, except +Bill, who sat in the wagon with his wrists on his knees, a straw in +his mouth, and an amused twinkle in his blue eyes. + +"Ain't heard nothin' o' Ed, I s'pose?" he asked in a kind of bellow. +Mrs. Smith shook her head. Bill, with a delicacy very striking in +such a great giant, rolled his quid in his mouth and said: + +"Didn't know but you had. I hear two or three of the Sand Lake +boys are comm'. Left New Orleenes some time this week. Didn't +write nothin' about Ed, but no news is good news in such cases, +Mother always says." + +"Well, go put out yer team," said Mrs. Gray, "an' go'n bring me in +some taters, an', Sim, you go see if you c'n find some corn. Sadie, +you put on the water to b'ile. Come now, hustle yer boots, all o' +yeh. If I feed this yer crowd, we've got to have some raw materials. +If y' think.I'm goin' to feed yeh on pie-" + +The children went off into the fields, the girls put dinner on to +"b'ile," and then went to change their dresses and fix their hair. +"Somebody might come," they said. + +"Land sakes, l hope not! I don't know where in time I'd set 'em, +'less they'd eat at the secont table," Mrs. Gray laughed in pretended +dismay. + +The two older boys, who had served their time in the army, lay out +on the grass before the house, and whittied and talked desultorily +about the war and the crops, and planned buying a threshing +machine. The older girls and Mrs. Smith helped enlarge the table +and put on the dishes, talking all the time in that cheery, +incoherent, and meaningful way a group of such women have-a +conversation to be taken for its spirit rather than for its letter, +though Mrs. Gray at last got the ear of them all and dissertated at +length on girls. + +"Girls in love ain't no use in the whole blessed week," she said. +"Sundays they're a-lookin' down the road, expectin' he'll come. +Sunday afternoons they can't think o' nothin' else, 'cause he's here. +Monday mornin's they're sleepy and kind o' dreamy and slimpsy, +and good fr nothin' on Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday they git +absent-minded, an' begin to look off toward Sunday agin, an' mope +aroun' and let the dishwater git cold, rtght under their noses. Friday +they break dishes, and go off in the best room an' snivel, an' look +out o' the winder. Saturdays they have queer spurts o' workin' like +all p'ssessed, an spurts o' frizzin' their hair. An' Sunday they begin +it all over agin." + +The girls giggled and blushed all through this tirade from their +mother, their broad faces and powerful frames anything but +suggestive of lackadaisical sentiment. But Mrs. Smith said: + +"Now, Mrs. Gray, I hadn't ought to stay to dianer. You've got-" + +"Now you set right down! If any of them girls' beaus comes, they'll +have to take what's left, that's all. They ain't s'posed to have much +appetite, nohow. No, you're goin' to stay if they starve, an' they +ain't no danger o' that." + +At one o'clock the long table was piled with boiled potatoes, cords +of boiled corn on the cob, squash and pumpkin pies, hot biscuit, +sweet pickles, bread and butter, and honey. Then one of the girls +took down a conch shell from a nail and, going to the door, blew a +long, fine, free blast, that showed there was no weakness of lungs +in her ample chest. + +Then the children came out of the forest of corn, out of the crick, +out of the loft of the barn, and out of the garden. The men shut up +their jackknives, and surrounded the horse trough to souse their +faces in the cold, hard water, and in a few moments the table was +filled with a merry crowd, and a row of wistful-eyed youngsters +circled the kitchen wail, where they stood first on one leg and then +on the other, in impatient hunger. + +"They come to their feed f'r all the world jest like the pigs when y' +hoilder 'poo-ee!' See 'em scoot!" laughed Mrs. Gray, every wrinkle +on her face shining with delight. "Now pitch in, Mrs. Smith," she +said, presiding over the table. "You know these men critters. +They'll eat every grain of it, if yeh give 'em a chance. I swan, +they're made o' Indian rubber, their stomachs is, I know it." + +"Haft to eat to work," said Bill, gnawing a cob with a swift, +circular motion that rivaled a corn sheller in results. + +"More like workin' to eat," put in one of the girls with a giggle. +"More eat 'n' work with you." + +"You needn't say anything, Net. Anyone that'll eat seven ears-" + +"I didn't, no such thing. You piled your cobs on my plate." + +"That'll do to tell Ed Varney. It won't go down here, where we +know yeh." + +"Good land! Eat all yeh want! They's plenty more in the fiel's, but I +can't afford to give you young 'uns tea. The tea is for us +womenfolks, and 'specially fr Mis' Smith an' Bill's wife. We're +agoin' to tell fortunes by it." + +One by one the men filled up and shoved back, and one by one the +children slipped into their places, and by two o'clock the women +alone remained around the debris-covered table, sipping their tea +and telling fortunes. + +As they got well down to the grounds in the cup, they shook them +with a circular motion in the hand, and then turned them +bottom-side-up quickly in the saucer, then twirled them three or +four times one way, and three or four times the other, during a +breathless pause. Then Mrs. Gray lifted the cup and, gazing into it +with profound gravity, pronounced the impending fate. + +It must be admitted that, to a critical observer, she had abundant +preparation for hitting close to the mark; as when she told the girls +that "somebody was coming." "It is a man," she went on gravely. +"He is cross-eyed-" + +"Oh, you hush!" + +"He has red hair, and is death on b'iled corn and hot biscuit." + +The others shrieked with delight. + +"But he's goin' to get the mitten, that redheaded feller is, for I see a +feller comin' up behind him." + +"Oh, lemme see, lemme see!" cried Nettle. + +"Keep off," said the priestess with a lofty gesture. "His hair is +black. He don't eat so much, and he works more." + +The girls exploded in a shriek of laughter and pounded their sister +on the back. + +At last came Mrs. Smith's turn, and she was trembling with +excitement as Mrs. Gray again composed her jolly face to what she +considered a proper solemnity of expression. + +"Somebody is comin' to you," she said after a long pause. "He's got +a musket on his back. He's a soldier. He's almost here. See?" + +She pointed at two little tea stems, which formed a faint +suggestion of a man with a musket on his back. He had climbed +nearly to the edge of the cup. Mrs. Smith grew pale with +excitement. She trembled so she could hardly hold the cup in her +hand as she gazed into it. + +"It's Ed," cried the old woman. "He's on the way home. Heavens an' +earth! There he is now!" She turned and waved her hand out +toward the road. They rushed to the door and looked where she +pointed. + +A man in a blue coat, with a musket on his back, was toiling +slowly up the hill, on the sun-bright, dusty road, toiling slowly, +with bent head half-hidden by a heavy knapsack. So tired it +seemed that walking was indeed a process of falling. So eager to +get home he would not stop, would not look aside, but plodded on, +amid the cries of the locusts, the welcome of the crickets, and the +rustle of the yellow wheat. Getting back to God's country, and his +wife and babies! + +Laughing, crying, trying to call him and the children at the same +time, the little wife, almost hysterical, snatched her hat and ran out +into the yard. But the soldier had disappeared over the hill into the +hollowy beyond, and, by the time she had found the children, he +was too far away for her voice to reach him. And besides, she was +not sure it was her husband, for he had not turned his head at their +shouts. This seemed so strange. Why didn't he stop to rest at his +old neighbor's house? Tortured by hope and doubt, she hurried up +the coulee as fast as she could push the baby wagon, the blue +coated figure just ahead pushing steadily, silently forward up the +coulee. + +When the excited, panting little group came in sight of the gate, +they saw the blue-coated figure standing, leaning upon the rough +rail fence, his chin on his palms, gazing at the empty house. His +knapsack, canteen, blankets, and musket lay upon the dusty grass +at his feet. + +He was like a man lost in a dream. His wide, hungry eyes devoured +the scene. The rough lawn, the little unpainted house, the field of +clear yellow wheat behind it, down across which streamed the sun, +now almost ready to touch the high hill to the west, the crickets +crying merrily, a cat on the fence nearby, dreaming, unmmdful of +the stranger in blue. + +How peaceful it all was. O God! How far removed from all camps, +hospitals, battlelines. A little cabin in a Wisconsin coulee, but it +was majestic in its peace. How did he ever leave it for those years +of tramping, thirsting, killing? + +Trembling, weak with emotion, her eyes on the silent figure, Mrs. +Smith hurried up to the fence. Her feet made no noise in the dust +and grass, and they were close upon him before he knew of them. +The oldest boy ran a little ahead. He will never forget that figure, +that face. It will always remain as something epic, that return of +the private. He fixed his eyes on the pale face, covered with a +ragged beard. + +"Who are you, sir?" asked the wife, or, rather, started to ask, for he +turned, stood a moment, and then cried: + +"Emma!" + +"Edward!" + +The children stood in a curious row to see their mother kiss this +bearded, strange man, the elder girl sobbing sympathetically with +her mother. Illness had left the soldier partly deaf, and this added +to the strangeness of his manner. + +But the boy of six years stood away, even after the girl had +recognized her father and kissed him. The man turned then to the +baby and said in a curiously unpaternal tone: + +"Come here, my little man; don't you know me?" But the baby +backed away under the fence and stood peering at him critically. + +"My little man!" What meaning in those words! This baby seemed +like some other woman's child, and not the infant he had left in his +wife's arms. The war had come between him and his baby-he was +only "a strange man, with big eyes, dressed in blue, with Mother +hanging to his arm, and talking in a loud voice. + +"And this is Tom," he said, drawing the oldest boy to him. "He'll +come and see me. He knows his poor old pap when he comes +home from the war." + +The mother heard the pain and reproach in his voice and hastened +to apologize. + +"You've changed so, Ed. He can't know yeh. This is Papa, Teddy; +come and kiss him-Tom and Mary do, Come, won't you?" But +Teddy still peered through the fence with solemn eyes, well out of +reach. He resembled a half-wild kitten that hesitates, studying the +tones of one's voice. + +"I'll fix him," said the soldier, and sat down to undo his knapsack, +out of which he drew three enormous and very red apples. After +giving one to each of the older children, he said: + +"Now I guess he'll come. Eh, my little man? Now come see your +pap." + +Teddy crept slowly under the fence, assisted by the overzealous +Tommy, and a moment later was kick-ing and squalling in his +father's arms. Then they entered the house, into the sitting room, +poor, bare, art-forsaken little room, too, with its rag carpet, its +square clock, and its two or three chromos and pictures from +Harper's Weekly pinned about. + +"Emma, I'm all tired out," said Private Smith as he flung himself +down on the carpet as he used to do, while his wife brought a +pillow to put under his head, and the children stood about, +munching their apples. + +"Tommy, you run and get me a pan of chips; and Mary, you get the +teakettle on, and I'll go and make some biscuit." + +And the soldier talked. Question after question he poured forth +about the crops, the cattle, the renter, the neighbors. He slipped his +heavy government brogan shoes off his poor, tired, blistered feet, +and lay out with utter, sweet relaxation. He was a free man again, +no longer a soldier under command. At supper he stopped once, +listened, and smiled. "That's old Spot. I know her voice. I s'pose +that's her calf out there in the pen. I can't milk her tonight, though, +I'm too tired; but I tell you, I'd like a drink o' her milk. What's +become of old Rove?" + +"He died last winter. Poisoned, I guess." There was a moment of +sadness for them all. It was some time before the husband spoke +again, in a voice that trembled a little. + +"Poor old feller! He'd a known me a half a mile away. I expected +him to come down the hill to meet me. It 'ud 'a' been more like +comin' home if I could 'a' seen him comm' down the road an' +waggin' his tail, an' laugh-in' that way he has. I tell yeh, it kin' o' +took hold o' me to see the blinds down an' the house shut up." + +"But, yeh see, we-we expected you'd write again 'fore you started. +And then we thought we'd see you if you did come," she hastened +to explain. + +"Well, I ain't worth a cent on writin'. Besides, it's just as well yeh +didn't know when I was comm'. I tell yeh, it sounds good to hear +them chickens out there, an' turkeys, an' the crickets. Do you know +they don't have just the same kind o' crickets down South. Who's +Sam hired t' help cut yer grain?" + +"The Ramsey boys." + +"Looks like a good crop; but I'm afraid I won't do much gettin' it +cut. This cussed fever an' ague has got me down pretty low. I don't +know when I'll get red of it. I'll bet I've took twenty-five pounds of +quinine, if I've taken a bit. Gimme another biscuit. I tell yeh, they +taste good, Emma. I ain't had anything like it- Say, if you'd a heard +me braggin' to th' boys about your butter 'n' biscuits, I'll bet your +ears 'ud 'a' burnt." + +The private's wife colored with pleasure. "Oh, you're always +a-braggin' about your things. Everybody makes good butter." + +"Yes; old lady Snyder, for instance." + +"Oh, well, she ain't to be mentioned. She's Dutch." + +"Or old Mis' Snively. One more cup o' tea, Mary. That's my girl! +I'm feeling better already. I just b'lieve the matter with me is, I'm +starved." + +This was a delicious hour, one long to be remembered. They were +like lovers again. But their tenderness, like that of a typical +American, found utterance in tones, rather than in words. He was +praising her when praising her biscuit, and she knew it. They grew +soberer when he showed where he had been struck, one ball +burning the back of his hand, one cutting away a lock of hair from +his temple, and one passing through the calf of his leg. The wife +shuddered to think how near she had come to being a soldier's +widow. Her waiting no longer seemed hard. This sweet, glorious +hour effaced it all. + +Then they rose and all went out into the garden and down to the +barn. He stood beside her while she milked old Spot. They began +to plan fields and crops for next year. Here was the epic figure +which Whitman has in mind, and which he calls the "common +American soldier." With the livery of war on his limbs, this man +was facing his future, his thoughts holding no scent of battle. +Clean, clear-headed, in spite of physical weakness, Edward Smith, +private, turned future-ward with a sublime courage. + +His farm was mortgaged, a rascally renter had run away with his +machinery, "departing between two days," his children needed +clothing, the years were coming upon him, he was sick and +emaciated, but his heroic soul did not quail. With the same +courage with which he faced his southern march, be entered upon +a still more hazardous future. + +Oh, that mystic hour! The pale man with big eyes standing there by +the well, with his young wife by his side. The vast moon swinging +above the eastern peaks; the cattle winding down the pasture +slopes with jangling bells; the crickets singing; the stars blooming +out sweet and far and serene; the katydids rhythmically calling; the +little turkeys crying querulously as they settled to roost in the +poplar tree near the open gate. The voices at the well drop lower, +the little ones nestle in their father's arms at last, and Teddy falls +asleep there. + +The common soldier of the American volunteer army had returned. +His war with the South was over, and his fight, his daily running +fight, with nature and against the injustice of his fellow men was +begun again. In tlie dusk of that far-off valley his figure looms +vast, his personal peculiarities fade away, he rises into a +magnificent type. + +He is a gray-haired man of sixty now, and on the brown hair of his +wife the white is also showing. They are fighting a hopeless battle, +and must fight till God gives them furlough. + +UNDER THE LION'S PAW + +"Along the main-travelled road trailed an endless line of prairie +schooners. Coming into sight at the east, and passing out of sight +over the swell to the west. We children used to wonder where they +were going and why they went." + +IT was the last of autumn and first day of winter coming together. +All day long the ploughmen on their prairie farms had moved to +and fro in their wide level fields through the falling snow, which +melted as it fell, wetting them to the skin all day, notwithstanding +the frequent squalls of snow, the dripping, desolate clouds, and the +muck of the furrows, black and tenacious as tar. + +Under their dripping harness the horses swung to and fro silently +with that marvellous uncomplaining patience which marks the +horse. All day the wild geese, honking wildly, as they sprawled +sidewise down the wind, seemed to be fleeing from an enemy +behind, and with neck outthrust and wings extended, sailed down +the wind, soon lost to sight. + +Yet the ploughman behind his plough, though the snow lay on his +ragged great-coat, and the cold clinging mud rose on his heavy +boots, fettering him like gyves, whistled in the very beard of the +gale. As day passed, the snow, ceasing to melt, lay along the +ploughed land, and lodged in the depth of the stubble, till on each +slow round the last furrow stood out black and shining as jet +between the ploughed land and the gray stubble. + +When night began to fall, and the geese, flying low, began to alight +invisibly in the near corn-field, Stephen Council was still at work +"finishing a land." He rode on his sulky plough when going with +the wind, but walked when facing it. Sitting bent and cold but +cheery under his slouch hat, he talked encouragingly to his +four-in-hand. + +"Come round there, boys! Round agin! We got t' finish this land. +Come in there, Dan! Stiddy, Kate, stiddy! None o' y'r tantrums, +Kittie. It's purty tuff, but got a be did. Tchk! tchk! Step along, Pete! +Don't let Kate git y'r single-tree on the wheel. Once more!" + +They seemed to know what he meant, and that this was the last +round, for they worked with greater vigor than before. "Once +more, boys, an' then, sez I, oats an' a nice warm stall, an' sleep f'r +all." + +By the time the last furrow was turned on the land it was too dark +to see the house, and the snow was changing to rain again. The +tired and hungry man could see the light from the kitchen shining +through the leafless hedge, and he lifted a great shout, "Supper f'r +a half a dozen!" + +It was nearly eight o'clock by the time he had finished his chores +and started for supper. He was picking his way carefully through +the mud, when the tall form of a man loomed up before him with +a premonitory cough. + +"Waddy ye want?" was the rather startled question of the farmer. + +"Well, ye see," began the stranger, in a deprecating tone, "we'd +like t' git in f'r the night. We've tried every house f'r the last two +miles, but they hadn't any room f'r us. My wife's jest about sick, 'n' +the children are cold and hungry-- " + +"Oh, y' want 'o stay all night, eh,?" + +"Yes, sir; it 'ud be a great accom-- " + +"Waal, I don't make it a practice t' turn anybuddy way hungry, not +on sech nights as this. Drive right in. We ain't got much, but sech +as it is--" + +But the stranger had disappeared. And soon his steaming, weary +team, with drooping heads and swinging single-trees, moved past +the well to the block beside the path. Council stood at the side of +the "schooner" and helped the children out two little half- sleeping +children and then a small woman with a babe in her arms. + +"There ye go!" he shouted jovially, to the children. "Now we're all +right! Run right along to the house there, an' tell Mam' Council +you wants sumpthin' t' eat. Right this way, Mis' keep right off t' the +right there. I'll go an' git a lantern. Come," he said to the dazed and +silent group at his side. + +"Mother'" he shouted, as he neared the fragrant and warmly +lighted kitchen, "here are some wayfarers an' folks who need +sumpthin' t' eat an' a place t' snoot." He ended by pushing them all +in. + +Mrs. Council, a large, jolly, rather coarse-looking woman, too the +children in her arms. "Come right in, you little rabbits. 'Mos +asleep, hey? Now here's a drink o' milk f'r each o' ye. I'll have sam +tea in a minute. Take off y'r things and set up t' the fire." + +While she set the children to drinking milk, Council got out his +lantern and went out to the barn to help the stranger about his +team, where his loud, hearty voice could be heard as it came and +went between the haymow and the stalls. + +The woman came to light as a small, timid, and discouraged +looking woman, but still pretty, in a thin and sorrowful way. + +"Land sakes! An' you've travelled all the way from Clear Lake' +t'-day in this mud! Waal! Waal! No wonder you're all tired out +Don't wait f'r the men, Mis'-- " She hesitated, waiting for the name. + +"Haskins." + +"Mis' Haskins, set right up to the table an' take a good swig o tea +whilst I make y' s'm toast. It's green tea, an' it's good. I tell Council +as I git older I don't seem to enjoy Young Hyson n'r Gunpowder. I +want the reel green tea, jest as it comes off'n the vines. Seems t' +have more heart in it, some way. Don't s'pose it has. Council says +it's all in m' eye." + +Going on in this easy way, she soon had the children filled with +bread and milk and the woman thoroughly at home, eating some +toast and sweet-melon pickles, and sipping the tea. + +"See the little rats!" she laughed at the children. "They're full as +they can stick now, and they want to go to bed. Now, don't git up, +Mis' Haskins; set right where you are an' let me look after 'em. I +know all about young ones, though I'm all alone now. Jane went +an' married last fall. But, as I tell Council, it's lucky we keep our +health. Set right there, Mis' Haskins; I won't have you stir a finger." + +It was an unmeasured pleasure to sit there in the warm, homely +kitchen. the jovial chatter of the housewife driving out and holding +at bay the growl of the impotent, cheated wind. + +The little woman's eyes filled with tears which fell down upon the +sleeping baby in her arms. The world was not so desolate and cold +and hopeless, after all. + +"Now I hope. Council won't stop out there and talk politics all +night. He's the greatest man to talk politics an' read the +Tribune--How old is it?" + +She broke off and peered down at the face of the babe. + +"Two months 'n' five days," said the mother, with a mother's +exactness. + +"Ye don't say! I want 'o know! The dear little pudzy-wudzy!" she +went on, stirring it up in the neighborhood of the ribs with her fat +forefinger. + +"Pooty tough on 'oo to go gallivant'n' 'cross lots this way--" + +"Yes, that's so; a man can't lift a mountain," said Council, entering +the door. "Mother, this is Mr. Haskins, from Kansas. He's been eat +up 'n' drove out by grasshoppers." + +"Glad t' see yeh! Pa, empty that wash-basin 'n' give him a chance t' +wash." Haskins was a tall man, with a thin, gloomy face. His hair +was a reddish brown, like his coat, and seemed equally faded by +the wind and sun, and his sallow face, though hard and set, was +pathetic somehow. You would have felt that he had suffered much +by the line of his mouth showing under his thin, yellow mustache. + +"Hadn't Ike got home yet, Sairy?" + +"Hadn't seen 'im." + +"W-a-a-l, set right up, Mr. Haskins; wade right into what we've got; +'taint much, but we manage to live on it she gits fat on it," laughed +Council, pointing his thumb at his wife. + +After supper, while the women put the children to bed, Haskins +and Council talked on, seated near the huge cooking-stove, the +steam rising from their wet clothing. In the Western fashion +Council told as much of his own life as he drew from his guest. He +asked but few questions, but by and by the story of Haskins' +struggles and defeat came out. The story was a terrible one, but he +told it quietly, seated with his elbows on his knees, gazing most of +the time at the hearth. + +"I didn't like the looks of the country, anyhow," Haskins said, +partly rising and glancing at his wife. "I was ust t' northern +Ingyannie, where we have lots o' timber 'n' lots o' rain, 'n' I didn't +like the looks o' that dry prairie. What galled me the worst was +goin' s' far away acrosst so much fine land layin' all through here +vacant. + +"And the 'hoppers eat ye four years, hand runnin', did they?" "Eat! +They wiped us out. They chawed everything that was green. They +jest set around waitin' f'r us to die t' eat us, too. My God! I ust t' +dream of 'em sittin' 'round on the bedpost, six feet long, workin' +their jaws. They eet the fork-handles. They got worse 'n' worse till +they jest rolled on one another, piled up like snow in winter Well, +it ain't no use. If I was t' talk all winter I couldn't tell nawthin'. But +all the while I couldn't help thinkin' of all that land back here that +nobuddy was usin' that I ought 'o had 'stead o' bein' out there in that +cussed country." + +"Waal, why didn't ye stop an' settle here?" asked Ike, who had +come in and was eating his supper. + +"Fer the simple reason that you fellers wantid ten 'r fifteen dollars +an acre fer the bare land, and I hadn't no money fer that kind o' +thing." + +"Yes, I do my own work," Mrs. Council was heard to say in the +pause which followed. "I'm a gettin' purty heavy t' be on m'laigs all +day, but we can't afford t' hire, so I keep rackin' around somehow, +like a foundered horse. S' lame I tell Council he can t tell how +lame I am, f'r I'm jest as lame in one laig as t' other." And the good +soul laughed at the joke on herself as she took a handful of flour +and dusted the biscuit-board to keep the dough from sticking. + +"Well, I hadn't never been very strong," said Mrs. Haskins. "Our +folks was Canadians an' small-boned, and then since my last child +I hadn't got up again fairly. I don't like t' complain. Tim has about +all he can bear now but they was days this week when I jest +wanted to lay right down an' die." + +"Waal, now, I'll tell ye," said Council, from his side of the stove +silencing everybody with his good-natured roar, "I'd go down and +see Butler, anyway, if I was you. I guess he'd let you have his place +purty cheap; the farm's all run down. He's teen anxious t' let t' +somebuddy next year. It 'ud be a good chance fer you. Anyhow, +you go to bed and sleep like a babe. I've got some ploughing t' do, +anyhow, an' we'll see if somethin' can't be done about your case. +Ike, you go out an' see if the horses is all right, an' I'll show the +folks t' bed." + +When the tired husband and wife were lying under the generous +quilts of the spare bed, Haskins listened a moment to the wind in +the eaves, and then said, with a slow and solemn tone, + +"There are people in this world who are good enough t' be angels, +an' only haff t' die to be angels." + +Jim Butler was one of those men called in the West "land poor. " +Early in the history of Rock River he had come into the town and +started in the grocery business in a small way, occupying a small +building in a mean part of the town. At this period of his life he +earned all he got, and was up early and late sorting beans, working +over butter, and carting his goods to and from the station. But a +change came over him at the end of the second year, when he sold +a lot of land for four times what he paid for it. From that time +forward he believed in land speculation as the surest way of +getting rich. Every cent he could save or spare from his trade he +put into land at forced sale, or mortgages on land, which were "just +as good as the wheat," he was accustomed to say. + +Farm after farm fell into his hands, until he was recognized as one +of the leading landowners of the county. His mortgages were +scattered all over Cedar County, and as they slowly but surely fell +in he sought usually to retain the former owner as tenant. + +He was not ready to foreclose; indeed, he had the name of being +one of the "easiest" men in the town. He let the debtor off again +and again, extending the time whenever possible. + +"I don't want y'r land," he said. "All I'm after is the int'rest on my +money that's all. Now, if y' want 'o stay on the farm, why, I'll give +y' a good chance. I can't have the land layin' vacant. " And in many +cases the owner remained as tenant. + +In the meantime he had sold his store; he couldn't spend time in +it--he was mainly occupied now with sitting around town on rainy +days smoking and "gassin' with the boys," or in riding to and from +his farms. In fishing-time he fished a good deal. Doc Grimes, Ben +Ashley, and Cal Cheatham were his cronies on these fishing +excursions or hunting trips in the time of chickens or partridges. In +winter they went to Northern Wisconsin to shoot deer. + +In spite of all these signs of easy life Butler persisted in saying he +"hadn't enough money to pay taxes on his land," and was careful to +convey the impression that he was poor in spite of his twenty +farms. At one time he was said to be worth fifty thousand dollars, +but land had been a little slow of sale of late, so that he was not +worth so much. + +A fine farm, known as the Higley place, had fallen into his hands +in the usual way the previous year, and he had not been able to +find a tenant for it. Poor Higley, after working himself nearly to +death on it in the attempt to lift the mortgage, had gone off to +Dakota, leaving the farm and his curse to Butler. + +This was the farm which Council advised Haskins to apply for; +and the next day Council hitched up his team and drove down to +see Butler. + +"You jest let me do the talkin'," he said. "We'll find him wearin' +out his pants on some salt barrel somew'ers; and if he thought you +wanted a place he'd sock it to you hot and heavy. You jest keep +quiet, I'll fix 'im." + +Butler was seated in Ben Ashley's store telling fish yarns when +Council sauntered in casually. + +"Hello, But; lyin' agin, hey?" + +"Hello, Steve! How goes it?" + +"Oh, so-so. Too clang much rain these days. I thought it was goin' t +freeze up f'r good last night. Tight squeak if I get m' ploughin' +done. How's farmin' with you these days?" + +"Bad. Ploughin' ain't half done." + +"It 'ud be a religious idee f'r you t' go out an' take a hand y'rself." + +"I don't haff to," said Butler, with a wink. + +"Got anybody on the Higley place?" + +"No. Know of anybody?" + +"Waal, no; not eggsackly. I've got a relation back t' Michigan who's +ben hot an' cold on the idea o' comin' West f'r some time. Might +come if he could get a good lay-out. What do you talk on the +farm?" + +"Well, I d' know. I'll rent it on shares or I'll rent it money rent." + +"Waal, how much money, say?" + +"Well, say ten per cent, on the price two-fifty." + +"Wall, that ain't bad. Wait on 'im till 'e thrashes?" + +Haskins listened eagerly to this important question, but Council +was coolly eating a dried apple which he had speared out of a +barrel with his knife. Butler studied him carefully. + +"Well, knocks me out of twenty-five dollars interest." + +"My relation'll need all he's got t' git his crops in," said Council, in +the same, indifferent way. + +"Well, all right; say wait," concluded Butler. + +"All right; this is the man. Haskins, this is Mr. Butler no relation to +Ben the hardest-working man in Cedar County." + +On the way home Haskins said: "I ain't much better off. I'd like that +farm; it's a good farm, but it's all run down, an' so 'm I. I could +make a good farm of it if I had half a show. But I can't stock it n'r +seed it." + +"Waal, now, don't you worry," roared Council in his ear. "We'll +pull y' through somehow till next harvest. He's agreed t' hire it +ploughed, an' you can earn a hundred dollars ploughin' an' y' c'n git +the seed o' me, an' pay me back when y' can." + +Haskins was silent with emotion, but at last he said, "I ain't got +nothin' t' live on." + +"Now, don't you worry 'bout that. You jest make your headquarters +at ol' Steve Council's. Mother'll take a pile o' comfort in havin' y'r +wife an' children 'round. + +Y' see, Jane's married off lately, an' Ike's away a good 'eal, so we'll +be darn glad t' have y' stop with us this winter. Nex' spring we'll see +if y' can't git a start agin." And he chirruped to the team, which +sprang forward with the rumbling, clattering wagon. + +"Say, looky here, Council, you can't do this. I never saw " shouted +Haskins in his neighbor's ear. + +Council moved about uneasily in his seat and stopped his +stammering gratitude by saying: "Hold on, now; don't make such a +fuss over a little thing. When I see a man down, an' things all on +top of 'm, I jest like t' kick 'em off an' help 'm up. That's the kind of +religion I got, an' it's about the only kind." + +They rode the rest of the way home in silence. And when the red +light of the lamp shone out into the darkness of the cold and windy +night, and he thought of this refuge for his children and wife, +Haskins could have put his arm around the neck of his burly +companion and squeezed him like a lover. But he contented +himself with saying, "Steve Council, you'll git y'r pay f'r this some +day." + +"Don't want any pay. My religion ain't run on such business +principles." + +The wind was growing colder, and the ground was covered with a +white frost, as they turned into the gate of the Council farm, and +the children came rushing out, shouting, "Papa's come!" They +hardly looked like the same children who had sat at the table the +night before. Their torpidity, under the influence of sunshine and +Mother Council, had given way to a sort of spasmodic +cheerfulness, as insects in winter revive when laid on the hearth. + +Haskins worked like a fiend, and his wife, like the heroic woman +that she was, bore also uncomplainingly the most terrible burdens. +They rose early and toiled without intermission till the darkness +fell on the plain, then tumbled into bed, every bone and muscle +aching with fatigue, to rise with the sun next morning to the same +round of the same ferocity of labor. + +The eldest boy drove a team all through the spring, ploughing and +seeding, milked the cows, and did chores innumerable, in most +ways taking the place of a man. + +An infinitely pathetic but common figure this boy on the American +farm, where there is no law against child labor. To see him in his +coarse clothing, his huge boots, and his ragged cap, as he staggered +with a pail of water from the well, or trudged in the cold and +cheerless dawn out into the frosty field behind his team, gave the +city-bred visitor a sharp pang of sympathetic pain. Yet Haskins +loved his boy, and would have saved him from this if he could, but +he could not. + +By June the first year the result of such Herculean toil began to +show on the farm. The yard was cleaned up and sown to grass, the +garden ploughed and planted, and the house mended. + +Council had given them four of his cows. + +"Take 'em an' run 'em on shares. I don't want 'o milk s' many. Ike's +away s' much now, Sat'd'ys an' Sund'ys, I can't stand the bother +anyhow." + +Other men, seeing the confidence of Council in the newcomer, had +sold him tools on time; and as he was really an able farmer, he +soon had round him many evidences of his care and thrift. At the +advice of Council he had taken the farm for three years, with the +privilege of re-renting or buying at the end of the term. + +"It's a good bargain, an' y' want 'o nail it," said Council. "If you +have any kind ov a crop, you c'n pay y'r debts, an' keep seed an' +bread." + +The new hope which now sprang up in the heart of Haskins and his +wife grew almost as a pain by the time the wide field of wheat +began to wave and rustle and swirl in the winds of July. Day after +day he would snatch a few moments after supper to go and look at +it. + +"'Have ye seen the wheat t'-day, Nettie?" he asked one night as he +rose from supper. + +"No, Tim, I ain't had time." + +"Well, take time now. Le's go look at it." + +She threw an old hat on her head Tommy's hat and looking almost +pretty in her thin, sad way, went out with her husband to the hedge. + +"Ain't it grand, Nettie? Just look at it." + +It was grand. Level, russet here and there, heavy-headed, wide as a +lake, and full of multitudinous whispers and gleams of wealth, it +stretched away before the gazers like the fabled field of the cloth +of gold. + +"Oh, I think I hope we'll have a good crop, Tim; and oh, how good +the people have been to us!" + +"Yes; I don't know where we'd be t'-day if it hadn't teen f'r Council +and his wife." + +"They're the best people in the world," said the little woman, with +a great sob of gratitude. + +"We'll be in the field on Monday sure," said Haskins, gripping the +rail on the fences as if already at the work of the harvest. + +The harvest came, bounteous, glorious, but the winds came and +blew it into tangles, and the rain matted it here and there close +to the ground, increasing the work of gathering it threefold. + +Oh, how they toiled in those glorious days! Clothing dripping with +sweat, arms aching, filled with briers, fingers raw and bleeding, +backs broken with the weight of heavy bundles, Haskins and his +man toiled on. Tummy drove the harvester, while his father and a +hired man bound on the machine. In this way they cut ten acres +every day, and almost every night after supper, when the hand +went to bed, Haskins returned to the field shocking the bound +grain in the light of the moon. Many a night he worked till his +anxious wife came out at ten o'clock to call him in to rest and +lunch. At the same time she cooked for the men, took care of the +children, washed and ironed, milked the cows at night, made the +butter, and sometimes fed the horses and watered them while her +husband kept at the shocking. + +No slave in the Roman galleys could have toiled so frightfully and +lived, for this man thought himself a free man, and that he was +working for his wife and babes. + +When he sank into his bed with a deep groan of relief, too tired to +change his grimy, dripping clothing, he felt that he was getting +nearer and nearer to a home of his own, and pushing the wolf of +want a little farther from his door. + +There is no despair so deep as the despair of a homeless man or +woman. To roam the roads of the country or the streets of the city, +to feel there is no rood of ground on which the feet can rest, to halt +weary and hungry outside lighted windows and hear laughter and +song within, these are the hungers and rebellions that drive men to +crime and women to shame. + +It was the memory of this homelessness, and the fear of its coming +again, that spurred Timothy Haskins and Nettie, his wife, to such +ferocious labor during that first year. + +"'M, yes; 'm, yes; first-rate," said Butler, as his eye took in the neat +garden, the pig-pen, and the well-filled barnyard. "You're gitt'n' +quite a stock around yeh. Done well, eh?" Haskins was showing +Butler around the place. He had not seen it for a year, having +spent the year in Washington and Boston with Ashley, his +brother-in-law, who had been elected to Congress. + +"Yes, I've laid out a good deal of money durin' the last three years. +I've paid out three hundred dollars f'r fencin'." + +"Um h'm! I see, I see," said Butler, while Haskins went on: + +"The kitchen there cost two hundred; the barn ain't cost much in +money, but I've put a lot o' time on it. I've dug a new well, and I-- " + +"Yes, yes, I see. You've done well. Stock worth a thousand dollars, +" said Butler, picking his teeth with a straw. + +"About that," said Haskins, modestly. "We begin to feel's if we was +gitt'n' a home f'r ourselves; but we've worked hard. I tell you we +begin to feel it, Mr. Butler, and we're goin' t' begin to ease up purty +soon. We've been kind o' plannin' a trip back t' her folks after the +fall ploughin's done." + +"Eggs-actly!" said Butler, who was evidently thinking of something +else. "I suppose you've kind o' calc'lated on stayin' here three years +more?" + +"Well, yes. Fact is, I think I c'n buy the farm this fall, if you'll give +me a reasonable show." + +"Um m! What do you call a reasonable show?" + +"Well, say a quarter down and three years' time." + +Butler looked at the huge stacks of wheat, which filled the yard, +over which the chickens were fluttering and crawling, catching +grasshoppers, and out of which the crickets were singing +innumerably. He smiled in a peculiar way as he said, "Oh, I won't +be hard on yeh. But what did you expect to pay f'r the place?" + +"Why, about what you offered it for before, two thousand five +hundred, or possibly three thousand dollars," he added quickly, as +he saw the owner shake his head. + +"This farm is worth five thousand and five hundred dollars," said +Butler, in a careless and decided voice. + +"What!" almost shrieked the astounded Haskins. "What's that? Five +thousand? Why, that's double what you offered it for three years +ago." + +"Of course, and it's worth it. It was all run down then--now it's in +good shape. You've laid out fifteen hundred dollars in +improvements, according to your own story." + +"But you had nothin' t' do about that. It's my work an' my money. " + +"You bet it was; but it's my land." + +"But what's to pay me for all my-- " + +"Ain't you had the use of 'em?" replied Butler, smiling calmly into +his face. + +Haskins was like a man struck on the head with a sandbag; he +couldn't think; he stammered as he tried to say: "But I never'd git +the use You'd rob me! More'n that: you agreed you promised that I +could buy or rent at the end of three years at-- " + +"That's all right. But I didn't say I'd let you carry off the +improvements, nor that I'd go on renting the farm at two-fifty. The +land is doubled in value, it don't matter how; it don't enter into the +question; an' now you can pay me five hundred dollars a year rent, +or take it on your own terms at fifty-five hundred, or git out." + +He was turning away when Haskins, the sweat pouring from his +face, fronted him, saying again: + +"But you've done nothing to make it so. You hadn't added a cent. I +put it all there myself, expectin' to buy. I worked an' sweat to +improve it. I was workin' for myself an' babes-- " + +"Well, why didn't you buy when I offered to sell? What y' kickin' +about?" + +"I'm kickin' about payin' you twice f'r my own things, my own +fences, my own kitchen, my own garden." + +Butler laughed. "You're too green t' eat, young feller. Your +improvements! The law will sing another tune." + +"But I trusted your word." + +"Never trust anybody, my friend. Besides, I didn't promise not to +do this thing. Why, man, don't look at me like that. Don't take me +for a thief. It's the law. The reg'lar thing. Everybody does it." + +"I don't care if they do. It's stealin' jest the same. You take three +thousand dollars of my money the work o' my hands and my +wife's." He broke down at this point. He was not a strong man +mentally. He could face hardship, ceaseless toil, but he could not +face the cold and sneering face of Butler. + +"But I don't take it," said Butler, coolly "All you've got to do is to +go on jest as you've been a-coin', or give me a thousand dollars +down, and a mortgage at ten per cent on the rest." + +Haskins sat down blindly on a bundle of oats near by, and with +staring eyes and drooping head went over the situation. He was +under the lion's paw. He felt a horrible numbness in his heart and +limbs. He was hid in a mist, and there was no path out. + +Butler walked about, looking at the huge stacks of grain, and +pulling now and again a few handfuls out, shelling the heads in his +hands and blowing the chaff away. He hummed a little tune as he +did so. He had an accommodating air of waiting. + +Haskins was in the midst of the terrible toil of the last year. He was +walking again in the rain and the mud behind his plough - he felt +the dust and dirt of the threshing. The ferocious husking- time, +with its cutting wind and biting, clinging snows, lay hard upon +him. Then he thought of his wife, how she had cheerfully cooked +and baked, without holiday and without rest. + +"Well, what do you think of it?" inquired the cool, mocking, +insinuating voice of Butler. + +"I think you're a thief and a liar!" shouted Haskins, leaping up. "A +black-hearted houn'!" Butler's smile maddened him; with a sudden +leap he caught a fork in his hands, and whirled it in the air. "You'll +never rob another man, damn ye!" he grated through his teeth, a +look of pitiless ferocity in his accusing eyes. + +Butler shrank and quivered, expecting the blow; stood, held +hypnotized by the eyes of the man he had a moment before +despised a man transformed into an avenging demon. But in the +deadly hush between the lift of the weapon and its fall there came +a gush of faint, childish laughter and then across the range of his +vision, far away and dim, he saw the sun-bright head of his baby +girl, as, with the pretty, tottering run of a two-year-old, she moved +across the grass of the dooryard. His hands relaxed: the fork fell to +the ground; his head lowered. + +"Make out y'r deed an' mor'gage, an' git off'n my land, an' don't ye +never cross my line agin; if y' do, I'll kill ye." + +Butler backed away from the man in wild haste, and climbing into +his buggy with trembling limbs drove off down the road, leaving +Haskins seated dumbly on the sunny pile of sheaves, his head sunk +into his hands. + +THE CREAMERY MAN + +"Along these woods in storm and sun the busy people go." + +THE tin-peddler has gone out of the West. Amiable gossip and +sharp trader that he was, his visits once brought a sharp business +grapple to the farmer's wife and daughters, after which, as the man +of trade was repacking his unsold wares, a moment of cheerful talk +often took place. It was his cue, if he chanced to be a tactful +peddler, to drop all attempts at sale and become distinctly human +and neighborly. + +His calls were not always well received, but they were at their best +pleasant breaks of a monotonous round of duties. But he is no +longer a familiar spot on the landscape. He has passed into the +limbo of the things no longer necessary. His red wagon may be +rumbling and rattling through some newer region, but the "coulee +country" knows him no more. + +'The creamery man" has taken his place. Every afternoon, rain or +shine, the wagons of the North Star Creamery in "Dutcher's +Coulee" stop at the farmers' windmills to skim the cream from the +"submerged cans." His wagon is not gay; it is generally battered +and covered with mud and filled with tall cans; but the driver +himself is generally young and sometimes attractive. The driver in +Molasses Gap, which is a small coulee leading into Dutcher's +Coulee was particularly good-looking and amusing. + +He was aware of his good looks, and his dress not only showed +that he was single, but that he hoped to be married soon. He wore +brown trousers, which fitted him very well, and a dark-blue shirt, +which had a gay lacing of red cord in front, and a pair of +suspenders that were a vivid green. On his head he wore a Chinese +straw helmet; which was as ugly as anything could conceivably be, +but he was as proud of it as he was of his green suspenders. In +summer he wore no coat at all, and even in pretty cold weather he +left his vest on his wagon seat, not being able to bring himself to +the point of covering up the red and green of his attire. + +It was noticeable that the women of the neighborhood always +came out, even on washday, to see that Claude (his name was +Claude Willlams) measured the cream properly. There was much +banter about this. Mrs. Kennedy always said she wouldn't trust him +"fur's you can fling a yearlin' bull by the tail." + +"Now that's the difference between us," he would reply. "I'd trust +you anywhere. Anybody with such a daughter as your'n" + +He seldom got further, for Lucindy always said (in substance), +"Oh, you go 'long." + +There need be no mystery in the matter. 'Cindy was the girl for +whose delight he wore the green and red. He made no secret of his +love, and she made no secret of her scorn. She laughed at his green +'spenders and the "red shoestring" in his shirt; but Claude +considered himself very learned in women's ways, by reason of +two years' driving the creamery wagon, and be merely winked at +Mrs. Kennedy when the girl was looking, and kissed his hand at +'Cindy when her mother was not looking. + +He looked forward every afternoon to these little exchanges of wit, +and was depressed when for any reason the womenfolks were +away. There were other places pleasanter than the Kennedy +farm-some of "the Dutchmen" had fine big brick houses and finer +and bigger barns, but their women were mostly homely and went +around barefooted and barelegged, with ugly blue dresses hanging +frayed and greasy round their lank ribs and big joints. + +"Some way their big houses have a look like a stable when you get +close to 'em," Claude said to 'Cindy once. "Their women work so +much in the field they don't have any time to fix up-the way you +do. I don't believe in women workin' in the fields." He said this +looking 'Cindy in the face. "My wife needn't set her foot outdoors +'less she's a mind to." + +"Oh, you can talk," replied the girl scornfully, "but you'd be like +the rest of 'em." But she was glad that she had on a clean collar and +apron-if it was ironing day. + +What Claude would have said further 'Cindy could not divine, for +her mother called her away, as she generally did when she saw her +daughter lingering too long with the creamery man. Claude was +not considered a suitable match for Lucindy Kennedy, whose +father owned one of the finest farms in the coulee. Worldly +considerations hold in Molasses Gap as well as in Bluff Siding and +Tyre. + +But Claude gave little heed to these moods in Mrs. Kennedy. If +'Cindy sputtered, he laughed; and if she smiled, he rode on +whistling till he came to old man Haldeman's, who owned the +whole lower half of Molasses Gap, and had one ummarried +daughter, who thought Claude one of the handsomest men in the +world. She was always at the gate to greet him as he drove up, and +forced sections of cake and pieces of gooseberry pie upon him +each day. + +"She's good enough-for a Dutchman," Claude said of her, "but I +hate to see a woman go around looking as if her clothes would +drop off if it rained on her. And on Sundays, when she dresses up, +she looks like a boy rigged out in some girl's cast-off duds." + +This was pretty hard on Nina. She was tall and lank and sandy, +with small blue eyes, her limbs were heavy, and she did wear her +Sunday clothes badly, but she was a good, generous soul and very +much in love with the creamery man. She was not very clean, but +then she could not help that; the dust of the field is no respecter of +sex. No, she was not lovely, but she was the only daughter of old +Ernest Haldeman, and the old man was not very strong. + +Claude was the daily bulletin of the Gap. He knew whose cow died +the night before, who was at the strawberry dance, and all about +Abe Anderson's night in jail up at the Siding. If his coming was +welcome to the Kennedy's, who took the Bluff Siding Gimlet and +the county paper, how much the more cordial ought his greeting to +be at Haldeman's, where they only took the Milwaukee Weekly +Freiheit. + +Nina in her poor way had longings and aspirations. She wanted to +marry "a Yankee," and not one of her own kind. She had a little +schooling obtained at the small brick shed under the towering +cottonwood tree at the corner of her father's farm; but her life had +been one of hard work and mighty little play. Her parents spoke in +German about the farm, and could speak English only very +brokenly. Her only brother had adventured into the foreign parts of +Pine County and had been killed in a sawmill. Her life was lonely +and hard. + +She had suitors among the Germans, plenty of them, but she had a +disgust of them-considered as possible husbands-and though she +went to their beery dances occasionally, she had always in her +mind the ease, lightness, and color of Claude. She knew that the +Yankee girls did not work in the fields-even the Norwegian girls +seldom did so now, they worked out in town-but she had been +brought up to hoe and pull weeds from her childhood, and her +father and mother considered it good for her, and being a gentle +and obedient child, she still continued to do as she was told. +Claude pitied the girl, and used to talk with her, during his short +stay, in his cheeriest manner. + +"Hello, Nina! How you vass, ain't it? How much cream already you +got this morning? Did you hear the news, not?" + +"No, vot hass happened?" + +"Everything. Frank Mcvey's horse stepped through the bridge and +broke his leg, and he's going to sue the county-mean Frank is, not +the horse." + +"Iss dot so?" + +"Sure! and Bill Hetner had a fight, and Julia Dooriliager's got +home." + +"Vot wass Bill fightding apoudt?" + +"Oh, drunk-fighting for exercise. Hain't got a fresh pie cut?" + +Her face lighted up, and she turned so suddenly to go that her bare +leg showed below her dress. Her unstockinged feet were thrust +into coarse working shoes. Claude wrinkled his nose in disgust, but +he took the piece of green currant pie on the palm of his hand and +bit the acute angle from it. + +"First-rate. You do make lickin' good pies," he said Out of pure +kindness of heart, and Nina was radiant. + +"She wouldn't be so bad-lookin' if they didn't work her in the fields +like a horse," he said to himself as he drove away. + +The neighbors were well aware of Nina's devotion, and Mrs. +Smith, who lived two or three houses down the road, said, "Good +evening, Claude. Seen Nina today?" + +"Sure! and she gave me a piece of currant pie-her own make." + +"Did you eat it?" + +"Did I? I guess yes. I ain't refusin' pie from Nina-not while her pa +has five hundred acres of the best land in Molasses Gap." + +Now, it was this innocent joking on his part that started all +Claude's trouble. Mrs. Smith called a couple of days later and had +her joke with 'Cindy. + +"'Cindy, your cake's all dough." + +"Why, what's the matter now?" + +"Claude come along t'other day grinnin' from ear to ear, and some +currant pie in his musstache. He had jest fixed it up with Nina. He +jest as much as said he was after the old man's acres." + +"Well, let him have 'em. I don't know as it interests me," replied +'Cindy, waving her head like a banner. "If he wants to sell himself +to that greasy Dutchwoman why, let him, that's all! I don't care." + +Her heated manner betrayed her to Mrs. Smith, who laughed with +huge enjoyment. + +"Well, you better watch out!" + +The next day was very warm, and when Claude drove up under the +shade of the big maples he was ready for a chat while his horses +rested, but 'Cindy was nowhere to be seen. Mrs. Kennedy came out +to get the amount of the skimming and started to re-enter the house +without talk. + +"Where's the young folks?" asked Claude carelessly. + +"If you mean Lucindy, she's in the house." + +"Ain't sick or nothin', is she?" + +"Not that anybody knows of. Don't expect her to be here to gass +with you every time, do ye?" + +"Well, I wouldn't mind"' replied Claude. He was too keen not to +see his chance. "In fact, I'd like to have her with me all the time, +Mrs. Kennedy," he said with engaging frankness. + +"Well, you can't have her," the mother replied ungraciously. + +"What's the matter with me?" + +"Oh, I like you well enough, but 'Cindy'd be a big fool to marry a +man without a roof to cover his head." + +"That's where you take your inning, sure," Claude replied. "I'm not +much better than a hired hand. Well, now, see here, I'm going to +make a strike one of these days, and then-look out for me! You +don't know but what I've invested in a gold mine. I may be a Dutch +lord in disguise. Better not be brash." + +Mrs. Kennedy's sourness could not stand against sueb sweetness +and drollery. She smiled in wry fashion. "You'd better be moving, +or you'll be late." + +"Sure enough. If I only had you for a mother-in-law-that's why I'm +so poor. Nobody to keep me moving. If I had someone to do the +talking for me, I'd work." He grinned broadly and drove out. + +His irritation led him to say some things to Nina which he would +not have thought of saying the day before. She had been working +in the field and had dropped her hoe to see him. + +"Say, Nina, I wouldn't work outdoors such a day as this if I was +you. I'd tell the old man to go to thunder, and I'd go in and wash up +and look decent Yankee women don't do that kind of work, and +your old dad's rich; no use of your sweatin' around a cornfield with +a hoe in your hands. I don't like to see a woman goin' round +without stockin's and her hands all chapped and calloused. It ain't +accordin' to Hoyle. No, sir! I wouldn't stand it. I'd serve an +injunction on the old man right now." + +A dull, slow flush crept into the girl's face, and she put one hand +over the other as they rested on the fence. One looked so much less +monstrous than two. + +Claude went on, "Yes, sir! I'd brace up and go to Yankee meeting +instead of Dutch; you'd pick up a Yankee beau like as not." + +He gathered his cream while she stood silently by, and when he +looked at her again she was in deep thought. + +"Good day," he said cheerily. + +"Goodbye," she replied, and her face flushed again. + +It rained that night, and the roads were very bad, and he was late +the next time he arrived at Haldeman's. Nina came out in her best +dress, but he said nothing about it, supposing she was going to +town or something Like that, and he hurried through with his task +and had mounted his seat before he realized that anything was +wrong. + +Then Mrs. Haldeman appeared at the kitchen door and hurled a lot +of unintelligible German at him. He knew she was mad, and mad +at him, and also' at Nina, for she shook her fist at them alternately. + +Singular to tell, Nina paid no attention to her mother's sputter. She +looked at Claude with a certain timid audacity. + +"How you like me today?" + +"That's better," he said as he eyed her critically. "Now you're +talkin'! I'd do a little reading of the newspaper myself, if I was. +you. A woman's business ain't to work out in the hot sun-it's to +cook and fix up things round the house, and then put on her clean +dress and set in the shade and read or sew on something. Stand up +to 'em! Doggone me if I'd paddle round that hot cornfield with a +mess o' Dutchmen-it ain't decent!" + +He drove off with a chuckle at the old man, who was seated at the +back of the house with a newspaper in his hand. He was lame, or +pretended he was, and made his wife and daughter wait upon him. +Claude had no conception of what was working in Nina's mind, but +he could not help observing the changes for the better in her +appearance. Each day he called she was neatly dressed and wore +her shoes laced up to the very top hook. + +She was passing through tribulation on his account, but she sald +nothing about it. The old man, her father, no longer spoke to her, +and the mother sputtered continually, but the girl seemed sustained +by some inner power. She calmly went about doing as she pleased, +and no fury of words could check her or turn her aside. + +Her hands grew smooth and supple once more, and her face lost +the parboiled look it once had. + +Claude noticed all these gains and commented on them with the +freedom of a man who had established friendly relations with a +child. + +"I tell you what, Nina, you're coming along, sure. Next ground hop +you'll be wearin' silk stockin's and high-heeled shoes. How's the +old man? Still mad?" + +"He don't speak to me no more. My mudder says I am a big fool." + +"She does? Well, you tell her I think you're just getting sensible." + +She smiled again, and there was a subtle quality in the mixture of +boldness and timidity of her manner. His praise was so sweet and +stimulating. + +"I sold my pigs," she said. "The old man, he wass madt, but I +didn't mind. I pought me a new dress with the money." + +"That's right! I like to see a woman have plenty Of new dresses," +Claude replied. He was really enjoying the girl's rebellion and +growing womanliness. + +Meanwhile his own affairs with Lucindy were in a bad way. He +seldom saw her now. Mrs. Smith was careful to convey to her that +Claude stopped longer than was necessary at Haldeman's, and so +Mrs. Kennedy attended to the matter of recording the cream. +Kennedy hersell was always in the field, and Claude had no +opportunity for a conversation with him, as he very much wished +to have. Once, when he saw 'Cindy in the kitchen at work, he left +his team to rest in the shade and sauntered to the door and looked +in. + +She was kneading out cake dough, and she looked the loveliest +thing he had ever seen. Her sleeves were rolled up. Her neat brown +dress was covered with a big apron, and her collar was open a +liffle at the throat, for it was warm in the kitchen. She frowned +when she saw him. + +He began jocularly. "Oh, thank you, I can wait till it bakes. No +trouble at all." + +"Well, it's a good deal of trouble to me to have you standin' there +gappin' at me!" + +"Ain't gappin' at you. I'm waitin' for the pie." + +"'Tain't pie; it's cake." + +"Oh, well, cake'll do for a change. Say, 'Cindy-" + +"Don't call me 'Cindy!" + +"Well, Lucindy. It's mighty lonesome when I don't see you on my +trips." + +"Oh, I guess you can stand it with Nina to talk to." + +"Aha! jealous, are you?" + +"Jealous of that Dutchwoman! I don't care who you talk to, and +you needn't think it." + +Claude was learned in woman's ways, and this pleased him +mightily. + +"Well, when shall I speak to your daddy?" + +"I don't know what you mean, and I don't care." + +"Oh, yes, you do. I'm going to come up here next Sunday in my +best bib and tucker, and I'm going to say, 'Mr. Kennedy'-'~ + +The sound of Mrs. Kennedy's voice and footsteps approaching +made Claude suddenly remember his duties. + +"See ye later," he said with a grin. "I'll call for the cake next time." + +"Call till you split your throat, if you want to," said 'Cindy. + +Apparently this could have gone on indefinitely, but it didn't. +Lucindy went to Minneapolis for a few weeks to stay with her +brother, and that threw Claude deeper into despair than anything +Mrs. Kennedy might do or any word Lucindy might say. It was a +dreadful blow to him to have her pack up and go so suddenly and +without one backward look at him, and, besides, he had planned +taking her to Tyre on the Fourth of July. + +Mr. Kennedy, much better-natured than the mother, told Claude +where she had gone. + +"By mighty! That's a knock on the nose for me. When did she go?" + +"Yistady. I took her down to the Siding." + +"When's she coming back?" + +"Oh, after the hot weather is over; four or five weeks." + +"I hope I'll be alive when she returns," said Claude gloomily. + +Naturally he had a little more time to give to Nina and her +remarkable doings, which had set the whole neighborhood to +wondering "what had come over the girl." + +She no longer worked in the field. She dressed better, and had +taken to going to the most fashionable church in town. She was a +woman transformed. Nothing was able to prevent her steady +progression and bloom. She grew plumper and fairer and became +so much more attractive that the young Germans thickened round +her, and one or two Yankee boys looked her way. Through it all +Claude kept up his half-humorous banter and altogether serious +daily advice, without once realizing that any-thing sentimental +connected him with it all. He knew she liked him, and sometimes +he felt a little annoyed by her attempts to please him, but that she +was doing all that she did and ordering her whole life to please +him never entered his self-sufficient head. + +There wasn't much room left in that head for anyone else except +Lucindy, and his plans for wining her. Plan as he might, he saw no +way of making more than the two dollars a day he was earning as a +cream collector. + +Things ran along thus from week to week till it was nearly time for +Lucindy to return. Claude was having his top buggy repainted and +was preparing for a vigorous campaign when Lucindy should be at +home again. He owned his team and wagon and the buggy-nothing +more. + +One Saturday Mr. Kennedy said, "Lucindy's coming home. I'm +going down after her tonight." + +"Let me bring her up," said Claude with suspicious eagerness. + +Mr. Kennedy hesitated. "No, I guess I'll go myself. I want to go to +town, anyway." + +Claude was in high spirits as he drove into Haldeman's yard that +afternoon. + +Nina was leaning over the fence singing softly to herself, but a +fierce altercation was going on inside the house. The walls +resounded. It was all Dutch to Claude, but he knew the old people +were quarreling. + +Nina smiled and colored as Claude drew up at the side gate. She +seemed not to hear the eloquent discussion inside. + +"What's going on?" asked Claude. + +"Dey tink I am in house." + +"How's that?" + +"My mudder she lock me up." + +Claude stared. "Locked you up? What for?" + +"She tondt like it dot I come out to see you." + +"Oh, she don't?" said Claude. "What's the matter o' me? I ain't a +dangerous chap. I ain't eatin' up little. girls." + +Nina went on placidly. "She saidt dot you was goin' to marry me +undt' get the farm." + +Claude grinned, then chuckied, and at last roared and whooped +with the delight of it. He took off his hat and said: + +"She said that, did she? Why, bless her old cabbage head-" + +The opening of the door and the sudden irruption of Frau +Haldeman interrupted him. She came rushing toward him like a +she grizzly bear, uttering a torrent of German expletives, and +hurled herself upon him, clutching at his hair and throat. He leaped +aside and struck down her hands with a sweep of his hard right +arm. As she turned to come again he shouted, + +"Keep off! or I'll knock you down!" + +But before the blow came Nina seized the infuriated woman from +behind and threw her down, and held her till the old man came +hobbling to the rescue. He seemed a little dazed by it all and made +no effort to assault Claude. + +The old woman, who was already black in the face with rage, +suddenly fell limp, and Nina, kneeling beside her, grew white with +fear. + +"Oh, vat is the matter! I hat kildt her!" + +Claude rushed for a bucket of water and dashed it in the old +woman's face. He flooded her with slashings of it, especially after +he saw her open her eyes, ending by emptying the bucket in her +face. He was a little malicious about that. + +The mother sat up soon, wet, scared, bewildered, gasping. + +"Mein Gott! Mein Gotd Ich bin ertrinken!" + +"What does she say-she's been drinkin'? Well, that looks +reasonable." + +"No, no-she thinks she is trouned." + +"Oh, drowned!" Claude roared again. "Not much she ain't. She's +only just getting cooled off." + +He helped the girl get her mother to the house and stretch her out +on a bed. The old woman seemed to have completely exhausted +herself with her effort and submitted like a child to be waited +upon. Her sudden fainting had subdued her. + +Claude had never penetrated so far into the house before, and was +much pleased with the neatness and good order of the rooms, +though they were bare of furniture and carpets. + +As the girl came out with him to the gate he uttered the most +serious word he had ever had with her + +"Now, I want you to notice," he said, "that I did nothing to call out +the old lady's rush at me. I'd 'a' hit her, sure, if she'd 'a' clinched me +again. I don't believe in striking a woman, but she was after my +hide for the time bein', and I can't stand two such clutches in the +same place. You don't blame me, I hope." + +"No. You done choost ride." + +"What do you suppose the old woman went for me for?" + +Nina looked down uneasily. + +"She know you an' me lige one anudder, an' she is afrait you marry +me, an' den ven she tie you get the farm a-ready." + +Claude whisfied. "Great Jehosaphat! She really thinks that, does +she? Well, dog my cats! What put that idea into her head?" + +"I told her," said Nina calmly. + +"You told her?" Claude turned and stared at her. She looked down, +and her face slowly grew to a deep red. She moved uneasily from +one foot to the' other, like an awkward, embarrassed child. As he +looked at her standing like a culprit before him, his first impulse +was to laugh. He was not specially refined, but he was a kindly +man, and it suddenly occurred to 'him that the girl was suffering. + +"Well, you were mistaken," he said at last, gently enough. "I don't +know why you should think so, but I never thought of marrying +you-never thought of it." + +The flush faded from her face, and she stopped swaying. She lifted +her eyes to his in a tearful, appealing stare. + +"I t'ought so-you made me t'ink so." + +"I did? How? I never said a word to you about-liking you +or-marrying-or anything like that. I-" He was going to tell her he +intended to marry Lucindy, but he checked himself. + +Her lashes fell again, and the tears began to stream down her +cheeks. She knew the worst now. His face had convinced her. She +could not tell him the grounds of her belief-that every time he had +said, "I don't like to see a woman do -this or that," or, "I like to see +a woman fix up around the house," she had considered his words +in the light of courtship, believing that in such ways the Yankees +made love. So she stood suffering dumbly while he loaded his +cream can and stood by the wheel ready to mount his wagon. + +He turned. "I'm mighty sorry about it," he said. "Mebbe I was to +blame. I didn't mean nothing by it-not a thing. It was all a mistake. +Let's shake hands over it and call the whole business off." + +He held his hand out to her, and with a low cry she seized it and +laid her cheek upon it. He started back in amazement and drew his +hand away. She fell upon her knees in the path and covered her +face with her apron, while he hastily mounted his seat and drove +away. + +Nothing so profoundly moving had come into his life since the +death of his mother, and as he rode on down the road he did a great +deal of thinking. First it gave him a pleasant sensation to think a +woman should care so much for him. He had lived a homeless life +for years and had come into intimate relations with few women, +good or bad. They had always laughed with him (not at him, for +Claude was able to take care of himself), and no woman before +had taken him seriously, and there was a certain charm about the +realization. + +Then he fell to wondering what he had said or done to give the girl +such a notion of his purposes. Perhaps he had been too free with +his talk. He was so troubled that he hardly smiled once during the +rest of his circuit, and at night he refrained from going up town, +and sat under the trees back of the creamery and smoked and +pondered on the astounding situation. + +He came at last to the resolution that it was his duty to declare +himself to Lucindy and end all uncertainty, so that no other woman +would fall into Nina's error. He was as good as an engaged man, +and the world should know it. + +The next day, with his newly painted buggy flashing in the sun, +and the extra dozen ivory rings he had purchased for his harnesses +clashing together, he drove up the road as a man of leisure and a +resolved lover. It was a beautiful day in August. + +Lucindy was getting a light tea for some friends up from the +Siding, when she saw Claude drive up. + +"Well, for the land sake!" she broke out, using one of her mother's +phrases, "if here isn't that creamery man!" In that phrase lay the +answer to Claude's question-if he had heard it. He drove in, and +Mr. Kennedy, with impartial hospitality, went out and asked hiin +to 'light and put his team in the barn. + +He did so, feeling very much exhilarated. He never before had +gone courting in this direct and aboveboard fashion. He mistook +the father's hospitality for compliance in his designs. He followed +his host into the house and faced, with very fair composure, two +girls who smiled broadly as they shook hands with him. Mrs. +Kennedy gave him a lax hand and a curt how-de-do, and Lucindy +fairly scowled in answer to his radiant smile. + +She was much changed, he could see. She wore a dress with puffed +sleeves, and her hair was dressed differently. She seemed strange +and distant, but he thought she was "putting that on" for the benefit +of others. At the table the three girls talked of things at the Siding +and ignored him so that he was obliged to turn to Farmer Kennedy +for refuge. He kept his courage up by thinking, "Wait till we are +alone." + +After supper, when Lucindy explained that the dishes would have +to be washed, he offered to help her in his best manner. + +"Thank you, I don't need any help," was Lucindy's curt reply. + +Ordinarily he was a man of much facility and ease in addressing +women, but be was vastly disconcerted by her manner. He sat +rather silently waiting for the room to clear. When the visitors +intimated that they must go, he rose with cheerful alacrity. + +"I'll get your horse for you." + +He helped hitch the horse into the buggy, and helped the girls in +with a return of easy gallantry, and watched them drive off with +joy. At last the field was clear. + +They returned to the sitting room, where the old folks remained for +a decent interval, and then left the young people alone. His +courage returned then, and he turned toward her with resolution +in his voice and eyes. + +"Lucindy," he began. + +"Miss Kennedy, please," interrupted Lucindy with cutting +emphasis. + +"I'll be darned if I do," he replied hotly. "What's the matter with +you? Since going to Minneapolis you put on a lot of city airs, it +seems to me." + +"If you don't like my airs, you know what you can do!" + +He saw his mistake. + +"Now see here, Lucindy, there's no sense in our quarreling." + +"I don't want to quarrel; I don't want anything to do with you. I +wish I'd never seen you." + +"Oh, you don't mean that! After all the good talks we've had." + +She flushed red. "I never had any such talks with you." + +He pursued his advantage. + +"Oh, yes, you did, and you took pains that I should see you." + +"I didn't; no such thing. You came poking into the kitchen where +you'd no business to be." + +"Say, now, stop fooling. You like me and-" + +"I don't. I hate you, and if you don't clear out I'll call father. You're +one o' these kind o' men that think if a girl looks at 'em that they +want to marry 'em. I tell you I don't want anything more to do with +you, and I'm engaged to another man, and I wish you'd attend to +your own business. So there! I hope you're satisfied." + +Claude sat for nearly a minute in silence, then he rose. "I guess +you're right. I've made a mistake. I've made a mistake in the girl." +He spoke with a curious hardness in his voice. "Good evening, +Miss Kennedy." + +He went out with dignity and in good order. His retreat was not +ludicrous. He left the girl with the feeling that she had lost her +temper and with the knowledge that she had uttered a lie. + +He put his horses to the buggy with a mournful self-pity as he saw +the wheels glisten. He had done all this for a scornful girl who +could not treat him decently. 'As he drove slowly down the road he +mused deeply. It was a knock-down blow, surely. He was a just +man, so far as he knew, and as he studied the situation over he +could not blame the girl. In the light of her convincing wrath he +comprehended that the sharp things she had said to him in the past +were not make-believe-not love taps, but real blows. She had not +been coquetting. with him; she had tried to keep him away. She +considered herself too good for a hired man. Well, maybe she' was. +Anyhow, she had gone out of his reach, hopelessly. + +As he came past the Haldemans' he saw Nina sitting out under the +trees in the twifight. On the impulse he pulled in. His mind took +another turn. Here was a woman who was open and aboveboard in +her affection. Her words meant what they stood for. He +remembered how she had bloomed out the last few months. She +has the making of a handsome woman in her, he thought. + +She saw him and came out to the gate, and while he leaned out of +his carriage she rested her arms on the gate and looked up at him. +She looked pale and sad, and he was touched. + +"How's the old lady?" he asked. + +"Oh, she's up! She is much change-ed. She is veak and quiet" + +"Quiet, is she? Well, that's good." + +"She t'inks God strike her fer her vickedness. Never before did she +fainted like dot." + +"Well, don't spoil that notion in her. It may do her a world of +good." + +"Der priest come. He saidt it wass a punishment. She saidt I should +marry who I like." + +Claude looked at her searchingly. She was certainly much +improved. All she needed was a little encouragement and advice, +and she would make a handsome wife. If the old lady had softened +down, her son-in-law could safely throw up the creamery job and +become the boss of the farm. The old man was used up, and the +farm needed someone right away. + +He straightened up suddenly. "Get your hat," he sald, "and we'll +take a ride." + +She started erect, and he could see her pale face glow with joy. + +"With you?" + +"With me. Get your best hat. We may turn up at the minister's and +get married-if a Sunday marriage is legal." + +As she hurried up the walk he said to himself, "I'll bet it gives +Lucindy a shock!" + +And the thought pleased him mightily. + +A DAY'S PLEASURE + +"Mainly it is long and weariful, and has a home o' toil at one end +and a dull little town at the other." + +WHEN Markham came in from shoveling his last wagon-load of +corn into the crib, he found that his wife had put the children to +bed, and was kneading a batch of dough with the dogged action of +a tired and sullen woman. + +He slipped his soggy boots off his feet and, having laid a piece of +wood on top of the stove, put his heels on it comfortably. His chair +squeaked as he leaned back on its hind legs, but he paid no +attention; he was used to it, exactly as he was used to his wife's +lameness and ceaseless toil. + +"That closes up my corn," he said after a silence. "I guess I'll go to +town tomorrow to git my horses shod." + +"I guess I'll git ready and go along," said his wife in a sorry attempt +to be firm and confident of tone. + +"What do you want to go to town fer?" he grumbled. "What does +anybody want to go to town fer?" she burst out, facing him. "I ain't +been out o' this house fer six months, while you go an' go!" + +"Oh, it ain't six months. You went down that day I got the mower." + +"When was that? The tenth of July, and you know it." + +"Well, mebbe 'twas. I didn't think it was so long ago. I ain't no +objection to your goin', only I'm goin' to take a load of wheat." + +"Well, jest leave off a sack, an' that'll balance me an' the baby," she +said spiritedly. + +"All right," he replied good-naturedly, seeing she was roused. +"Only that wheat ought to be put up tonight if you're goin'. You +won't have any time to hold sacks for me in the morning with them +young ones to get off to school." + +"Well, let's go do it then," she said, sullenly resolute. + +"I hate to go out agin; but I s'pose we'd better." + +He yawned dismally and began pulling his boots on again, +stamping his swollen feet into them with grunts of pain. She put on +his coat and one of the boy's caps, and they went out to the +granary. The night was cold and clear. + +"Don't look so much like snow as it did last night," said Sam. "It +may turn warm." + +Laying out the sacks in the light of the lantern, they sorted out +those which were whole, and Sam climbed into the bin with a tin +pail in his hand, and the work began. + +He was a sturdy fellow, and he worked desperately fast; the +shining tin pail dived deep into the cold wheat and dragged heavily +on the woman's tired hands as it came to the mouth of the sack, +and she trembled with fatigue, but held on and dragged the sacks +away when filled, and brought others, till at last Sam climbed out, +puffing and wheezing, to tie them up. + +"I guess I'll load 'em in the morning," he said. "You needn't wait fer +me. I'll tie 'em up alone." + +"Oh, I don't mind," she replied, feeling a little touched by his +unexpectedly easy acquiescence to her request. When they went +back to the house the moon had risen. + +It had scarcely set when they were wakened by the crowing +roosters. The man rolled stiffly out of bed and began rattling at the +stove in the dark, cold kitchen. + +His wife arose lamer and stiffer than usual and began twisting her +thin hair into a knot. + +Sam did not stop to wash, but went out to the barn. The woman, +however, hastily soused her face into the hard limestone water at +the sink and put the kettle on. Then she called the children. She +knew it was early, and they would need several callings. She +pushed breakfast forward, running over in her mind the things she +must have: two spools of thread, six yards of cotton flannel, a can +of coffee, and mittens for Kitty. These she must have-there were +oceans of things she needed. + +The children soon came scudding down out of the darkness of the +upstairs to dress tumultuously at the kitchen stove. They humped +and shivered, holding up their bare feet from the cold floor, like +chickens in new fallen snow. They were irritable, and snarled and +snapped and struck like cats and dogs. Mrs. Markham stood it for a +while with mere commands to "hush up," but at last her patience +gave out, and she charged down on the struggling mob and cuffed +them right and left. + +They ate their breakfast by lamplight, and when Sam went back to +his work around the barnyard it was scarcely dawn. The children, +left alone with their mother, began to tease her to let them go to +town also. + +"No, sir-nobody goes but baby. Your father's goin' to take a load of +wheat." + +She was weak with the worry of it all when she had sent the older +children away to school, and the kitchen work was finished. She +went into the cold bedroom off the little sitting room and put on +her best dress. It had never been a good fit, and now she was +getting so thin it hung in wrinkled folds everywhere about the +shoulders and waist. She lay down on the bed a moment to ease +that dull pam in her back. She had a moment's distaste for going +out at all. The thought of sleep was more alluring. Then the +thought of the long, long day, and the sickening sameness of her +life, swept over her again, and she rose. and prepared the baby for +the journey. + +It was but little after sunrise when Sam drove out into the road and +started for Belleplain. His wife sat perched upon the wheat sacks +behind him, holding the baby in her lap, a cotton quilt under her, +and a cotton horse blanket over her knees. + +Sam was disposed to be very good-natured, and he talked back at +her occasionally, though she could only under-stand him when he +turned his face toward her. The baby stared out at the passing +fence posts and wiggled his hands out of his mittens at every +opportunity. He was merry, at least. + +It grew warmer as they went on, and a strong south wind arose. +The dust settled upon the woman's shawl and hat. Her hair +loosened and blew unkemptly about her face. The road which led +across the high, level prairie was quite smooth and dry, but still it +jolted her, and the pam in her back increased. She had nothing to +lean against, and the weight of the child grew greater, till she was +forced to place him on the sacks beside her, though she could not +loose her hold for a moment. + +The town drew in sight-a cluster of small frame houses and stores +on the dry prairie beside a railway station. There were no trees yet +which could be called shade trees. The pitilessly severe light of the +sun flooded everything. A few teams were hitched about, and in +the lee of the stores a few men could be seen seated comfortably, +their broad hat rims flopping up and down, their faces brown as +leather. + +Markham put his wife out at one of the grocery stores and drove +off down toward the elevators to sell his wheat. + +The grocer greeted Mrs. Markham in. a perfunctorily kind manner +and offered her a chair, which she took gratefully. She sat for a +quarter of an hour almost without moving, leaning against the back +of the high chair. At last the child began to get restless and +troublesome, and she spent half an hour helping him amuse +himself around the nail kegs. + +At length she rose and went out on the walk, carrying the baby. +She went into the dry-goods store and took a seat on one of the +little revolving stools. A woman was buying some woolen goods +for a dress. It was worth twenty-seven cents a yard, the clerk said, +but he would knock off two cents if she took ten yards. It looked +warm, and Mrs. Markham wished she could afford it for Mary. + +A pretty young girl came in, and laughed and chatted with the +clerk, and bought a pair of gloves. She was the daughter of the +grocer. Her happiness made the wife and mother sad. When Sam +came back she asked him for some money. + +"Want you want to do with it?" he asked. + +"I want to spend it," she said. + +She was not to be trifled with, so he gave her a dollar. + +"I need a dollar more." + +"Well, I've got to go take up that note at the bank." + +"Well, the children's got to have some new underclo'es," she said. + +He handed her a two-dollar bill and then went out to pay his note. + +She bought her cotton flannel and mittens and thread, and then sat +leaning against the counter. It was noon, and she was hungry. She +went out to the wagon, got the lunch she had brought, and took it +into the grocery to eat it-where she could get a drink of water. + +The grocer gave the baby a stick of candy and handed the mother +an apple. + +"It'll kind o' go down with your doughnuts," he said. After eating +her lunch she got up and went out. She felt ashamed to sit there +any longer. She entered another dry-goods store, but when the +clerk came toward her saying, "Anything today, Mrs.-?" she +answered, "No, I guess not," and turned away with foolish face. + +She walked up and down the street, desolately home-less. She did +not know what to do with herself. She knew no one except the +grocer. She grew bitter as she saw a couple of ladies pass, holding +their demitrains in the latest city fashion. Another woman went by +pushing a baby carriage, in which sat a child just about as big as +her own. It was bouncing itself up and down on the long slender +springs and laughing and shouting. Its clean round face glowed +from its pretty fringed hood. She looked down at the dusty clothes +and grimy face of her own little one and walked on savagely. + +She went into the drugstore where the soda fountain was, but it +made her thirsty to sit there, and she went out on the street again. +She heard Sam laugh and saw him in a group of men over by the +blacksmith shop. He was having a good time and had forgotten +her. + +Her back ached so intolerably that she concluded to go in and rest +once more in the grocer's chair. The baby was growing cross and +fretful. She bought five cents' worth of candy to take home to the +children and gave baby a little piece to keep him quiet. She wished +Sam would come. It must be getting late. The grocer said it was +not much after one. Time seemed terribly long. She felt that she +ought to do something while she was in town. She ran over her +purchases-yes, that was all she had planned to buy. She fell to +figuring on the things she needed. It was terrible. It ran away up +into twenty or thirty dollars at the least. Sam, as well as she, +needed underwear for the cold winter, but they would have to wear +the old ones, even if they were thin and ragged. She would not +need a dress, she thought bitterly, because she never went +anywhere. She rose, and went out on the street once more, and +wandered up and down, looking at everything in the hope of +enjoying something. + +A man from Boon Creek backed a load of apples up to the +sidewalk, and as he stood waiting for the grocer he noticed Mrs. +Markham and the baby, and gave the baby an apple. This was a +pleasure. He had such a hearty way about him. He on his part saw +an ordinary farmer's wife with dusty dress, unkempt hair, and tired +face. He did not know exactly whey she appealed to him, but he +tried to cheer her up. + +The grocer was familiar with these bedraggled and weary wives. +He was accustomed to see them sit for hours in his big wooden +chair and nurse tired and fretful children. Their forlorn, aimless, +pathetic wandering up and down the street was a daily occurrence, +and had never possessed any special meaning to him. + +II + +In a cottage around the corner from the grocery store two men and +a woman were finishing a dainty luncheon. The woman was +dressed in cool, white garments, and she seemed to make the day +one of perfect comfort. + +The home of the Honorable Mr. Hall was by no means the costliest +in the town, but his wife made it the most attractive. He was one of +the leading lawyers of the county and a man of culture and +progressive views. He was entertaining a friend who had lectured +the night before in the Congregational church. + +They were by no means in serious discussion. The talk was rather +frivolous. Hall had the ability to caricature men with a few +gestures and attitudes, and was giving to his Eastern friend some +descriptions of the old-fashioned Western lawyers he had met in +his practice. He was very amusing, and his guest laughed heartily +for a time. + +But suddenly Hall became aware that Otis was not listening. Then +he perceived that he was peering out of the window at someone, +and that on his face a look of bitter sadness was falling. + +Hall stopped. "What do you see, Otis?" + +Otis replied, "I see a forlorn, weary woman." + +Mrs. Hall rose and went to the window. Mrs. Markham was +walking by the house, her baby in her arms. Savage anger and +weeping were in her eyes and on her lips, and there was hopeless +tragedy in her shambling walk and weak back. + +In the silence Otis went on: "I saw the poor, dejected creature +twice this morning. I couldn't forget her." + +"Who is she?" asked Mrs. Hall very softly. + +"Her name is Markham; she's Sam Markham's wife," said Hall. + +The young wife led the way into the sitting room, and the men +took seats and lit their cigars. Hall was meditating a diversion +when Otis resumed suddenly: + +"That woman came to town today to get a change, to have a little +play spell, and she's wandering around like a starved and weary +cat. I wonder if there is a woman in this town with sympathy +enough and courage enough to go out and help that woman? The +saloonkeepers, the politicians, and the grocers make it pleasant for +the man-so pleasant that he forgets his wife. But the wife is left +without a word." + +Mrs. Hall's work dropped, and on her pretty face was a look of +pain. The man's harsh words had wounded her-and wakened her. +She took up her hat and hurried out on the walk. The men looked +at each other, and then the husband said: + +"It's going to be a little sultry for the men around these diggings. +Suppose we go out for a walk." + +Delia felt a hand on her arm as she stood at the corner. "You look +tired, Mrs. Markham; won't you come in a little while? I'm Mrs. +Hall." + +Mrs. Markham turned with a scowl on her face and a biting word +on her tongue, but something in the sweet, round little face of the +other woman silenced her, and her brow smoothed out. + +"Thank you kindly, but it's most time to go home. I'm looking fer +Mr. Markham now." + +"Oh, come in a little while; the baby is cross and tried out; please +do." + +Mrs. Markham yielded to the friendly voice, and t~ gether the two +women reached the gate just as two men hurriedly turned the other +corner. + +"Let me relieve you," said Mrs. Hall. + +The mother hesitated: "He's so dusty." + +"Oh, that won't matter. Oh, what a big fellow he is! I haven't any of +my own," said Mrs. Hall, and a look passed like an electric spark +between the two women, and Delia was her willing guest from that +moment. + +They went into the little sitting room, so dainty and lovely to the +farmer's wife, and as she sank into an easy-chair she was faint and +drowsy with the pleasure of it. She submitted to being brushed. +She gave the baby into the hands of the Swedish girl, who washed +its face and hands and sang it to sleep, while its mother sipped +some tea. Through it all she lay back in her easychair, not speaking +a word, while the ache passed out of her back, and her hot, swollen +head ceased to throb. + +But she saw everything-the piano, the pictures, the curtains, the +wallpaper, the little tea stand. They were almost as grateful to her +as the food and fragrant tea. Such housekeeping as this she had +never seen. Her mother had worn her kitchen floor thin as brown +paper in keeping a speckless house, and she had been in houses +that were larger and costlier, but something of the charm of her +hostess was in the arrangement of vases, chairs, or pictures. It was +tasteful. + +Mrs. Hall did not ask about her affairs. She talked to her about the +sturdy little baby and about the things upon which Delia's eyes +dwelt. If she seemed interested in a vase she was told what it was +and where it was made. She was shown all the pictures and books. +Mrs. Hall seemed to read her visitor's mind. She kept as far from +the farm and her guest's affairs as possible, and at last she opened +the piano and sang to her-not slow-moving hymns, but catchy love +songs full of sentiment, and then played some simple melodies, +knowing that Mrs. Markham's eyes were studying her hands, her +rings, and the flash of her fingers on the keys-seeing more than she +heard-and through it all Mrs. Hall conveyed the impression that +she, too, was having a good time. + +The rattle of the wagon outside roused them both. Sam was at the +gate for her. Mrs. Markham rose hastily. "Oh, it's almost +sundown!" she gasped in astonishment as she looked out of the +window. + +"Oh, that won't kill anybody," replied her hostess. "Don't hurry. +Carrie, take the baby out to the wagon for Mrs. Markham while I +help her with her things." + +"Oh, I've had such a good time," Mrs. Markham said as they went +down the little walk. + +"So have I," replied Mrs. Hall. She took the baby a moment as her +guest climbed in. "Oh, you big, fat fellow!" she cried as she gave +him a squeeze. "You must bring your wife in oftener, Mr. +Markham," she said as she handed the baby up. + +Sam was staring with amazement + +"Thank you, I will," he finally managed to say. + +"Good night," said Mrs. Markham. + +"Good night, dear," called Mrs. Hall, and the wagon began to rattle +off. + +The tenderness and sympathy in her voice brought the tears to +Delia's eyes not hot nor bitter tears, but tears that cooled her eyes +and cleared her mind. + +The wind had gone down, and the red sunlight fell mistily over the +world of corn and stubble. The crickets were strn chirping, and the +feeding cattle were drifting toward the farmyards. The day had +been made beautiful by human sympathy. + +MRS. RIPLEY'S TRIP + +"And in winter the winds sweep the snows across it." + +Thn night was in windy November, and the blast, threatening rain, +roared around the poor little shanty of "Uncle Ripley," set like a +chicken trap on the vast Iowa prairie. Uncle Ethan was mending +his old violin, with many York State "dums!" and "I gal darns!" +totally oblivious of his tireless old wife, who, having "finished +the supper dishes," sat knitting a stocking, evidently for the little +grandson who lay before the stove like a cat. Neither of the old +people wore glasses, and their light was a tallow candle; they +couldn't afford "none o' them newfangled lamps." The room was +small, the chairs wooden, and the walls bare-a home where +poverty was a never-absent guest. The old lady looked pathetically +little, wizened, and hopeless in her ill-fitting garments (whose +original color had long since vanished), intent as she was on the +stocking in her knotted, stiffened fingers, but there was a peculiar +sparkle in her little black eyes, and an unusual resolution in the +straight line of her withered and shapeless lips. Suddenly she +paused, stuck a needle in the spare knob of hair at the back of her +head, and looking at Ripley, said decisively: "Ethan Ripley, you'll +haff to do your own cooking from now on to New Year's; I'm goin' +back to Yaark State." + +The old man's leather-brown face stiffened into a look of quizzical +surprise for a moment; then he cackled in-credulously: "Ho! Ho! +har! Sho! be y', now? I want to know if y' be." + +"Well, you'll find out." + +"Goin' to start tomorrow, Mother?" + +"No, sir, I ain't; but I am on Thursday. I want to get to Sally's by +Sunday, sure, an' to Silas's on Thanksgivin'." + +There was a note in the old woman's voice that brought genuine +stupefaction into the face of Uncle Ripley. Of course, in this case, +as in all others, the money consideration was uppermost. + +"Howgy 'xpect to get the money, Mother? Anybody died an' left +yeh a pile?" + +"Never you mind where I get the mony so 's 't tiy don't haff to +bear it. The land knows, if I'd a-waited for you to pay my way-" + +"You needn't twit me of bein' poor, old woman," said Ripley, +flaming up after the manner of many old people. "I've done my +part t' get along. I've worked day in and day out-" + +"Oh! I ain't done no work, have I?" snapped she, laying down the +stocking and leveling a needle at him, and putting a frightful +emphasis on "I." + +"I didn't say you hadn't done no work." + +"Yes, you did!" + +"I didn't, neither. I said + +"I know what you said." + +"I said I'd done my part!" roared the husband, dominating her as +usual by superior lung power. "I didn't say you hadn't done your +part," he added with an unfortunate touch of emphasis on "say." + +"I know y' didn't say it, but y' meant it. I don't know what y' call +doin' my part, Ethan Ripley; but if cookin' for a drove of harvest +hands and thrashin' hands, takin' care o' the eggs and butter, 'n' +diggin' taters an' milkin' ain't my part, I don't never expect to do my +part, 'n' you might as well know it fust 's last. I'm sixty years old," +she went on with a little break in her harsh voice, dominating him +now by woman's logic, "an' I've never had a day to my-self, not +even Fourth o' July. If I've went a-visitin' 'r to a picnic, I've had to +come home an' milk 'n' get supper for you menfolks. I ain't been +away t' stay overnight for thirteen years in this house, 'n' it was just +so in Davis County for ten more. For twenty-three years, Ethan +Ripley, I've stuck right to the stove an' churn without a day or a +night off." Her voice choked again, but she rarned and continued +impressively, "And now I'm a-goin' back to Yaark State." + +Ethan was vanquished. He stared at her in speechless surprise, his +jaw hanging. It was incredible. + +"For twenty-three years," she went on musingly, "I've just about +promised myself every year I'd go back an' see my folks." She was +distinctly talking to herself now, and her voice had a touching, +wistful cadence. "I've wanted to go back an' see the old folks, an' +the hills where we played, an' eat apples off the old tree down by +the old well. I've had them trees an' hills in my mind days and +days-nights, too-an' the girls I used to know, an' my own folks-" + +She fell into a silent muse, which lasted so long that the ticking of +the clock grew loud as the gong in the man's ears, and the wind +outside seemed to sound drearier than usual. He returned to the +money problem, kindly, though. + +"But how y' goin' t' raise the money? I ain't got no extra cash this +time. Agin Roach is paid an' the mortgage interest paid we ain't got +no hundred dollars to spare, Jane, not by a jugful." + +"Waal, don't you lay awake nights studyin' on where I'm a-goin' to +get the money," said the old woman, taking delight in mystifying +him. She had him now, and he couldn't escape. He strove to show +his indifference, however, by playing a tune or two on the violin. + +"Come, Tukey, you better climb the wooden hill," Mrs. Ripley +said a half hour later to the little chap on the floor, who was +beginning to get drowsy under the influence of his grandpa's +fiddling. "Pa, you had orta 'a put that string in the clock today-on +the 'larm side the string is broke," she said upon returning from the +boy's bedroom. "I orta get up extry early tomorrow to get some +sewin' done. Land knows, I can't fix up much, but they is a leetle I +c'n do. I want to look decent." + +They were alone now, and they both sat expectantly. "You 'pear to +think, Mother, that I'm agin yer goin'." "Waal, it would kinder +seem as if y' hadn't hustled yerself any t' help me git off." + +He was smarting under the sense of being wronged. "Waal, I'm jest +as willin' you should go as I am for myself; but if I ain't got no +money, I don't see how I'm goin' to send-" + +"I don't want ye to send; nobody ast ye to, Ethan Ripley. I guess if I +had what I've earnt since we came on this farm, I'd have enough to +go to Jericho with." + +"You've got as much out of it as I have. You talk about your gom' +back. Ain't I been wantin' to go back myself? And ain't I kep' still +'cause I see it wa'n't no use? I guess I've worked jest as long and as +hard as you, an' in storms an' mud an' heat, ef it comes t' that." + +The woman was staggered, but she wouldn't give up; she must get +m one more thrust. + +"Waal, if you'd 'a managed as well as I have, you'd have some +money to go with." And she rose, and went to mix her bread, and +set it "raisin'." He sat by the fire twanging his fiddle softly. He was +plainly thrown into gloomy retrospectlon, something quite unusual +for him. But his fingers picking out the bars of a familiar tune set +him to smiling, and, whipping his bow across the strings, he forgot +all about his wife's resolutions and his own hardships. Trouble +always slid off his back like "punkins off a haystack" anyway. + +The old man still sat fiddling softly after his wife disappeared in +the hot and stuffy little bedroom off the kitchen. His shaggy head +bent lower over his violin. He heard her shoes drop-one, two. +Pretty soon she called: + +"Come, put up that squeakin' old fiddle and go to bed. Seems as if +you orta have sense enough not to set there keepin' everybody in +the house awake." + +"You hush up," retorted he. "I'll come when I git ready, not till. I'll +be glad when you're gone-" + +"Yes, I warrant that." + +With which arniable good nlght they went off to sleep, or at least +she did, while he lay awake, pondering on "where under the sun +she was goin' t' raise that money." + +The next day she was up bright and early, working away on her +own affairs, ignoring Ripley totally, the fixed look of resolutlon +still on her little old wrinkled face. She killed a hen and dressed +and baked it She fried up a pan of doughnuts and made a cake. She +was engaged on the doughnuts when a neighbor came in, one of +those women who take it as a personal affront when anyone in the +neighborhood does anything without asking their advice. She was +fat, and could talk a man blind in three minutes by the watch. + +"What's this I hear, Mis' Ripley?" + +"I dun know. I expect you hear about all they is goin' on in this +neighborhood," replied Mrs. Ripley with crushing bluntness; but +the gossip did not flinch. + +"Well, Sett Turner told me that her husband told her that Ripley +told him that you was goin' back East on a visit." + +"Waal, what of it?" + +"Well, air yeh?" + +"The Lord willin' an' the weather permitin', I expect to be." + +"Good land, I want to know! Well, well! I never was so astonished +in my life. I said, says I, 'It can't be.' 'Well,' ses 'e, 'tha's what she +told me,' ses 'e. 'But,' ses I, 'she is the last woman in the world to go +gallivantin' off East,' ses I. An' ses he, 'But it comes from good +authority,' ses he. 'Well, then, it must be so,' ses I. But, land sakes! +do tell me all about it. How come you to make up y'r mind? Ail +these years you've been kind a-talkin' it over, an' now y'r actshelly +goin'-Waal, I never! 'I s'pose Ripley furnishes the money,' ses I to +him. 'Well, no,' ses 'e. 'Ripley says he'll be blowed if he sees where +the money's comin' from,' ses 'e; and ses I, 'But maybe she's jest +jokin',' ses I. 'Not much,' he says. S' 'e: 'Ripley believes she's goin' +fast enough. He's jest as anxious to find out as we be-'" + +Here Mrs. Doudney paused for breath; she had walked so fast and +had rested so little that her interminable flow of "ses I's" and "ses +he's" ceased necessarily. She had reached, moreover, the point of +most vital interest-the money. + +"An' you'll find out jest 'bout as soon as he does," was the dry +response from the figure hovering over the stove, and with all her +maneuvering that was all she got. + +All day Ripley went about his work exceedingly thoughtful for +him. It was cold, blustering weather. The wind rustled among the +cornstalks with a wild and mournful sound, the geese and ducks +went sprawling down the wind, and horses' coats were ruffled and +backs raised. + +The old man was husking corn alone in the field, his spare form +rigged out in two or three ragged coats, his hands inserted in a pair +of gloves minus nearly all the fingers, his thumbs done up in +"stalls," and his feet thrust into huge coarse boots. During the +middle of the day the frozen ground thawed, and the mud stuck to +his boots, and the "down ears" wet and chapped his hands, already +worn to the quick. Toward night it grew colder and threatened +snow. In spite of all these attacks he kept his cheerfulness, and +though he was very tired, he was softened in temper. + +Having plenty of time to think matters over, he had come to the +conclusion "that the old woman needed a play spell. I ain't likely to +be no richer next year than I am this one; if I wait till I'm able to +send her she won't never go. I calc'late I c'n git enough out o' them +shoats to send her. I'd kind a 'lotted on eat'n' them pigs done up mto +sassengers, but if the ol' woman goes East, Tukey an' me'll kind a +haff to pull through without 'em. We'll. have a turkey f'r +Thanksgivin', an' a chicken once 'n a while. Lord! But we'll miss +the gravy on the flapjacks. Amen!" (He smacked his lips over the +thought of the lost dainty.) "But let 'er rip! We can stand it. Then +there is my buffalo overcoat. I'd kind a calc'lated on havin' a +buffalo-but that's gone up the spout along with them sassengers." + +These heroic sacrifices having been determined upon, he put them +into effect at once. + +This he was able to do, for his corn rows ran alongside the road +leading to Cedarville, and his neighbors were passing almost all +hours of the day. + +It would have softened Jane Ripley's heart could she have seen his +bent and stiffened form amid the corn rows, the cold wind piercing +to the bone through his threadbare and insufficient clothing. The +rising wind sent the snow rattling among the moaning stalks at +intervals. The cold made his poor dim eyes water, and he had to +stop now and then to swing his arms about his chest to warm them. +His voice was hoarse with shouting at the shivering team. + +That night, as Mrs. Ripley was clearing the dishes away, she got to +thinking about the departure of the next day, and she began to +soften. She gave way to a few tears when little Tewksbury +Gilchrist, her grandson, came up and stood beside her. + +"Gran'ma, you ain't goin' to stay away always, are yeh?" + +"Why, course not, Tukey. What made y' think that?" + +"Well, y' ain't told us nawfliln' 'tall about it. An' yeb kind o' look 'sif +yeh was mad." + +"Well, Lain't mad; I'm jest a-thinkin', Tukey. Y'see, I come away +from them hills when I was a little glrl a'most; before I married y'r +grandad. And I ain't never been back. 'Most all my folks is there, +souny, an' we've been s' poor all these years I couldn't seem t' never +get started. Now, when I'm 'most ready t' go, I feel kind a queer-'sif +I'd cry." + +And cry she did, while little Tewksbury stood patting her +trembling hands. Hearing Ripley's step on the porch, she rose +hastily and, drying her eyes, plunged at the work again. Ripley +came in with a big armful of wood, which he rolled into the +woodbox with a thundering crash. Then he pulled off his mittens, +slapped them together to knock off the ice and snow, and laid +them side by side under the stove. He then removed cap, coat, +blouse, and boots, which last he laid upon the woodbox, the soles +turned toward the stovepipe. + +As he sat down without speaking, he opened the front doors of the +stove and held the palms of his stiffened hands to the blaze. The +light brought out a thoughtful look on his large, uncouth, yet +kindly visage. Life had laid hard lines on his brown skin, but it had +not entirely soured a naturally kind and simple nature. It had made +him penurious and dull and iron-muscled; had stifled all the +slender flowers of his nature; yet there was warm soil somewhere +hid in his heart. + +"It's snowin' like all p'sessed," he remarked finally. "I guess we'll +have a sleigh ride tomorrow. I calc'late t' drive y' daown in +scrumptious style. If yeh must leave, why, we'll give yeh a +whoopin' old send-off-won't we, Tukey? + +"I've ben a4hinkin' things over kind o' t'day, Mother, an' I've come t' +the conclusion that we have been kind a hard on yeh, without +knowin' it, y' see. Y' see, I'm kind a easygoin, 'an' little Tuke he's +only a child, an' we ain't c'nsidered how you felt." + +She didn't appear to be listening, but she was, and he didn't appear, +on his part, to be talking to her, and he kept his voice as hard and +dry as he could. + +"An' I was tellin' Tukey t'day that it was a dum shame our crops +hadn't, turned out better. An' when I saw ol' Hatfield go by, I hailed +him an' asked him what he'd gimme for two o' m' shoats. Waal, the +upshot is, I sent t' town for some things I calc'lated ye'd heed. An' +here's a tlcket to Georgetown, and ten dollars. Why, Ma, what's +up?" + +Mrs. Ripley broke down, and with her hands all wet with +dishwater, as they were, covered her face and sobbed. She felt like +kissing him, but she didn't. Tewksbury began to whimper, too; but +the old man was astonished. His wife had not wept for years +(before him). He rose and walked clumsily up to her and timidly +touching her hair-- + +"Why, Mother! What's the matter? What 'v' I done now? I was +calc'latln' to sell them pigs anyway. Hatfield jest advanced the +money on' em." + +She hopped up and dashed into the bedroom,and in a few minutes +returned with a yarn mitten, tied around the wrist, which she laid +on the table with a thump, saying: + +"I don't want yer money. There's money enough to take me where I +want to go." + +"Whee-w! Thunder and jimson root! Wher'd ye git that? Didn't dig +it out of a hole?" + +"No. I jest saved it-a dime at a time-see?" + +Here she turned it out on the table-some bills, but mostly silver +dimes and quarters. + +"Thunder and scissors! Must be two er three hundred dollars +there," stared he. + +"They's jest seventy-five dollars and thirty cents; jest about enough +to go back on. Tickets is fifty-five dollars, goin' an' comin'. That +leaves twenty dollars for other expenses, not countin' what I've +already spent, which is six-fifty," said she, recovering her +self-possession. "It's plenty." + +"But y' ain't calc'lated on no sleepers nor hotel bills." + +"I ain't goin' on no sleeper. Mis' Doudney says it's jest scandalous +the way things is managed on them cars. I'm goin' on the +old-fashioned cars, where they ain't no half-dressed men runain' +around." + +"But you needn't be afraid of them, Mother; at your age-" + +"There! you needn't throw my age an' homeliness into my face, +Ethan Ripley. If I hadn't waited an' tended on you so long, I'd look +a little more's I did when I married yeh." + +Ripley gave it up in despair. He didn't realize fully enough how the +proposed trip had unsettled his wife's nerves. She didn't realize it +herself. + +"As for the hotel bills, they won't be none. I a-goin' to pay them +pirates as much for a day's board as we'd charge for a week's, an' +have nawthin' to eat but dishes. I'm goin' to take a chicken an' +some hard-boiled eggs, an' I'm goin' right through to Georgetown." + +"Well, all right; but here's the ticket I got." + +"I don't want yer ticket." + +"But you've got to take it." + +"Wall, I hain't." + +"Why, yes, ye have. It's bought, an' they won't take it +back." + +"Won't they?" She was staggered again. + +"Not much they won't. I ast 'em. A ticket sold is sold." + +"Waal, if they won't-" + +"You bet they won't." + +"I s'pose I'll haff to use it"; and that ended iti -They were a familiar +sight as they rode down the road toward town next day. As usual, +Mrs. Ripley sat up straight and stiff as "a half-drove wedge in a +white-oak log." The day was cold and raw. There was some snow +on the ground, but not enough to warrant the use of sleighs. It was +"neither sleddin' nor wheelin'." The old people sat on a board laid +across the box, and had an old quilt or two drawn up over their +knees. Tewksbury lay in the back part of the box (which was filled +with hay), where he jounced up and down, in company with a +queer old trunk and a brand-new imitation-leather handbag, There +is no ride quite so desolate and uncomfortable as a ride in a lumber +wagon on a cold day in autumn, when the ground is frozen and the +wind is strong and raw with threatening snow. The wagon wheels +grind along in the snow, the cold gets in under the seat at the +calves of one's legs, and the ceaseless bumping of the bottom of +the box on the feet is frightful. + +There was not much talk on the way down, and what little there +was related mainly to certain domestic regulations to be strictly +followed regarding churning, pickles, pancakes, etc. Mrs. Ripley +wore a shawl over her head and carried her queer little black +bonnet in her hand. Tewksbury was also wrapped in a shawl. The +boy's teeth were pounding together like castanets by the time they +reached Cedarville, and every muscle ached with the fatigue of +shaking. After a few purchases they drove down to the railway +station, a frightful little den (common in the West) which was +always too hot or too cold. It happened to be hot just now-a fact +which rejoiced little Tewksbury. + +"Now git my trunk stamped 'r fixed, 'r whatever they call it," she +said to Ripley in a commanding tone, which gave great delight to +the inevitable crowd of loafers begliming to assemble. "Now +remember, Tukey, have Granddad kill that biggest turkey night +before Thanksgiving, an' then you run right over to Mis' +Doudney's-she's got a nawful tongue, but she can bake a turkey +first-rate-an' she'll fix up some squash pies for yeh. You can warm +up one s' them mince pies. I wish ye could be with me, but ye +can't, so do the best ye can." + +Ripley returning now, she said: "Waal, now, I've fixed things up +the best I could. I've baked bread enough to last a week, an' Mis' +Doudney has promised to bake for yeh." + +"I don't like her bakin'." + +"Waal, you'll haff to stand it till I get back, 'n' you'll find a jar o' +sweet pickles an' some crabapple sauce down suller, 'n' you'd better +melt up brown sugar for 'lasses, 'n' for goodness' sake don't eat all +them mince pies up the fust week, 'n' see that Tukey ain't froze +goin' to school. An' now you'd better get out for home. Good-bye, +an' remember them pies. + +As they were riding home, Ripley roused up after a long silence. + +"Did she-a-kiss you goodbye, Tukey?" + +"No, sir," piped Tewksbury. + +"Thunder! didn't she?" After a silence. "She didn't me, neither. I +guess she kind of sort a forgot it, bein' so frustrated, y' know." + +One cold, windy, intensely bright day, Mrs. Stacey, who lives +about two miles from Cedarville, looking out of the window, saw a +queer little figure struggling along the road, which was blocked +here and there with drifts. It was an old woman laden with a good +half-dozen parcels, any one of which was a load, which the wind +seemed determined to wrench from her. She was dressed in black, +with a full skirt, and her cloak being short, the wind had excellent +opportunity. to inflate her garments ind sail her off occasionally +into the deep snow outside the track, but she held on bravely till +she reached the gate. As she turned in, Mrs. Stacey cried: + +"Why! it's Gran'ma Ripley, just getting back from her trip. Why! +how do you do? Come in. Why! you must be nearly frozen. Let me +take off your hat and veil." + +"No, thank ye kindly, but I can't stop. I must be glttin' back to +Ripley. I expec' that man has jest let ev'rything go six ways f'r +Sunday." + +"Oh, you must sit down just a minute and warm." + +"Waal, I will, but I've got to git home by sundown. Sure I don't +s'pose they's a thing in the house to eat." + +"Oh dear! I wish Stacey was here, so he could take you home. An' +the boys at school." + +"Don't need any help, if 'twa'n't for these bundles an' things. I guess +I'll jest leave some of 'em here an'- Here! take one of these apples. I +brought 'em from Lizy Jane's suller, back to Yaark State." + +"Oh! they're delicious! You must have had a lovely time." + +"Pretty good. But I kep' thinkin' o' Ripley an' Tukey all the time. I +s'pose they have had a gay time of it" (she meant the opposite of +gay). "Waal, as I told Lizy Jane, I've had my spree, an' now I've got +to git back to work. They ain't no rest for such as we are. As I told +Lizy Jane, them folks in the big houses have Thanksgivin' dinners +every day uv their lives, and men an' women in splendid do's to +wait on 'em, so't Thanksgivin' don't mean anything to 'em; but we +poor critters, we make a great to-do if we have a good dinner oncet +a year. I've saw a pile o' this world, Mrs. Stacey-a pile of it! I didn't +think they was so many big houses in the world as I saw b'tween +here an' Chicago. Waal, I can't set here gabbin'; I must get home to +Ripley. Jest kinder stow them bags away. I'll take two an' leave +them three others. Goodbye. I must be gittin' home to Ripley. He'll +want his supper on time." And off up the road the indomitable +little figure trudged, head held down to the cutting blast. Little +snow fly, a speck on a measureless expanse, crawling along with +painful breathing and slipping, sliding steps- "Gittin' home to +Ripley an' the boy." + +Ripley was out to the barn when she entered, but Tewksbury was +building a fire in the old cookstove. He sprang up with a cry of joy +and ran to her. She seized him and kissed him, and it did her so +much good she hugged him close and kissed him again and again, +crying hysterically. + +"Oh, gran'ma, I'm so glad to see you! We've had an awful time +since you've been gone." + +She released him and looked around. A lot of dirty dishes were on +the table, the tablecloth was a "sight to behold," and so was the +stove-kettle marks all over the tablecloth, splotches of pancake +batter all over the stove. + +"Waal, I sh'd say as much," she dryly vouchsafed, untying her +bonnet strings. + +When Ripley came in she had on her regimentals, the stove was +brushed, the room swept, and she was elbow-deep in the dishpan. +"Hullo, Mother! Got back, hev yeh?" + +"I sh'd say it was about time," she replied briefly with-out looking +up or ceasing work. "Has ol' 'Cruuipy' dried up yit?" This was her +greeting. + +Her trip was a fact now; no chance could rob her of it. She had +looked forward twenty-three years toward it, and now she could +look back at it accomplished. She took up her burden again, never +more thinking to lay it down. + +UNCLE ETHAN RIPLEY + +"Like the Main-Travelled Road of Life, it is traversed by many +classes of people." + +UNCLE ETHAN had a theory that a man's character could be told +by the way he sat in a wagon seat. + +"A mean man sets right plumb in the middle o' the seat, as much as +to say, 'Walk, goldarn yeh, who cares!' But a man that sets in the +corner o' the seat, much as to say, 'Jump in-cheaper t' ride 'n to +walk,' you can jest tie to." + +Uncle Ripley was prejudiced in favor of the stranger, therefore, +before he came opposite the potato patch, where the old man was +"bugging his vines." The stranger drove a jaded-looking pair of +calico ponies, hitched to a clattering democrat wagon, and he sat +on the extreme end of the seat, with the lines in his right hand, +while his left rested on his thigh, with his little finger gracefully +crooked and his elbows akimbo. He wore a blue shirt, with +gay-colored armlets just above the elbows, and his vest hung +unbuttoned down his lank ribs. It was plain he was well pleased +with himself. + +As he pulled up and threw one leg over the end of the seat, Uncle +Ethan observed that the left spring was much more worn than the +other, which proved that it was not accidental, but that it was the +driver's habit to sit on that end of the seat. + +"Good afternoon," said the stranger pleasantly. + +"Good afternoon, sir." + +"Bugs purty plenty?" + +"Plenty enough, I gol! I don't see where they all come fum." + +"Early Rose?" inquired the man, as if referring to the bugs. + +"No; Peachblows an' Carter Reds. My Early Rose is over near the +house. The old woman wants 'em near. See the darned things!" he +pursued, rapping savagely on the edge of the pan to rattle the bugs +back. + +"How do yeh kill 'em-scald 'em?" + +"Mostly. Sornetimcs I + +"Good piece of oats," yawned the stranger listessly. + +"That's barley." + +"So 'tis. Didn't notice." + +Uncle Ethan was wondering who the man was. He had some pots +of black paint in the wagon and two or three square boxes. + +"What do yeh think o' Cleveland's chances for a second term?" +continued the man, as if they had been talking politics all the +while. + +Uncle Ripley scratched his head. "Waal-I dunn~ bein' a +Republican-I think-" + +"That's so-it's a purty scaly outlook. I don't believe in second terms +myself," the man hastened to say. + +"Is that your new barn acrosst there?" be asked, point-ing with his +whip. + +"Yes, sir, it is," replied the old man proudly. After years of +planning and hard work he had managed to erect a little wooden +barn, costing possibly three hundred dollars. It was plain to be seen +he took a childish pride in the fact of its newness. + +The stranger mused. "A lovely place for a sign," he said as his eyes +wandered across its shining yellow broadside. + +Uncle Ethan stared, unmindful of the bugs crawling over the edge +of his pan. His interest in the pots of paint deepened. + +"Couldn't think o' lettin' me paint a sign on that barn?" the stranger +continued, putting his locked hands around one knee and gaining +away across the pigpen at the building. + +"What kind of a sign? Goldarn your skins!" Uncle Ethan pounded +the pan with his paddle and scraped two or three crawling +abominations off his leathery wrist. + +It was a beautiful day, and the man in the wagon seemed unusually +loath to attend to business. The tired ponies slept in the shade of +the lombardies. The plain was draped in a warm mist and +shadowed by vast, vaguely defined masses of clouds-a lazy June +day. + +"Dodd's Family Bitters," said the man, waking out of his +abstraction with a start and resuming his working manner. "The +best bitter in the market." He alluded to it in the singular. "Like to +look at it? No trouble to show goods, as the fellah says," he went +on hastily, seeing Uncle Ethan's hesitation. + +He produced a large bottle of triangular shape, like a bottle for +pickled onions. It had a red seal on top and a strenuous caution in +red letters on the neck, "None genuine unless 'Dodd's Family +Bittem' is blown in the bottom." + +"Here's what it cures," pursued the agent, pointing at the side, +where; in an inverted pyramid, the names of several hundred +diseases were arranged, running from "gout" to "pulmonary +complaints," etc. + +"I gol! She cuts a wide swath, don't she?" exclaimed Uncle Ethan, +profoundly impressed with the list. + +"They ain't no better bitter in the world," said the agent with a +conclusive inflection. + +"What's its speshy-ality? Most of 'em have some speshy-ality." + +"Well-summer complaints-an'-an'-spring an' fall troubles-tones ye +up, sort of." + +Uncle Ethan's forgotten pan was empty of his gathered bugs. He +was deeply interested in this man. There was something he liked +about him. + +"What does it sell fur?" he asked after a pause. + +"Same price as them cheap medicines-dollar a bottle-big bottles, +too. Want one?" + +"Wal, mother ain't to home, an' I don't know as she'd like this kind. +We ain't been sick fr years. Still, they's no tellln'," he added, +seeing the answer to his objection in the agent's eyes. "Times is +purty close too, with us, y' see;; we've just built that stable-" + +'Say I'll tell yeh what I'll do," said the stranger, waking up and +speaking in a warnily generous tone. "I'll give you ten bottles of the +bitter if you'll let me paint a sign on that barn. It won't hurt the +barn a bit, and if you want 'o you can paint it Out a year from date. +Come, what d'ye say?" + +"I guess I hadn't better." + +The agent thought that Uncle Ethan was after more pay, but in +reality he was thinking of what his little old wife would say. + +"It simply puts a family bitter in your home that may save you fifty +dollars this comin' fall. You can't tell." + +Just what the man said after that Uncle Ethan didn't follow. His +voice had a confidential purring sound as he stretched across the +wagon seat and talked on, eyes half shut. He straightened up at last +and concluded in the tone of one who has carried his point: + +"So! If you didn't want to use the whole twenty five bottles y'rself, +why! sell it to your neighbors. You can get twenty dollars out of it +easy, and still have five bottles of the best family bitter that ever +went into a bottle." + +It was the thought of this opportunity to get a buffalo skin coat that +consoled Uncle Ethan as he saw the hideous black letters +appearing under the agent's lazy brush. + +It was the hot side of the barn, and painting was no light work. The +agent was forced to mop his forehead with his sleeve. + +"Say, hain't got a cookie or anything, and a cup o' milk, handy?" he +said at the end of the first enormous word, which ran the whole +length of the barn. + +Uncle Ethan got him the milk and oookie, which he ate with an +exaggeratedly dainty action of his fingers, seated meanwhile on the +staging which Uncle Ripley had helped him to build. This lunch +infused new energy into him, and in a short time "DODD'S +FAMILY BITTERS, Best in the Market," disfigured the +sweet-smelling pine boards. + +Ethan was eating his self-obtained supper of bread and milk when +his wife came home. + +"Who's been a-paintin' on that barn?" she demanded, her beadlike +eyes flashing, her withered little face set in an ominous frown. +"Ethan Ripley, what you been doin'?" + +"Nawthin'," he replied feebly. + +"Who painted that sign on there?" + +"A man come along an' he wanted to paint that on there, and I let +'im; and it's my barn anyway. I guess I can do what I'm a min' to +with it," he ended defiantly; but his eyes wavered. + +Mrs. Ripley ignored the defiance. "What under the sun p'sessed +you to do such a thing as that, Ethan Ripley? I declare I don't see! +You git fooler an' fooler cv'ry day you live, I do believe." + +Uncle Ethan attempted a defense. + +"Wal, he paid me twenty-five dollars f'r it, anyway." + +"Did 'e?" She was visibly affected by this news. + +"Wal, anyhow, it amounts to that; he give me twenty-five bottles-" + +Mrs. Ripley sank back in her chair. "Wal, I swan to Bungay! Ethan +Ripley-wal, you beat all I ever see!" she added in despair of +expression. "I thought you had some sense left; but you hain't, not +one blessed scimpton. Where is the stuff?" + +"Down cellar, an' you needn't take on no airs, ol' woman. I've +known you to buy things you didn't need time an' time an' agin-tins +an' things, an' I guess you wish you had back that ten dollars you +paid for that illustrated Bible," + +"Go 'long an' bring that stuff up here. I never see such a man in my +life. It's a wonder he didn't do it f'r two bottles." She glared out at +the 'sign, which faced directly upon the kitchen window. + +Uncle Ethan tugged the two cases up and set them down on the +floor of the kitchen. Mrs. Ripley opened a bottle and smelled of it +like a cautious cat. + +"Ugh! Merciful sakes, what stuff! It ain't fit f'r a hog to take. +What'd you think you was goin' to do with it?" she asked in +poignant disgust. + +"I expected to take it-if I was sick. Whaddy ye s'pose?" He +defiantly stood his ground, towering above her like a leaning +tower. + +"The hull cartload of it?" + +"No. I'm goin' to sell part of it an' git me an overcoat-" + +"Sell it!" she shouted. "Nobuddy'il buy that sick'nin' stuff but an +old numskull like you. Take that slop out o' the house this 'minute! +Take it right down to the sinkhole an' smash every bottle on the +stones." + +Uncle Ethan and the cases of medicine disappeared, and the old +woman addressed her concluding remarks to little Tewksbury, her +grandson, who stood timidly on one leg in the doorway, like an +intruding pullet. + +"Everything around this place 'ud go to rack an' ruin if I didn't +keep a watch on that soft-pated old dummy. I thought that +lightnin'-rod man had glve him a lesson he'd remember; but no, he +must go an' make a reg'lar-" + +She subsided in a tumult of banging pans, which helped her out in +the matter of expression and reduced her to a grim sort of quiet. +Uncle Ethan went about the house like a convict on shipboard. +Once she caught him looking out of the window. + +"I should think you'd feel proud o' that." + +Uncle Ethan had never been sick a day in his life. He was bent and +bruised with never-ending toil, but he had nothing especial the +matter with him. + +He did not smash the medicine, as Mrs. Ripley commanded, +because he had determined to sell it. The next Sunday morning, +after his chores were done, he put on his best coat of faded +diagonal, and was brushing his hair into a ridge across the center +of his high, narrow head when Mrs. Ripley carne in from feeding +the calves. + +"Where you goin' now?" + +"None o' your business," he replied. "It's darn funny if I can't stir +without you wantin' to know all about it. Where's Tukey?" + +"Feedin' the chickens. You ain't goin' to take him off this mornin' +now! I don't care where you go." + +"Who's a-goin' to take him off? I ain't said nothin' about takin' him +off." + +"Wal, take y'rseif off, an' if y' ain't here f'r dinner, I ain't goin' to get +no supper." + +Ripley took a water pail, and put four bottles of "the bitter mto it, +and trudged away up the road with it in a pleasant glow of hope. +All nature seemed to declare the day a time of rest and invited men +to disassoeiate ideas of toil from the rustling green wheat, shining +grass, and tossing blooms. Something of the sweetness and +buoyancy of all nature permeated the old man's work-calloused +body, and he whistled little snatches of the dance tunes he +played on his fiddle. + +But he found neighbor Johnson to be supplied with another variety +of bitter, which was all he needed for the present. He qualified his +refusal to buy with a cordial invitation to go out and see his shoats, +in which he took infinite pride. But Uncle Ripley said: "I guess I'll +haf t' be gom'; I want 'o git up to Jennings' before dimier." + +He couldn't help feeling a little depressed when he found Jennings +away. The next house along the pleasant lane was inhabited by a +"newcomer." He was sitting on the horse trough, holding a horse's +halter, while his hired man dashed cold water upon the galled spot +on the animal's shoulder. + +After some preliminary talk Ripley presented his medicine. + +"Hell, no! What do I want of such stuff? When they's anything the +matter with me, I take a lunkin' ol' swig of popple bark and +bourbon! That fixes me." + +Uncle Ethan moved off up the lane. He hardly felt like whistling +now. At the next house he set his pail down in the weeds beside +the fence and went in without it. Doudney came to the door in his +bare feet, buttoning his suspenders over a clean boiled shirt. He +was dressing to go out. + +"Hello, Ripley. I was just goin' down your way. Jest wait a minute, +an' I'll be out." + +When he came out, fully dressed, Uncle Ethan grappled him. + +"Say, what d' you think o' paytent med-" + +"Some of 'em are boss. But y' want 'o know what y're gittin'." + +"What d' ye think o, Dodd's-" + +"Best in the market." + +Uncle Ethan straightened up and his face lighted. Doudney went +on: + +"Yes, sir; best bitter that ever went into a bottle. I know, I've tried +it. I don't go much on patent medicines, but when I get a good-" + +"Don't want 'o buy a bottle?" + +Doudney turned and faced him. + +"Buy! No. I've got nineteen bottles I want 'o sell" Ripley glanced +up at Doudney's new granary and there read "Dodd's Family +Bitters." He was stricken dumb. Doudney saw it all and roared. + +"Wal, that's a good one! We two tryin' to sell each other bitters. +Ho-ho-ho-har, whoop! wal, this is rich! How many bottles did you +git?" + +"None o' your business," said Uncle Ethan as he turned and made +off, while Doudney screamed with merriment. + +On his way home Uncle Ethan grew ashamed of his burden. +Doudney had canvassed the whole neighborhood, and he +practically gave up the struggle. Everybody he met seemed +determined to find out what he had been doing, and at last he +began lying about it. + +"Hello, Uncle Ripley, what y' got there in that pail?" + +"Goose eggs fr settin'." + +He disposed of one bottle to old Gus Peterson. Gus never paid his +debts, and he would oniy promise fifty cents "on tick" for the +bottle, and yet so desperate was Ripley that this questionable sale +cheered him up not a little. + +As he came down the road, tired, dusty, and hungry, he climbed +over the fence in order to avoid seeing that sign on the barn and +slunk into the house without looking back. + +He couldn't have felt meaner about it if he had allowed a +Democratic poster to be pasted there. + +The evening passed in grim silence, and in sleep he saw that sign +wriggling across the side of the barn like boa constrictors hung on +rails. He tried to paint them out, but every time he tried it the man +seemed to come back with a sheriff and savagely warned him to let +it stay till the year was up. In some mysterious way the agent +seemed to know every time he brought out the paint pot, and he +was no longer the pleasant-voiced individual who drove the calico +ponies. + +As he stepped out into the yard next morning that abominable, +sickening, scrawling advertisement was the first thing that claimed +his glance-it blotted out the beauty of the morning. + +Mrs. Ripley came to the window, buttoning her dress at the throat, +a wisp of her hair sticking assertively from the little knob at the +back of her head. + +"Lovely, ain't it! An' J've got to see it all day long. I can't look out +the winder, but that thing's right in my face." It seemed to make +her savage. She hadn't been in such a temper since her visit to New +York. "I hope you feel satisfied with it." + +Ripley walked off to the barn. His pride in its clean sweet newness +was gone. He slyly tried the paint to see if it couldn't be scraped +off, but it was dried in thoroughly. Whereas before he had taken +delight in having his neighbors turn and look at the building, now +he kept out of sight whenever he saw a team coming. He hoed corn +away in the back of the field, when he should have been bugging +potatoes by the roadside. + +Mrs. Ripley was in a frightful mood about it, but she held herself +in check for several days. At last she burst forth: + +"Ethan Ripley, I can't stand that thing any longer, and I ain't goin' +to, that's all! You've got to go and paint that thing out, or I will. I'm +just about crazy with it." + +"But, Mother, I promised-" + +"I don't care what you promised, it's got to be painted out. I've got +the nightmare now, seein' it. I'm goin' to send for a pail o' red paint, +and I'm goin' to paint that out if it takes the last breath I've got to +do it." + +"I'll tend to it, Mother, if you won't hurry me-" + +"I can't stand it another day. It makes me boil every time I look out +the winder." + +Uncle Ethan hitched up his team and drove gloomily off to town, +where he tried to find the agent. He lived in some other part of the +county, however, and so the old man gave up and bought a pot of +red paint, not daring to go back to his desperate wife without it. + +"Goin' to paint y'r new barn?" inquired the merchant with friendly +interest. + +Uncle Ethan turned with guilty sharpness; but the merchant's face +was grave and kindly. + +"Yes, I thought I'd tech it up a little-don't cost much." + +"It pays-always," the merchant said emphatically. + +"Will it-stick jest as well put on evenings?" inquired Uncle Ethan +hesitatingly. + +"Yes-won't make any difference. Why? Ain't goin' to have-" + +"Wal-I kind o' thought I'd do it odd times night an' mornin'-kind o' +odd times---" + +He seemed oddly confused about it, and the merchant looked after +him anxiously as he drove away. + +After supper that night he went out to the barn, and Mrs. Ripley +heard him sawing and hammering. Then the noise ceased, and he +came in and sat down in his usual place. + +"What y' be'n makin'?" she inquired. Tewksbury had gone to bed. +She sat darning a stocking. + +"I jest thought I'd git the stagin' ready f'r paintin'," he said +evasively. + +"Wal! I'll be glad when it's covered up." When she got ready for +bed, he was still seated in his chair, and after she had dozed off +two or three times she began to wonder why he didn't come When +the clock struck ten, and she realized that he had not stirred, she +began to get impatient. "Come, are y' goin' to sit there all night?" +There was no reply. She rose up in bed and looked about the +room. The broad moon flooded it with light, so that she could see +he was not asleep in his chair, as she had supposed. There was +something ominous in his disappearance. + +"Ethan! Ethan Ripley, where are yeh?" There was no reply to her +sharp call. She rose and distractedly looked about among the +furniture, as if he inight somehow be a cat and be hiding in a +corner somewhere. Then she went upstairs where the boy slept, her +hard little heels making a curious tunking noise on the bare boards. +The moon fell across the sleeping hoy like a robe of silver. He was +alone. + +She began to be alarmed. Her eyes widened in fear. An sorts of +vague horrors sprang unbidden into her brain. She still had the +mist of sleep in her brain. + +She hurried down the stairs and out into the fragrant night. The +katydids were singing in infinite peace under the solemn splendor +of the moon. The cattle sniffed and sighed, jangling their bells now +and then, and the chickens in the coop stirred uneasily as if +overheated. The old woman stood there in her bare feet and long +nightgown, horror-stricken. The ghastly story of a man who had +hung himseif in his barn because his wife deserted him came into +her mind and stayed there with frightful persistency. Her throat +filled chokingly. + +She felt a wild rush of loneliness. She had a sudden realization of +how dear that gaunt old figure was, with its grizzled face and ready +smile. Her breath came quick and quicker, and she was at the point +of bursting into a wild cry to Tewksbury when she heard a strange +noise. It came from the barn, a creaking noise. She looked that way +and saw in the shadowed side a deeper shadow moving to and fro. +A revulsion to astonishment and anger took place in her. + +"Land o' Bungay! If he ain't paintin' that barn, like a perfect old +idiot, in the night." + +Uncle Ethan, working desperately, did not hear her feet pattering +down the path, and was startled by her shrill voice. + +"Well, Ethan Ripley, whaddy y' think you're doin' now?" + +He made two or three slapping passes with the brush and then +snapped out, "I'm a-paintin' this barn-whaddy ye s'pose? II ye had +eyes y' wouldn't ask." + +"Well, you come right straight to bed. What d'you mean by actin' +so?" + +"You go back into the house an' let me be. I know what I'm a-doin'. +You've pestered me about this sign jest about enough." He dabbed +his brush to and fro as he spoke. His gaunt figure towered above +her in shadow. His slapping brush had a vicious sound. + +Neither spoke for some time. At length she said more gently, "Ain't +you comin' in?" + +"No-not till I get a-ready. You go 'long an' tend to y'r own business. +Don't stan' there an' ketch cold." + +She moved off slowly toward the house. His shout subdued her. +Working alone out there had rendered him savage; he was not to +be pushed any further. She knew by the tone of his voice that he +must now be respected. + +She slipped on her shoes and a shawl, and came back where he +was working, and took a seat on a sawhorse. + +"I'm goin' to set right here till you come in, Ethan Ripley," she said +in a firm voice, but gentler than usual. + +"Wal, you'll set a good while," was his ungracious reply, but each +felt a furtive tenderness for the other. He worked on in silence. The +boards creaked heavily as he walked to and fro, and the slapping +sound of the paint brush sounded loud in the sweet harmony of +the night. The majestic moon swung slowly round the corner of the +barn and fell upon the old man's grizzled head and bent shoulders. +The horses inside could be heard stamping the mosquitoes away +and chewing their hay in pleasant chorus. + +The little figure seated on the sawhorse drew the shawl closer +ahout her thin shoulders. Her eyes were in shadow, and her hands +were wrapped in her shawl. At last she spoke in a curious tone. + +"Wal, I don't know as you was so very much to blame. I didn't want +that Bible myself-I hold out I did, but I didn't." + +Ethan worked on until the full meaning of this unprecedented +surrender penetrated his head, and then he threw down his brush. + +"Wal, I guess I'll let 'er go at that. I'ye covered up the most of it, +anyhow. Guess we better go in." + +GOD'S RAVENS + +I + +CHICAGO has three winds that blow upon it. One comes from the +East, and the mind goes out to the cold gray-blue lake. One from +the North, and men think of illimitable spaces of pinelands and +maple-clad ridges which lead to the unknown deeps of the arctic +woods. + +But the third is the West of Southwest wind, dry, magnetic, full of +smell of unmeasured miles of growing grain in summer, or +ripening corn and wheat in autumn. When it comes in winter the +air glitters with incredible brilliancy. The snow of the country +dazzles and flames in the eyes; deep blue shadows everywhere +stream like stains of ink. Sleigh bells wrangle from early morning +till late at night, and every step is quick and alert. In the city, +smoke dims its clarity, but it is welcome. + +But its greatest moment of domination is spring. The bitter gray +wind of the East has held unchecked rule for days, giving place to +its brother the North wind only at intervals, till some day in March +the wind of the southwest begins to blow. Then the eaves begin to +drip. Here and there a fowl (in a house that is really a prison) +begins to sang the song it sang on the farm, and toward noon its +song becomes a chant of articulate joy. + +Then the poor crawl out of their reeking hovels on the South and +West sides to stand in the sun-the blessed sun-and felicitate +themselves on being alive. Windows of sickrooms are opened, the +merry small boy goes to school without his tippet, and men lay off +their long ulsters for their beaver coats. Caps give place to hats, +and men women pause to chat when they meet each other the +street. The open door is the sign of the great change of wind. + +There are imaginative souls who are stirred yet deeper by this +wind-men like Robert Bloom, to whom come vague and very +sweet reminiscences of farm life when the snow is melting and the +dry ground begins to appear. To these people the wind comes from +the wide unending spaces of the prairie West. They can smell the +strange thrilling odor of newly uncovered sod and moist brown +plowed lands. To them it is like the opening door of a prison. + +Robert had crawled downtown and up to his office high in the Star +block after a month's sickness. He had resolutely pulled a pad of +paper under his hand to write, but the window was open and that +wind coming in, and he could not write-he could only dream. + +His brown hair fell over the thin white hand which propped his +head. His face was like ivory with dull yellowish stains in it. His +eyes did not see the mountainous roofs humped and piled into vast +masses of brick and stone, crossed and riven by streets, and swept +by masses of gray-white vapor; they saw a little valley circled by +low-wooded bluffs-his native town in Wisconsin. + +As his weakness grew his ambition fell away, and his heart turned +back to nature and to the things he had known in his youth, to the +kindly people of the olden time. It did not occur to him that the +spirit of the country might have changed. + +Sitting thus, he had a mighty longing come upon him to give up +the struggle, to go back to the simplest life with his wife and two +boys. Why should he tread in the mill, when every day was taking +the lifeblood out of his heart? + +Slowly his longing took resolution. At last he drew his desk down, +and as the lock clicked it seemed like the shutting of a prison gate +behind him. + +At the elevator door he met a fellow editor. "Hello, Bloom! Didn't +know you were down today." + +"I'm only trying it. I'm going to take a vacation for a while." + +"That's right, man. You look like a ghost." + +"He hadn't the courage to tell him he never expected to work there +again. His step on the way home was firmer than it had been for +weeks. In his white face his wife saw some subtle change. + +"What is it, Robert?" + +"Mate, let's give it up." + +"What do you mean?" + +"The struggle is too hard. I can't stand it. I'm hungry for the country +again. Let's get out of this." + +"Where'll we go?" + +"Back to my native town-up among the Wisconsin hills and +coulees. Go anywhere, so that we escape this pressure-it's killing +me. Let's go to Bluff Siding for a year. It will do me good-may +bring me back to life. I can do enough special work to pay our +grocery bill; and the Merrill place-so Jack tells me-is empty. We +can get it for seventy-five dollars for a year. We can pull through +some way." + +"Very well, Robert." + +"I must have rest. All the bounce has gone out of me, Mate," he +said with sad lines in his face. "Any extra work here is out of the +question. I can only shamble around-an excuse for a man." + +The wife had ceased to smile. Her strenuous cheerfulness could +not hold before his tragically drawn and bloodless face. + +"I'll go wherever you think best, Robert It will be just as well for +the boys. I suppose there is a school there?" + +"Oh, yes. At any rate, they can get a year's schooling in nature." + +"Well-no matter, Robert; you are the one to be considered." She +had the self-sacrfficing devotion of the average woman. She +fancied herself hopelessly his inferior. + +They had dwelt so long on the crumbling edge of poverty that they +were hardened to its threat, and yet the failure of Robert's health +had been of the sort which terrifies. It was a slow but steady +sinking of vital force. It had its ups and downs, but it was a +downward trail, always downward. The time for sell-deception had +passed. + +His paper paid him a meager salary, for his work was prized only +by the more thoughtful readers of the Star. + +In addition to his' regular work he occasionally hazarded a story +for the juvenile magazines of the East. In this way he turned the +antics of his growing boys to account, as he often said to his wife. + +He had also passed the preliminary stages of literary success by +getting a couple of stories accepted by an Eastern magazine, and +he still confidently looked forward to seeing them printed. + +His wife, a sturdy, practical little body, did her part in the bitter +struggle by keeping their little home one of the most attractive on +the West Side, the North Side being altogether too high for them. + +In addition, her sorely pressed brain sought out other ways of +helping. She wrote out all her husband's stories on the typewriter, +and secretly she had tried composing others herself, the results +being queer dry little chronicles of the doings of men and women, +strung together without a touch of literary grace. + +She proposed taking a large house and rerenting rooms, but Robert +would not hear to it. "As long as I can crawl about we'll leave that +to others." + +In the month of preparation which followed he talked a great deal +about their venture. + +"I want to get there," he said, "just when the leaves are coming out +on the trees. I want to see the cherry trees blossom on the hillside. +The popple trees always get green first." + +At other times he talked about the people. "It will be a rest just to +get back among people who aren't ready to tread on your head in +order to lift themselves up. I believe a year among those kind, +unhurried people will glve me all the material I'll need for years. +I'll write a series of studies somewhat like Jefferies'--or Barrie's--only, +of course, I'll be original. I'll just take his plan Of telling +about the people I meet and their queer ways, so quaint and good." + +"I'm tired of the scramble," he kept breaking out Of silence to say. +"I don't blame the boys, but it's plain to me they see that my going +will let them move up one. Mason cynically voiced the whole +thing today: 'I can say, "Sorry to see you go, Bloom," because your +going doesn't concern me. I'm not in line of succession, but some +of the other boys don't feel so. There's no divinity doth hedge an +editor; nothing but law prevents the murder of those above by +those below.'" + +"I don't like Mr. Mason when he talks like that," said the wife. + +"Well-I don't." He didn't tell her what Mason said when Robert +talked about the good simple life of the people in Bluff Siding: + +"Oh, bosh, Bloom! You'll find the struggle of the outside world +reflected in your little town. You'll find men and women just as +hard and selfish in their small way. It'll be harder to bear, because +it will all be so petty and pusillailmous." + +It was a lovely day in late April when they took the train out of the +great grimy terrible city. It was eight o'clock, but the streets were +muddy and wet, a cold East wind blowing off the lake. + +With clanging bell the train moved away, piercing the ragged gray +formless mob of houses and streets (through which railways +always run in a city). Men were hurrying to work, and Robert +pitied them, poor fellows, condemned to do that thing forever. + +In an hour they reached the prairies, already clothed upon faintly +with green grass and tender springing wheat. The purple-brown +squares reserved for the corn looked deliciously soft and warm to +the sick man, and he longed to set his bare feet into it. + +His boys were wild with delight. They had the natural love of the +earth still in them, and correspondingly cared little for the city. +They raced through the cars like colts. They saw everything. Every +blossoming plant, every budding tree, was precious to them all. + +All day they rode. Toward noon they left the sunny prairie land of +northern Illinois and southern Wisconsin, and entered upon the hill +land of Madison and beyond. As they went North, the season was +less advanced, but spring was in the fresh wind and the warm +sunshine. + +As evening drew on, the hylas began to peep from the pools, and +their chorus deepened as they came on toward Bluff Siding, which +seemed very small, very squalid, and uninteresting, but Robert +pointed at the circling wine-colored wall of hills and the warm +sunset sky. + +"We're in luck to find a hotel," said Robert. "They burn down every +three months." + +They were met by a middle-aged man and conducted across the +road to a hotel, which had been a roller-skating rink in other days, +and was not prepossessing. However, they were ushered into the +parlor, which resembled the sitting room of a rather ambitious +village home, and there they took seats, while the landlord +consulted about rooms. + +The wife's heart sank. From the window she could see several of +the low houses, and far off just the hills which seemed to make the +town so very small, very lonely. She was not given time to shed +tears. The children clamored for food, tired and cross. + +Robert went out into the office, where he sigued his name under +the close and silent scrutiny of a half dozen roughly clad men, who +sat leaning against the wall. They were merely workingmen to +him, but in Mrs. Bloom's eyes they were dangerous people. + +The landlord looked at the name as Robert wrote. "Your boxes are +all here," he said. + +Robert looked up at him in surprise. "What boxes?" + +"Your household goods. They came in on No.9." + +Robert recovered himself. He remembered this was a village +where everything that goes on-everything-is known. + +The stairway rose picturesquely out of the office to the low +second story, and wp these stairs they tramped to' their tiny rooms, +which were like cells. + +"Oh, Mamma, ain't it queer?" cried the boys. + +"Supper is all ready," the landlord's soft, deep voice aunounced a +few moments later, and the boys responded with whoops of +hunger. + +They were met by the close scrutiny of every boarder as they +entered, and they heard also the muttered cornments and +explanations. + +"Family to take the Merrill house." + +"He looks purty well fiaxed out, don't he?" + +They were agreeably surprised to find everything neat and clean +and wholesome. The bread was good and the butter delicious. +Their spirits revived. + +"That butter tastes like old times," said Robert. "li's fresh. It's really +butter." + +They made a hearty meal, and the boys, being filled up, grew +sleepy. After they were put to bed Robert said, "Now, Mate, let's +go see the house." + +They walked out arm in arm like lovers. Her sturdy form steadied +him, though he would not have acknowledged it. The red flush was +not yet gone from the west, and the hills still kept a splendid tone +of purple-black. It was very clear, the stars were out, the wind +deliciously soft. "Isn't it still?" Robert aimost whispered. + +They walked on under the budding trees up the hill, till they came +at last to the small frame house set under tall maples and locust +trees, just showing a feathery fringe of foliage. + +"This is our home," said Robert. + +Mate leaned on the gate in silence. Frogs were peeping. The smell +of spring was in the air. There was a magnificent repose in the +hour, restful, recreating, impressive. + +"Oh, it's beautiful, Robert! I know we shall like it." + +"We must like it," he said. + +II + +First contact with the people disappointed Robert. In the work of +moving in he had to do with people who work at day's work, and +the fault was his more than theirs. He forgot that they did not +consider their work degrading. They resented his bossing. The +drayman grew rebellious. + +"Look a-here, my Christian friend, if you'll go 'long in the house +and let us alone it'll be a good job. We know what we're about." + +This was not pleasant, and he did not perceive the trouble. In the +same way he got foul of the carpenter and the man who plowed his +garden. Some way his tone was not right. His voice was cold and +distant. He generally found that the men knew better than he +what was to be done and how to do it; and sometimes he felt like +apologizing, but their attitude had changed till apology was +impossible. + +He had repelled their friendly advances because he considered +them (without meaning to do so) as workmen, and not as +neighbors. They reported, therefore, that he was cranky and rode a +high horse. + +"He thinks he's a little tin god on wheels," the drayman said. + +"Oh, he'll get over that," said McLane. "I knew the boy's folks +years ago-tip-top folks, too. He ain't well, and that makes him a +little crusty." + +"That's the trouble-he thinks he's an upper crust," said Jim Cullen, +the drayman. + +At the end of ten days they were settled, and nothing remained to +do but plan a little garden and-get well. The boys, with their +unspoiled natures, were able to melt into the ranks of the +village-boy life at once, with no more friction than was indicated +by a couple of rough-and-tumble fights. They were sturdy fellows, +like their mother, and these fights gave them high rank. + +Robert got along in a dull, smooth way with his neighbors. He was +too formal with them. He met them only at the meat shop and the +post office. They nodded genially and said, "Got settled yet?" And +he replied, "Quite comfortable, thank you." They felt his coldness. +Conversation halted when he came near and made him feel that he +was the subject of their talk. As a matter of fact, he generally was. +He was a source of great speculation with them. Some of them had +gone so far as to bet he wouldn't live a year. They all seemed +grotesque to him, so work-scarred and bent and hairy. Even the +men whose names he had known from childhood were queer to +him. They seemed shy and distant, too, not like his ideas of them. + +To Mate they were almost caricatures. "What makes them look +so-so 'way behind the times, Robert?" + +"Well, I suppose they are," said Robert. "Life in these coulees goes +on rather slower than in Chicago. Then there are a great many +Welsh and Germans and Norwegians living way up the coulees, +and they're the ones you notice. They're not all so." He could be +generous toward them in general; it was in special cases where he +failed to know them. + +They had been there nearly two weeks without meeting any of +them socially, and Robert was beginning to change his opinion +about them. "They let us severely alone," he was saying one night +to his wife. + +"It's very odd. I wonder what I'd better do, Robert. I don't know the +etiquette of these small towns. I never lived in one before, you +know. Whether I ought to call first-and, good gracious, who'll I call +on? I'm in the dark." + +"So am I, to tell the truth. I haven't lived in one of these small +towns since I was a lad. I have a faint recollection that +introductions were absolutely necessary. They have an etiquette +which is as binding as that of McAilister's Four Hundred, but what +it is I don't know." + +"Well, we'll wait." + +"The boys are perfectly at home," said Robert with a little +emphasis on boys, which was the first indication of his +disappointment. The people he had failed to reach. + +There came a knock on the door that startled them both. "Come +in," said Robert in a nervous shout. + +"Land sakes! did I scare ye? Seem so, way ye yelled," said a +high-keyed nasal voice, and a tall woman came in, followed by an +equally stalwart man. + +"How d'e do, Mrs. Folsom? My wife, Mr. Folsom." + +Folsom's voice was lost in the bustle of getting settled, but Mrs. +Folsom's voice rose above the clamor. "I was tellin' him it was +about time we got neighborly. I never let anybody come to town a +week without callin' on 'em. It does a body a heap o' good to see a +face outside the family once in a while, specially in a new place. +How do you like up here on the hill?" + +"Very much. The view is so fine." + +"Yes, I s'pose it is. Still, it ain't my notion. I don't like to climb +hills well enough. Still, I've heard of people buildin' just for the +view. It's all in taste, as the old woman said that kissed the cow." + +There was an element of shrewdness and sell-analysis in Mrs. +Folsom which saved her from being grotesque. She knew she was +queer to Mrs. Bloom, but she did not resent it. She was still young +in form and face, but her teeth were gone, and, like so many of her +neighbors, she was too poor to replace them from the dentist's. She +wore a decent calico dress and a shawl and hat. + +As she talked her eyes took in every article of furniture in the +room, and every little piece of fancywork and bric-a-brac. In fact, +she reproduced the pattern of one of the tidies within two days. + +Folsom sat dumbly in his chair. Robert, who met him now as a +neighbor for the first time, tried to talk with him, but failed, and +turned himself gladly to Mrs. Folsom, who delighted him with her +vigorous phrases. + +"Oh, we're a-movin', though you wouldn't think it. This town is +filled with a lot of old skinflints. Close ain't no name for 'em. Jest +ask Folsom thar about 'em. He's been buildin' their houses for 'em. +Still, I suppose they say the same thing o' me," she added with a +touch of humor which always saved her. She used a man's phrases. +"We're always ready to tax some other feller, but we kick like +mules when the tax falls on us," she went on. "My land! the fight +we've had to git sidewalks in this town!" + +"You should be mayor." + +"That's what I tell Folsom. Takes a woman to clean things up. +Well, I must run along. Thought I'd jest call in and see how you all +was. Come down when ye kin." + +"Thank you, I will." + +After they had gone Robert turned with a smile: "Our first formal +call." + +"Oh, dear, Robert, what can I do with such people?" + +"Go see 'em. I like her. She's shrewd. You'll like her, too." + +"But what can I say to such people? Did you hear her say 'we +fellers' to me?" + +Robert laughed. "That's nothing. She feels as much of a man, or +'feller,' as anyone. Why shouldn't she?" + +"But she's so vulgar." + +"I admit she isn't elegant, but I think she's a good wife and +mother." + +"I wonder if they're all like that?" + +"Now, Mate, we must try not to offend them. We must try to be +one of them." + +But this was easier said than done. As he went down to the post +office and stood waiting for his mail like the rest, he tried to enter +into conversation witb them, but mainly they moved away from +him. William McTurg nodded at him and said, "How de do?" and +McLane asked how he liked his new place, and that was about all. + +He couldn't reach them. They suspected him. They had only the +estimate of the men who had worked for him; and, while they were +civil, they plainly didn't need him in the slightest degree, except as +a topic of conversation. + +He did not improve as he had hoped to do. The spring was wet and +cold, the most rainy and depressing the valley had seen in many +years. Day after day the rain clouds sailed in over the northern hills +and deluged the flat little town with water, till the frogs sang in +every street, till the main street mired down every team that drove +into it. + +The corn rotted in the earth, but the grass grew tall and +yellow-green, the trees glistened through the gray air, and the hills +were like green jewels of incalculable worth, when the sun shone, +at sweet infrequent intervals. + +The cold and damp struck through into the alien's heart. It seemed +to prophesy his dark future. He sat at his desk and looked out into +the gray rain with gloomy eyes-a prisoner when he had expected to +be free. + +He had failed in his last venture. He had not gained any power-he +was reaily weaker than ever. The rain had kept him confined to the +house. The joy he had anticipated of tracing out all his boyish +pleasure haunts was cut off. He had relied, too, upon that as a +source of literary power. + +He could not do much more than walk down to the post office and +back on the pleasantest days. A few people called, but he could +not talk to them, and they did not call again. + +In the meanwhile his little bank account was vanishing. The boys +were strong and happy; that was his only comfort. And his wife +seemed strong, too. She had little time to get lonesome. + +He grew morbid. His weakness and insecurity made him jealous of +the security and health of others. + +He grew almost to hate the people as he saw them coming and +going in the mud, or heard their loud hearty voices sounding from +the street. He hated their gossip, their dull jokes. The flat little +town grew vulgar and low and desolate to him. + +Every little thing which had amused him now annoyed him. The +cut of their beards worried him. Their voices jarred upon him. +Every day or two he broke forth to his wife in long tirades of +abuse. + +"Oh, I can't stand these people! They don't know any-thing. They +talk every rag of gossip into shreds. Taters, fish, hops; hops, fish, +and taters. They've saved and pinched and toiled till their souls are +pinched and ground away. You're right. They are caricatures. They +don't read or think about anything in which I'm interested. This life +is nerve-destroying. Talk about the health of the village life! it +destroys body and soul. It debilitates me. It will warp us both down +to the level of these people." + +She tried to stop him, but he went on, a flush of fever on his cheek: + +"They degrade the nature they have touched. Their squat little +town is a caricature like themselves. Everything they touch they +belittle. Here they sit while side-walks rot and teams mire in the +streets." + +He raged on like one demented-bitter, accusing, rebellious. In such +a mood he could not write. In place of inspiring him, the little +town and its people seemed to undermine his power and turn his +sweetness of spirit into gall and acid. He only bowed to them now +as he walked feebly among them, and they excused it by referring +to his sickness. They eyed him each time with pitying eyes; "He's +failin' fast," they said among themselves. + +One day, as he was returning from the post office, he felt blind for +a moment and put his hand to his head. The wold of vivid green +grew gray, and life rceded from him into illimitable distance. He +had one dim fading glimpse of a shaggy-bearded face looking +down at him, and felt the clutch of an iron-hard strong arm under +him, and then he lost hold even on so much consciousness. + +He came back slowly, rising out of immeasurable deeps toward a +distant light which was like the mouth of a well filled with clouds +of misty vapor. Occasionally he saw a brown big hairy face +floating in over this lighted horizon, to smile kindly and go away +again. Others came with shaggy beards. He heard a cheery tenor +voice which he recognized, and then another face, a big brown +smiling face; very lovely it looked now to him-almost as lovely as +his wife's, which floated in from the other side. + +"He's all right now," said the cheery tenor voice from the big +bearded face. + +"Oh, Mr. McTurg; do you think so?" + +"Ye-e-s, sir. He's all right. The fever's left him. Brace up, old man. +We need ye yit awhile." Then all was silent agam. + +The well mouth cleared away its mist again, and he saw more +clearly. Part of the time he knew he was in bed staring at the +ceiling. Part of the time the well mouth remained closed in with +clouds. + +Gaunt old women put spoons of delicious broth to his lips, and +their toothless mouths had kindly lines about them. He heard their +high voices sounding faintly. + +"Now, Mis' Bloom, jest let Mis' Folsom an' me attend to things out +here. We'll get supper for the boys, an' you jest go an' lay down. +We'll take care of him. Don't worry. Bell's a good hand with sick." + +Then the light came again, and he heard a robin singing, and a +catbird squalled softly, pitifully. He could see the ceiling again. He +lay on his back, with his hands on his breast. He felt as if he had +been dead. He seemed to feel his body as if it were an alien thing. + +"How are you, sir?" called the laughing, thrillingly hearty voice of +William McTurg. + +He tried to turn his head, but it wouldn't move. He tried to speak, +but his dry throat made no noise. + +The big man bent over him. "Want 'o change place a little?" + +He closed his eyes in answer. + +A giant arm ran deftly under his shoulders and turned him as if he +were an infant, and a new part of the good old world burst on his +sight. The sunshine streamed in the windows through a waving +screen of lilac leaves and fell upon the carpet in a priceless flood +of radiance. + +There sat William McTurg smiling at him. He had no coat on and +no hat, and his bushy thick hair rose up from his forehead like +thick marsh grass. He looked to be the embodiment of sunshine +and health. Sun and air were in his brown face, and the perfect +health of a fine animal was in his huge limbs. He looked at Robert +with a smile that brought a strange feeling into his throat. It made +him try to speak; at last he whispered. + +The great figure bent closer: "What is it?" + +"Thank-you." + +William laughed a low chuckle. "Don't bother about thanks. Would +you like some water?" + +A tall figure joined William, awkwardiy. + +"Hello, Evan!" + +"How is he, Bm?" + +"He's awake today." + +"That's good. Anything I can do?" + +"No, I guess not. An he needs is somethin' to eat." + +"I jest brought a chicken up, an' some jell an' things the women +sent. I'll stay with him till twelve, then Folsom will come in." + +Thereafter he lay hearing the robins laugh and the orioles whistle, +and then the frogs and katydids at night. These men with greasy +vests and unkempt beards came in every day. They bathed him, +and helped him to and from the bed. They helped to dress him and +move him to the window, where he could look out on the blessed +green of the grass. + +O God, it was so beautiful! It was a lover's joy only to live, to look +into these radiant vistas again. A catbird was singing in the currant +hedge. A robin was hopping across the lawn. The voices of the +children sounded soft and jocund across the road. And the +surshine-"Beloved Christ, Thy sunshine falling upon my feet!" His +soul ached with the joy of it, and when his wife came in she found +him sobbing like a child. + +They seemed never to weary in his service. They lifted him about +and talked to him in loud and hearty voices which roused him like +fresh winds from free spaces. + +He heard the women busy with things in the kitchen. He often saw +them loaded with things to eat passing his window, and often his +wife came in and knelt down at his bed. + +"Oh, Robert, they're so good! They feed us like Gods ravens." + +One day, as he sat at the window fully dressed for the fourth of +fifth time, William McTurg came up the walk. + +"Well, Robert, how are ye today?" + +"First-rate, William," he smiled. "I believe I can walk out a little if +you'll help me." + +"All right, sir." + +And he went forth leaning on William's arm, a piteous wraith of a +man. + +On every side the golden June sunshine fell, filling the valley from +purple brim to purple brim. Down over the hill to the west the light +poured, tangled and glowing in the plum and cherry trees, leaving +the glistening grass spraying through the elms and flinging +streamers of pink across the shaven green slopes where the cattle +fed. + +On every side he saw kindly faces and heard hearty voices: "Good +day, Robert. Glad to see you out again." It thrilled him to hear +them call him by his first name. + +His heart swelled till he could hardly breathe. The passion of +living came back upon him, shaking, uplifting him. His pallid lips +moved. His face was turned to the sky. + +"O God, let me live! It is so beautiful! O God, give me strength +again! Keep me in the light of the sun! Let me see the green grass +come and go!" + +He turned to William with trembling lips, trying to speak: + +"Oh, I understand you now. I know you all now." + +But William did not understand him. + +"There! there!" he said soothingly. "I guess you're gettin' tired." He +led Robert back and put him to bed. + +"I'd know but we was a little brash about goin' out," William said +to him as Robert lay there smiling up at him. + +"Oh, I'm all right now," the sick man said. + +"Matie," the alien cried, when William had gone, "we knew our +neighbors now, don't we? We never can hate or ridicule them +again." + +"Yes, Robert. They never will be caricatures again-to me." + +A"GOOD FELLOW'S" WIFE + +I + +LIFE in the small towns of the older West moves slowly-almost as +slowly as in the seaport villages or little towns of the East. Towns +like Tyre and Bluff Siding have grown during the last twenty years, +but very slowly, by almost imperceptible degrees. Lying too far +away from the Mississippi to be affected by the lumber interest, +they are merely trading points for the farmers, with no perceivable +germs of boom in their quiet life. + +A stranger coming into Belfast, Minnesota, excites much the same +lanquid but persistent inquiry as in Belfast, New Hampshire. Juries +of men, seated on salt barrels and nall kegs, discuss the stranger's +appearance and his probable action, just as in Kittery, Maine, but +with a lazier speech tune and with a shade less of apparent interest. + +On such a rainy day as comes in May after the corn is planted-a +cold, wet rainy day-the usual crowd was gathered in Wilson's +grocery store at Bluff Siding, a small town in the "coulee country." +They were farmers, for the most part, retired from active service. +Their coats were of cheap diagonal or cassimere, much faded and +burned by the sun; their hats, flapped about by winds and soaked +with countless rains, were also of the same yellow-brown tints. +One or two wore paper collars on their hickory shirts. + +McIlvaine, farmer and wheat buyer, wore a paper collar and a +butterfly necktie, as befitted a man of his station in life. He was a +short, squarely made Scotchman, with sandy whiskers much +grayed and with a keen, in-tensely blue eye. + +"Say," called McPhail, ex-sheriff of the county, in the silence that +followed some remark about the rain, "any o' you fellers had any +talk with this feller Sanford?" + +"I hain't," said Vance. "You, Bill?" + +"No; but somebody was sayin' he thought o' startin' in trade here." + +"Don't Sam know? He generally knows what's goin' on.', + +"Knows he registered from Pittsfield, Mass., an' that's all. Say, +that's a mighty smart-lookin' woman o' his." + +"Vance always sees how the women look, Where'd you see her?" + +"Came in here the other day to look up prices." + +"Wha'd she say 'bout settlin'?" + +"Hadn't decided yet." + +"He's too slick to have much business in him. That waxed +mustache gives 'im away." + +The discussion having reached that point where his word would +have most effect, Steve Gilbert said, while opening the hearth to +rap out the ashes of his pipe, "Sam's wife heerd that he was kind o' +thinkin' some of goin' into business here, if things suited 'im +first-rate." + +They all knew the old man was aching to tell something, but they +didn't purpose to gratify him by any questions. The rain dripped +from the awning in front and fell upon the roof of the storeroom at +the back with a soft and steady roar. + +"Good f'r the corn," MePhail said after a long pause. + +"Purty cold, though." + +Gilbert was tranquil-he had a shot in reserve. "Sam's wife said his +wife said he was thinkin' some of goin' into a bank here-" + +"A bank!" + +"What in thunder-" + +Vance turned, with a comical look on his long, placid face, one +hand stroking his beard. + +"Well, now, gents, I'll tell you what's the matter with this town. It +needs a bank. Yes, sir! I need a bank." + +"You?" + +"Yes, me. I didn't know just what did ail me, but I do how. It's the +need of a bank that keeps me down." + +"Well, you fellers can talk an' laugh, but I tell yeb they's a boom +goin' to strike this town. It's got to come.. W'y, just look at +Lumberville!" + +"Their boom is our bust," was McPhail's comment. + +"I don't think so," said Sanford, who had entered in time to hear +these last two speeches. They all looked at him with deep interest. +He was a smallish man. He wore a derby hat and a neat suit. "I've +looked things over pretty close-a man don't like to invest his +capital" (here the rest looked at one another) "till he does; and I +believe there's an opening for a bank." + +As he dwelt upon the scheme from day to day, the citizens, +warmed to him, and he became "Jim" Sanford. He hired a little +cottage and went to housekeeping at once; but the entire summer +went by before he made his decision to settle. In fact, it was in the +last week of August that the little paper announced it in the usual +style: + +Mr. James G. Sanford, popularly known as "Jim," has decided to +open an' exchange bank for the convenienee of our citizens, who +have hitherto been forced to transact business in Lumberville. The +thanks of the town are due Mr. Sanford, who comes well +recommended from Massachusetts and from Milwaukee, and, +better still, with a bag of ducats. Mr. S. will be well patronized. +Success, Jim! + +The bank was open by the time the corn crop and the hogs were +being marketed, and money was received on deposit while the +carpenters were still at work on the building. Everybody knew now +that he was as solid as oak. + +He had taken into the bank, as bookkeeper, Lincoln Bingham, one +of McPhail's multitudinous nephews; and this was a capital move. +Everybody knew Link, and knew he was a McPhail, which meant +that he "could be tied to in all kinds o' weather." Of course the +McPhails, McIlvaines, and the rest of the Scotch contingency +"banked on Link." As old Andrew McPhail put it: + +"Link's there, an' he knows the bank an' books, an' just how things +stand"; and so when he sold his hogs he put the whole +sum---over fifteen hundred dollars--into the bank. The McIlvaines and the +Binghams did the same, and the bank was at once firmly +established among the farmers. + +Only two people held out against Sanford, old Freeme Cole and +Mrs. Bingham, Lincoln's mother; but they didn't count, for Freeme +hadn't a cent, and Mrs. Bingham was too unreasoning in her +opposition. She could only say: + +"I don't like him, that's all. I knowed a man back in New York that +curled his mustaches just that way, an' he wa'n't no earthiy good." + +It might have been said by a cynic that Banker Sanford had all the +virtues of a defaulting bank cashier. He had no bad habits beyond +smoking. He was genial, companionable, and especially ready to +help when sickness came. When old Freeme Cole got down with +delirium tremens that winter, Sanford was one of the most heroic +of nurses, and the service was so clearly disinterested and +maguanimous that everyone spoke of it. + +His wife and he were included in every dance or picnic; for Mrs. +Sanford was as great a favorite as the banker himself, she was so +sincere, and her gray eyes were so charmingly frank, and then she +said "such funny things." + +"I wish I had something to do besides housework. It's a kind of a +putterin' job, best ye can do," she'd say merrily, just to see the +others stare. "There's too much moppin' an' dustin'. Seems 's if a +woman used up half her life on things that don't amount to +anything, don't it?" + +"I tell yeh that feller's a scallywag. I know it buh the way 'e walks +'long the sidewalk," Mrs. Bingham insisted to her son, who wished +her to put her savings into the bank. + +The youngest of a large family, Link had been accustomed all his +life to Mrs. Biugham's many whimsicalities. + +"I s'pose you can smell he's a thief, just as you can tell when it's +goin' to rain, or the butter's comin', by the smell." + +"Well, you needn't laugh, Lincoln. I can," maintained the old lady +stoutly. "An' I ain't goin' to put a red cent o my money mto his +pocket-f'r there's where it 'ud go to." + +She yielded at last, and received a little bankbook in return for her +money. "Jest about all I'll ever get," she said privately; and +thereafter out of her' brass-bowed spectacles with an eagle's gaze +she watched the banker go by. But the banker, seeing the dear old +soul at the window looking out at him, always smiled and bowed, +unaware of her suspicion. + +At the end of the year he bought the lot next to his rented house +and began building one of his own, a modest little affair, shaped +like a pork pie with a cupola, or a Tamo'-Shanter cap-a style of +architecture which became fashionable at once. + +He worked heroically to get the location of the plow factory at +Bluff Siding, and all but succeeded; but Tyre, once their ally, +turned against them, and refused to consider the fact of the Siding's +position at the center of the county. However, for some reason or +other, the town woke up to something of a boom during the next +two years. Several large farmers decided to retire and live off the +sweat of some other fellow's brow, and so built some houses of the +pork-pie order and moved into town. + +This inflow of moneyed men from the country resulted in the +establishment of a "seminary of learning" on the hillside, where +the Soldiers' Home was to be located. This called in more farmers +from the country, and a new hotel was built, a sash-and-door +factory followed, and Burt McPhail set up a feed mill. + +An this improvement unquestionably dated, from the opening of +the bank, and the most unreasonmg partisans of the banker held +him to be the chief cause of the resulting development of the town, +though he himself modestly disclaimed any hand in the affair. + +Had Bluff Siding been a city, the highest civic honors would have +been open to Banker Sanford; indeed, his name was repeatedly +mentioned in connection with the county offices. + +"No, gentlemen," he explained firmly, but courteously, in Wilson's +store one night; "I'm a banker, not a politician. I can't ride two +horses." + +In the second year of the bank's history he went up to the north part +of the state on business, visiting West Superior, Duluth, Ashland, +and other booming towns, and came back full of the wonders of +what he saw. + +"There's big money up there, Nell," he said to his wife. + +But she had the woman's tendency to hold fast to what she had, +and would not listen to any plans about moving. + +"Build up your business here, Jim, and don't worry about what +good chances there are somewhere else." + +He said no more about it, but he took great interest in all the news +the "boys" brought back from their annual deer hunts "up North." +They were all enthusiastic over West Superior and Duluth, and +their wonderful development was the never-ending theme of +discussion in Wilson's store. + +II + +The first two years of the bank's history were solidly successful, +and "Jim" and "Nellie" were the head and front of all good works +and the provoking cause of most of the fun. No one seemed more +carefree. + +"We consider ourselves just as young as anybody," Mrs. Sanford +would say, when joked about going out with the young people so +much; but sometirnes at home, after the children were asleep, she +sighed a little. + +"Jim, I wish you was in some kind of a business so I could help. I +don't have enough to do. I s'pose I could mop an' dust, an' dust an' +mop; but it seems sinful to Waste time that way. Can't I do +anything, Jim?" + +"Why, no. If you 'tend to the children and keep house, that's all +anybody asks of you." + +She was silent, but not convinced. She had a desire to do +something outside the walls of her house-a desire transmitted to +her from her father, for a woman inherits these things. + +In the spring of the second year a number of the depositors drew +out money to invest in Duluth and Superior lots, and the whole +town was excited over the matter. + +The summer passed, Link and Sanford spending their tirne in the +bank-that is, when not out swimming or fishing with the boys. But +July and August were terribly hot and dry, and oats and corn were +only half-crop; and the farmers were grumbling. Some of them +were forced to draw on the bank instead of depositing. + +McPhail came in, one day in November, to draw a thousand +dollars to pay for a house and lot he had recently bought. + +Sanford was alone. He whistled. "Phew! You're comin' at me hard. +Come in tomorrow. Link's gone down to the city to get some +money." + +"All right," said MePhail; "any time." + +"Goin' t' snow?" + +"Looks like it. I'll haf to load a lot o' ca'tridges ready fr biz." + +About an hour later old lady Bingham burst upon the banker, wild +and breathless. "I want my money," she announced. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Bingham. Pleasant-" + +"I want my money. Where's Lincoln?" + +She had read that morning of two bank failure-one in Nova Scotia +and one in Massachusetts-and they seemed providential warnings +to her. Lincoln's absence confirmed them. + +"He's gone to St. Paul-won't be back till the five-o'clock train. Do +you need some money this morning? How much?" + +"All of it, sir. Every cent." + +Sanford saw something was out of gear. He tried to explain. "I've +sent your son to St. Paul after some money-" + +"Where's my money? What have you done with that?" In her +excitement she thought of her money just as she hand handed it +in-silver and little rolls and wads of bills. + +"If you'll let me explain-" + +"I don't want you to explain nawthin'. Jest hand me out my +money." + +Two or three loafers, seeing her gesticulate, stopped on the walk +outside and looked in at the door. Sanford was annoyed, but he +remained calm and persuasive. He saw that something had caused +a panic in the good, simple old woman. He wished for Lincoln as +one wishes for a policeman sometimes. + +"Now, Mrs. Bingham, if you'll only wait till Lincoln-" + +"I don't want 'o wait. I want my money, right now." + +"Will fifty dollars do?" + +"No, sir; I want it all-every cent of it-jest as it was." + +"But I can't do that. Your money is gone-" + +"Gone? Where is it gone? What have you done with it? You thief-" + +"'Sh!" He tried to quiet her. "I mean I can't give you your money-" + +"Why can't you?" she stormed, trotting nervously on her feet as she +stood there. + +"Because-if you'd let me explain-we don't keep the money just as it +comes to us. We pay it out and take in other-" + +Mrs. Bingham was getting more and more bewildered. She now +had only one clear idea-she couldn't get her money. Her voice grew +tearful like an angry child's. + +"I want my money-I knew you'd steal it-that I worked for. Give me +my money." + +Sanford hastily handed her some money. "Here's fifty dollars. You +can have the rest when-" + +The old lady clutched the money, and literally ran out of the door, +and went off up the sidewalk, talking incoherently. To everyone +she met she told her story; but the men smiled and passed on. They +had heard her predictions of calamity before. + +But Mrs. McIlvaine was made a triffe uneasy by it "He wouldn't +give you y'r money? Or did he say he couldn't?" she inquired in her +moderate way. + +"He couldn't, an' he wouldn't!" she said. "If you've got any money +there, you'd better get it out quick. It ain't safe a minute. When +Lincoln comes home I'm goin' to see if I can't-" + +"Well, I was calc'latin' to go to Lumberville this week, anyway, to +buy a carpet and a chamber set. I guess I might 's well get the +money today." + +When she came in and demanded the money, Sanford was scared. +Were these two old women the beginning of the deluge? Would +McPhail insist on being paid also? There was just one hundred +dollars left in the bank, together with a little silver. With rare +strategy he smiled. + +"Certainly, Mrs. McIlvaine. How much will you need?" She had +intended to demand the whole of her deposit-one hundred and +seventeen dollars-but his readiness mollified her a little. "I did 'low +I'd take the hull, but I guess seventy-five dollars 'll do." + +He paid the money briskly out over the little glass shelf. "How is +your children, Mrs. McIlvaine?" + +"Purty well, thanky," replied Mrs. McIlvaine, laboriously counting +the bills. + +"Is it all right?" + +"I guess so," she replied dubiously. "I'll count it after I get home." + +She went up the street with the feeling that the bank was all right, +and she stepped in and told Mrs. Bingham that she had no trouble +in getting her money. + +Alter she had gone Sanford sat down and wrote a telegram which +he sent to St. Paul. This telegram, according to the duplicate at the +station, read in this puzzling way: + +E. O., Exchange Block, No. 96. All out of paper. Send five hundred +noteheads and envelopes to match. Business brisk. Press of +correspondence just now. Get them out quick. Wire. + +SANFORD + +Two or three others came in after a little money, but he put them +off easily. "Just been cashing some paper, and took all the ready +cash I can spare. Can't you wait till tomorrow? Link's gone down to +St. Paul to collect on some paper. Be back on the five o'clock. +Nine o'clock, sure." + +An old Norwegian woman came in to deposit ten dollars, and he +counted it in briskly, and put the amount down on her little book +for her. Barney Mace came in to deposit a hundred dollars, the +proceeds of a horse sale, and this helped him through the day. +Those who wanted small sums he paid. + +"Glad this ain't a big demand. Rather close on cash today," he said, +smiling, as Lincoln's wife's sister came in. + +She laughed, "I guess it won't bust yeh. If I thought it would, I'd +leave it in." + +"Busted!" he said, when Vance wanted him to cash a draft. "Can't +do it. Sorry, Van. Do it in the morning all right. Can you wait?" + +"Oh, I guess so. Haf to, won't I?" + +"Curious," said Sanford, in a confidential way. "I don't know that I +ever saw things get in just such shape. Paper enough-but exchange, +ye know, and readjustment of accounts." + +"I don't know much about banking, myself," said Vance, good +naturedly; "but I s'pose it's a good 'eal same as with a man. Git +short o' cash, first they know -ain't got a cent to spare." + +"That's the idea exactly. Credit all right, plenty o' property, but-" +and he smiled and went at his books. The smile died out of his +eyes as Vance went out, and he pulled a little morocco book from +his pocket and began studying the beautiful columns of figures +with which it seemed to be filled. Those he compared with the +books with great care, thrusting the book out of sight when anyone +entered. + +He closed the bank as usual at five. Lincoln had not come couldn't +come now till the nine-o'clock accommodation. For an hour after +the shades were drawn he sat there in the semidarkness, silently +pondering on his situation. This attitude and deep quiet were +unusual to him. He heard the feet of friends and neighbors passing +the door as he sat there by the smoldering coal fire, in the growing +darkness. There was something impressive in his attitude. + +He started up at last and tried to see what the hour was by turning +the face of his watch to the dull glow from the cannon stoye's open +door. + +"Suppertime," he said and threw the whole matter off, as if he had +decided it or had put off the decision till another time. + +As he went by the post office Vance said to McIlvaine in a smiling +way, as if it were a good joke on Sanford: + +"Little short o' cash down at the bank." + +"He's a good fellow," McIlvaine said. + +"So's his wife," added Vance with a chuckle. + +III + +That night, after supper, Sanford sat in his snug little skting room +with a baby on each knee, looking as cheerful and happy as any +man in the village. The children crowed and shouted as he "trotted +them to Boston," or rode them on the toe of his boot. They made a +noisy, merry group. + +Mrs. Sanford "did her own work," and her swift feet could be +heard moving to and fro out in the kitchen. It was pleasant there; +the woodwork, the furniture, the stove, the curtains-all had that +look of newness just growing into coziness. The coal stove was +lighted and the curtains were drawn. + +After the work in the kitchen was done, Mrs. Sanford came in and +sat awhile by the fire with the children, looking very wifely in her +dark dress and white apron, her round, smiling face glowing with +love and pride-the gloating look of a mother seeing her children in +the arms of her husband. + +"How is Mrs. Peterson's baby, Jim?" she said suddenly, her face +sobering. + +"Pretty bad, I guess. La, la, la-deedle-dee! The doctor seemed to +think it was a tight squeak if it lived. Guess it's done for-oop 'e +goes!" + +She made a little leap at the youngest child and clasped it +convulsively to her bosom. Her swift maternal imagination had +made another's loss very near and terrible. + +"Oh, say, Nell," he broke out, on seeing her sober, "I had the +confoundedest time today with old lady Bingham-" + +"'Sh! Baby's gone to sleep." + +After the children had been put to bed in the little alcove off the +sitting room, Mrs. Sanford came back, to find Jim absorbed over a +little book of accounts. + +"What are you studying, Jim?" + +Someone knocked on the door before he had time to reply. + +"Come in!" he said. + +'Sh! Don't yell so," his wife whispered. + +"Telegram, Jim," said a voice in the obscurity. + +"Oh! That you, Sam? Come in. + +Sam, a lathy fellow with a quid in his cheek, stepped in. "How d' 'e +do, Mis' Sanford?" + +"Set down-se' down." + +"Can't stop; 'most train time." + +Sanford tore the envelope open, read the telegram rapidly, the +smile fading out of his face. He read it again, word for word, then +sat looking at it. + +"Any answer?" asked Sam. + +"All right. Good night." + +"Good night." + +After the door slammed, Sanford took the sheet from the envelope +and reread it. At length he dropped into his chair. "That settles it," +he said aloud. + +"Settles what? What's the news?" His wife came up and looked +over his shoulder. + +"Settles I've got to go on that nine-thirty train." + +"Be back on the morning train?" + +"Yes; I guess so-I mean, of course-I'll have to be-to open the bank." + +Mrs. Sanford looked at him for a few seconds in silence. There +was something in his look, and especially in his tone, that troubled +her. + +"What do you mean? Jim, you don't intend to come back!" She +took his arm. "What's the matter? Now tell me! What are you +going away for?" + +He knew he could not deceive his wife's ears and eyes just then, so +he remained silent. "We've got to leave, Nell," he admitted at last. + +"Why? What for?" + +"Because I'm busted-broke-gone up the spout-and all the rest!" he +said desperately, with an attempt at fun. "Mrs. Bingham and Mrs. +McIlvaine have busted me-dead." + +"Why-why-what has become of the money-all the money the +people have put in there?" + +"Gone up with the rest." + +"What 've you done with it? I don't-" + +"Well, I've invested it-and lost it." + +"James Gordon Sanford!" she exclaimed, trying to realize it. "Was +that right? Ain't that a case of-of-" + +"Shouldn't wonder. A case of embezzlement such as you read of in +the newspapers." His tone was easy, but he avoided the look in his +wife's beautiful gray eyes. + +"But it's-stealing-ain't it?" She stared at him, bewildered by his +reckless lightness of mood.- "It is now, because I've lost. If I'd'a +won it, it 'ud 'a' been financial shrewdness!" + +She asked her next question after a pause, in a low voice, and +through teeth almost set. "Did you go into this bank to-steal this +money? Tell me that!" + +"No; I didn't, Nell. I ain't quite up to that." + +His answer softened her a little, and she sat looking at him steadlly +as he went on. The tears began to roll slowly down her cheeks. Her +hands were clenched. + +"The fact is, the idea came into my head last fall when I went up to +Superior. My partner wanted me to go in with him on some land, +and I did. We speculated on the growth of the town toward the +south. We made a strike; then he wanted me to go in on a copper +mine. Of course I expected-" + +As he went on with the usual excuses her mind made all the +allowances possible for him. He had always been boyish, +impulsive, and lacking in judgment and strength of character. She +was humiliated and frightened, but she loved and sympathized +with him. + +Her silence alarmed him, and he made excuses for himself. He was +speculating for her sake more than for his own, and so on. + +"Cho-coo!" whistled the far-off train through the still air. + +He sprang up and reached for his coat. + +She seized his arm again. "Where are you going?" she sternly +asked. + +"To take that train." + +'When are you coming back?" + +"I don't know." But his tone said, "Never." + +She felt it. Her face grew bitter. "Going to leave me and-the +babies?" + +"I'll send for you soon. Come, goodbye!" He tried to put his arm +about her. She stepped back. + +"Jim, if you leave me tonight" ("Choo-choo!" whistled the engine) +"you leave me forever." There was a terrible resolution in her tone. + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that I'm going to stay here. If you go-I'll never be your +wife-again-never!" She glanced at the sleeping children, and her +chin trembled. + +"I can't face those fellows-they'll kill me," he said in a sullen tone. + +"No, they won't. They'll respect you, if you stay and tell 'em +exactly how-it-all-is. You've disgraced me and my children, that's +what you've done! If you don't stay-" + +The clear jangle of the engine bell sounded through the night as +with the whiz of escaping steam and scrape and jar of gripping +brakes and howl of wheels the train came to a stop at the station. +Sanford dropped his coat and sat down again. ++ +"I'll have to stay now." His tone was dry and lifeless. It had a +reproach in it that cut the wife deep-deep as the fountain of tears; +and she went across the room and knelt at the bedside, burying her +face in the clothes on the feet of her children, and sobbed silently. + +The man sat with bent head, looking into the glowing coal, +whistling through his teeth, a look of sullen resignation and +endurance on his face that had never been there before. His very +attitude was alien and ominous. + +Neither spoke for a long time. At last he rose and began taking off +his coat and vest. + +"Well, I suppose there's nothing to do but go to bed." + +She did not stir-she might have been asleep so far as any sound or +motion was concerned. He went off to the bed in the little parlor, +and she still knelt there, her heart full of anger, bitterness, sorrow. + +The sunny uneventfulness of her past life made this great storm the +more terrifying. Her trust in her husband had been absolute. A +farmer's daughter, the bank clerk had seemed to her the equal of +any gentleman in the world-her world; and when she knew his +delicacy, his unfailing kindness, and his abounding good nature, +she had accepted him as the father of her children, and this was the +first revelation to her of his inherent moral weakness. + +Her mind went over the whole ground again and again, in a sort of +blinding rush. She was convinced of his lack of honor more by his +tone, his inflections, than by his words. His lack of deep regret, his +readiness to leave her to bear the whole shock of the discovery--these +were in his flippant tones; and everytime she thought of them +the hot blood surged over her. At such moments she hated him, +and her white teeth clenched. + +To these moods succeeded others, when she remembered his +smile, the dimple in his chin, his tender care for the sick, his +buoyancy, his songs to the children-How could he sit there, with +the children on his knees, and plan to run away, leaving them +disgraced? + +She went to bed at last with the babies, and with their soft, warm +little bodies touching her side fell asleep, pondering, suffering as +only a mother and wife can suffer when distrust and doubt of her +husband supplant confidence and adoration. + +IV + +The children awakened her by their delighted cooing and kissing. +It was a great event, this waking to find mamma in their bed. It +was hardly light, of a dull gray morning; and with the children +tumbling about over her, feeling the pressure of the warm little +hands and soft lips, she went over the whole situation again, and at +last settled upon her action. + +She rose, shook down the coal in the stove in the sitting room, and +started a fire in the kitchen; then she dressed the children by the +coal burner. The elder of them, as soon as dressed, ran in to wake +"Poppa" while the mother went about breakfast-getting. + +Sanford came out of his bedroom unwontedly gloomy, greeting the +children in a subdued maimer. He shivered as he sat by the fire and +stirred the stove as if he thought the room was cold. His face was +pale and moist. + +"Breakfast is ready, James," called Mrs. Sanford in a tone which +she meant to be habitual, but which had a cadence of sadness in it. + +Some way, he found it hard to look at her as he came out. She +busied herself with placing the children at the table, in order to +conceal her own emotion. + +"I don't believe I'll eat any meat this morning, Nellie. I ain't very +well." + +She glanced at him quickly, keenly. "What's the matter?" + +"I d'know. My stomach is kind of upset by this failure o' mine. I'm +in great shape to go down to the bank this morning and face them +fellows." + +"It's got to be done." + +"I know it; but that don't help me any." He tried to smile. + +She mused, while the baby hammered on his tin plate. "You've got +to go down. If you don't-I will," said she resolutely. "And you must +say that that money will be paid back-every cent." + +"But that's more'n I can do-" + +"It must be done." + +"But under the law-" + +"There's nothing can make this thing right except paying every cent +we owe. I ain't a-goin' to have it said that my children-that I'm +livin' on somebody else. If you don't pay these debts, I will. I've +thought it all out. If you don't stay and face it, and pay these men, I +won't own you as my husband. I loved and trusted you, Jim-I +thought you was honorable-it's been a terrible blow-but I've +decided it all in my mind." + +She conquered her little weakness and went on to the end firmly. +Her face looked pale. There was a square look about the mouth +and chin. The iron resolution and Puritanic strength of her father, +old John Foreman, had come to the surface. Her look and tone +mastered the man, for he loved her deeply. + +She had set him a hard task, and when he rose and went down the +street he walked with bent head, quite unlike his usual self. + +There were not many men on the street. It seemed earlier than it +was, for it was a raw, cold morning, promising snow. The sun was +completely masked in a seamless dust-gray cloud. He met Vance +with a brown parcel (beefsteak for breakfast) under his arm. + +"Hello, Jim! How are ye, so early in the morning?" + +"Blessed near used up." + +"That so? What's the matter?" + +"I d'know," said Jim, listlessly. "Bilious, I guess. +Headache--stomach bad." + +"Oh! Well, now, you try them pills I was tellin' you of." Arrived at +the bank, he let himself in and locked the door behind him. He +stood in the middle of the floor a few minutes, then went behind +the railing and sat down. He didn't build a fire, though it was cold +and damp, and he shivered as he sat leaning on the desk. At length +he drew a large sheet of paper toward him and wrote something +on it in a heavy hand. + +He was writing on this when Lincoln entered at the back, whistling +boyishly. "Hello, Jim! Ain't you up early? No fire, eh?" He rattled +at the stove. + +Sanford said nothing, but finished his writing. Then he said, +quietly, "You needn't build a fire on my account, Link." + +"Why not?" + +"Well, I'm used up." + +"What's the matter?" + +"I'm sick, and the business has gone to the devil." He looked out of +the window. + +Link dropped the poker, and came around behind the counter, and +stared at Sanford with fallen mouth. + +"Wha'd you say?" + +"I said the business had gone to the devil. We're broke +busted-petered-gone up the spout." He took a sort of morbid +pleasure in saying these things. + +"What's busted us? Have-" + +"I've been speciflatin' in copper. My partner's busted me." + +Link came closer. His mouth stiffened and an ominous look came +into his eyes. "You don't mean to say you've lost my money, and +Mother's, and Uncle Andrew's, and all the rest?" + +Sanford was getting irritated. "- it! What's the use? I tell you, yes! +It's all gone-very cent of it." + +Link caught him by the shoulder as he sat at the desk. Sanford's +tone enraged him. "You thief! But you'll pay me back, or I'll-" + +"Oh, go ahead! Pound a sick man, if it'll do you any good," said +Sanford with a peculiar recklessness of lifeless misery. "Pay +y'rsell out of the safe. Here's the combination." + +Lincoln released him and began turning the knob of the door. At +last it swung open, and he searched the money drawers. Less than +forty dollars, all told. His voice was full of helpless rage as he +turned at last and walked up close to Sanford's bowed head. + +"I'd like to pound the life out o' you!" + +"You're at liberty to do so, if it'll be any satisfaction." This +desperate courage awed the younger man. He gazed at Sanford in +amazement. + +"If you'll cool down and wait a little, Link, I'll tell you all about it. +I'm sick as a horse. I guess I'll go home. You can put this up in the +window and go home, too, if you want to." + +Lincoln saw that Sanford was sick. He was shivering, and drops of +sweat were on his white forehead. Lincoln stood aside silently and +let him go out. + +"Better lock up, Link. You can't do anything by staying here." + +Lincoln took refuge in a boyish phrase that would have made +anyone but a sick man laugh: "Well, this is a ---- of a note!" + +He took up the paper. It read: + +BANK CLOSED + +TO MY CREDITORS AND DEPOSITORS + +Through a combination of events I find myself obliged to +temporarily suspend payment. I ask the depositors to be patient, +and their claims will be met. I think I can pay twenty-five cents on +the dollar, if given a little time. I shall not run away. I shall stay +right here till all matters are honorably settled. + +JAMES G. SANFORD + +Lincoln hastily pinned this paper to the windowsash so that it +could be seen from without, then pulled down the blinds and +locked the door. His fun-loving nature rose superior to his rage for +the moment. "There'll be the devil to pay in this burg before two +hours." + +He slipped out the back way, taking the keys with him. "I'll go and +tell uncle, and then we'll see if Jim can't turn in the house on our +account," he thought as he harnessed a team to drive out to +McPhail's. + +The first man to try the door was an old Norwegian in a spotted +Mackinac jacket and a fur cap, with the inevitable little red tippet +about his neck. He turned the knob, knocked, and at last saw the +writing, which he could not read, and went away to tell Johnson +that the bank was closed. Johnson thought nothing special of that; +it was early, and they weren't very particular to open on time, +anyway. + +Then the barber across the street tried to get in to have a bill +changed. Trying to peer in the window, he saw the notice, which +he read with a grin. + +"One o' Link's jobs," he explained to the fellows in the shop. "He's +too darned lazy to open on time, so he puts up notice that the bank +is busted." + +"Let's go and see." + +"Don't do it! He's watchin' to see us all rush across and look. Just +keep quiet, and see the solid citizens rear around." + +Old Orrin McIlvaine came out of the post office and tried the door +next, then stood for a long time reading the notice, and at last +walked thoughtfully away. Soon he returned, to the merriment of +the fellows in the barbershop, with two or three solid citizens who +had been smoking an after-breakfast cigar and planning a deer +hunt. They stood before the window in a row and read the notice. +McIlvaine gesticulated with his cigar. + +"Gentlemen, there's a pig loose here." + +"One o' Link's jokes, I reckon." + +"But that's Sanford's writin'. An' here it is nine o'clock, and no one +round. I don't like the looks of it, myself." + +The crowd thickened; the fellows came out of the blacksmith +shop, while the jokers in the barbershop smote their knees and +yelled with merriment. + +"What's up?" queried Vance, coming up and repeating the +universal question. + +McIlvaine pointed at the poster with his cigar. + +Vance read the notice, while the crowd waited silently. + +"What ye think of it?" asked someone impatiently. Vance smoked a +moment. "Can't say. Where's Jim?" + +"That's it! Where is he?" + +"Best way to find out is to send a boy up to the house." He called a +boy and sent him scurrying up the street. + +The crowd now grew sober and discussed possibilities. "If that's +true, it's the worst crack on the head I ever had," said McIlvaine. +"Seventeen hundred dollars is my pile in there." He took a seat on +the windowsill. + +"Well, I'm tickled to death to think I got my little stake out before +anything happened." + +"When you think of it-what security did he ever give?" McIlvaine +continued. + +"Not a cent-not a red cent." + +"No, sir; we simply banked on him. Now, he's a good fellow, an' +this may be a joke o' Link's; but the fact is, it might 'a' happened. +Well, sonny?" he said to the boy, who came running up. + +"Link ain't to home, an' Mrs. Sanford she says Jim's sick an' can't +come down." + +There was a silence. "Anybody see him this morning?" asked +Wilson. + +"Yes; I saw him," said Vance. "Looked bad, too." The crowd +changed; people came and went, some to get news, some to carry +it away. In a short time the whole town knew the bank had "busted +all to smash." Farmers drove along and stopped to find out what it +all meant. The more they talked, the more excited they grew; and +"scoundrel," and "I always had my doubts of that feller," were +phrases growing more frequent. + +The list of the victims grew until it was evident that neariy all of +the savings of a dozen or. more depositors were swallowed up, and +the sum reached was nearly twenty thousand dollars. + +"What did he do with it?" was the question. He never gambled or +drank. He lived frugally. There was no apparent cause for this +failure of a trusted institution. + +It was beginning to snow in great, damp, driving flakes, which +melted as they fell, giving to the street a strangeness and gloom +that were impressive. The men left the sidewalk at last and +gathered in the saloons and stores to continue the discussion. + +The crowd at the railroad saloon was very decided in its belief. +Sanford had pocketed the money and skipped. That yarn about his +being at home sick was a blind. Some went so far as to say that it +was almighty curious where Link was, hinting darkly that the bank +ought to be broken into, and so on. + +Upon this company burst Barney and Sam Mace from "Hogan's +Corners." They were excited by the news and already inflamed +with drink. + +"Say!" yelled Barney, "any o' you fellers know any-thing about Jim +Sanford?" + +"No. Why? Got any money there?" + +"Yes; and I'm goin' to git it out, if I haf to smash the door in." + +"That's the talk!" shouted some of the loafers. They sprang up and +surrounded Barney. There was something in his voice that aroused +all their latent ferocity. "I'm goin' to get into that bank an' see how +things look, an' then I'm goin' to find Sanford an' get my money, or +pound - out of 'im, one o' the six." + +"Go find him first. He's up home, sick-so's his wife." + +"I'll see whether he's sick 'r not. I'll drag 'im out by the scruff o' the +neck! Come on!" He ended with a sudden resolution, leading the +way out into the street, where the falling snow was softening the +dirt into a sticky mud. + +A rabble of a dozen or two of men and boys followed Mace up the +street. He led the way with great strides, shouting his threats. As +they passed along, women thrust their heads out at the windows, +asking, "What's the matter?" And someone answered each time in +a voice of unconcealed delight: + +"Sanford's stole all the money in the bank, and they're goin' up to +lick 'im. Come on if ye want to see the fun." + +In a few moments the street looked as if an alarm of fire had been +sounded. Half the town seemed to be out, and the other half +coming-women in shawls, like squaws; children capering and +laughing; young men grinning at the girls who came out and stood +at the gates. + +Some of the citizens tried to stop it. Vance found the constable +looking on and ordered him to do his duty and stop that crowd. + +"I can't do anything," he said helplessly. "They ain't done nawthin' +yet, an' I don't know-" + +"Oh, git out! They're goin' up there to whale Jim, an' you know it. +If you don't stop 'em, I'll telephone f'r the sheriff, and have you +arrested with 'em." + +Under this pressure, the constable ran along after the crowd, in an +attempt to stop it. He reached them as they stood about the little +porch of the house, packed closely around Barney and Sam, who +said nothing, but followed Barney like his shadow. If the sun had +been shining, it might not have happened as it did; but there was a +semi-obscurity, a weird half-light shed by the thick sky and falling +snow, which somehow encouraged the enraged ruffians, who +pounded on the door just as the pleading voice of the constable +was heard. + +"Hold on, gentlemen! This is ag'inst the law + +"Law to -!" said someone. "This is a case f'r something besides +law." + +"Open up there!" roared the raucous voice of Barney Mace as he +pounded at the door fiercely. + +The door opened, and the wife appeared, one child in her arms, the +other at her side. + +"What do you want?" + +"Where's that banker? Tell the thief to come out here! We want to +talk with him." + +The woman did not quail, but her face seemed a ghastly yellow, +seen through the falling snow. + +"He can't come. He's sick." + +"Sick! We'll sick 'im! Tell 'im t' come out, or we'll snake 'im out by +the heels." The crowd laughed. The worst elements of the saloons +surrounded the two half-savage men. It was amusing to them to see +the woman face them all in that way. + +"Where's McPhail?" Vance inquired anxiously. "Some-body find +McPhail." + +"Stand out o' the way!" snarled Barney as he pushed the struggling +woman aside. + +The wife raised her voice to that wild, animal-like pitch a woman +uses when desperate. + +"I shan't do it, I tell you! Help!" + +"Keep out o' my way, or I'll wring y'r neck fr yeh." She struggled +with him, but he pushed her aside and entered the room. + +"What's goin' on here?" called the ringing voice of Andrew +McPhail, who had just driven up with Link. + +Several of the crowd looked over their shoulders at McPhail. + +"Hello, Mac! Just in time. Oh, nawthin'. Barney's callin' on the +banker, that's all." + +Over the heads of the crowd, packed struggling about the door, +came the woman's scream again. McPhail dashed around the +crowd, running two or three of them down, and entered the back +door. Vance, McIlvaine, and Lincoln followed him. + +"Cowards!" the wife said as the ruffians approached the bed. They +swept her aside, but paused an instant be-fore the glance of the +sick man's eye. He lay there, desperately, deathly sick. The blood +throbbed in his whirling brain, his eyes were bloodshot and +blinded, his strength was gone. He could hardly speak. He partly +rose and stretched out his hand, and then fell back. + +"Kill me-if you want to-but let her-alone. She's-" + +The children were crying. The wind whistled drearily across the +room, carrying the evanescent flakes of soft snow over the heads +of the pausing, listening crowd in the doorway. Quick steps were +heard. + +"Hold on there!" cried McPhail as he burst into the room. He +seemed an angel of God to the wife and mother. + +He spread his great arms in a gesture which suggested irresistible +strength and resolution. "Clear out! Out with ye!" + +No man had ever seen him look like that before. He awed them +with the look in his eyes. His long service as sheriff gave him +authority. He hustled them, cuffed them out of the door like +schoolboys. Barney backed out, cursing. He knew McPhall too +well to refuse to obey. + +McPhail pushed Barney out, shut the door behind him, and stood +on the steps, looking at the crowd. + +"Well, you're a great lot! You fellers, would ye jump on a sick +man? What ye think ye're all doin', anyhow?" + +The crowd laughed. "Hey, Mac; give us a speech!" + +"You ought to be booted, the whole lot o' yeh!" he replied. + +"That houn' in there's run the bank into the ground, with every cent +o' money we'd put in," said Barney. "I s'pose ye know that." + +"Well, s'pose he has-what's the use o' jumpin' on + +"Git it out of his hide." + +"I've heerd that talk before. How much you got in?" + +"Two hundred dollars." + +"Well, I've got two thousand." The crowd saw the point. + +"I guess if anybody was goin' t' take it out of his hide, I'd be the +man; but I want the feller to live and have a chance to pay it back. +Killin' 'im is a dead loss." + +"That's so!" shouted somebody. "Mac ain't no fool, if he does chaw +hay," said another, and the crowd laughed. They were losing that +frenzy, largely imitative and involuntary, which actuates a mob. +There was something counteracting in the ex-sheriff's cool, +humorous tone. + +"Give us the rest of it, Mac!" + +"The rest of it is clear out o' here, 'r I'll boot every mother's son of +yeh!" + +"Can't do it!" + +"Come down an' try it!" + +McIlvaine opened the door and looked out. "Mac, Mrs. Sanford +wants to say something-if it's safe." + +"Safe as eatin' dinner." + +Mrs. Sanford came out, looking pale and almost like a child as she +stood beside her defender's towering bulk. But her face was +resolute. + +"That money will be paid back," she said, "dollar for dollar, if +you'll just give us a chance. As soon as Jim gets well enough every +cent will be paid, If I live." + +The crowd received this little speech in silence. One or two said, +in low voices: "That's business. She'll do it, too, if anyone can." + +Barney pushed his way through the crowd with contemptuous. +curses. "The -- she will!" he said. + +"We'll see 't you have a chance," McPhall and McIlvaine assured +Mrs. Sanford. + +She went in and closed the door. + +"Now git!" said Andrew, coming down the steps. The crowd +scattered with laughing taunts. He turned and entered the house. +The rest drifted off down the street through the soft flurries of +snow, and in a few moments the street assumed its usual +appearance. + +The failure of the bank and the raid on the banker had passed into +history. + +V + +In the light of the days of calm afterthought which followed, this +attempt upon the peace of the Sanford home grew more monstrous +and helped largely to mitigate the feeling against the banker. +Besides, he had not run away; that was a strong point in his favor. + +"Don't that show," argued Vance to the post office- "don't that +show he didn't intend to steal? An' don't it show he's goin' to try to +make things square?" + +"I guess we might as well think that as anything." + +"I claim the boys has a right t' take sumpthin' out o' his hide," Bent +Wilson stubbornly insisted. + +"Ain't enough t' go 'round," laughed McPhail. "Besides, I can't +have it. Link an' I own the biggest share in 'im, an' we can't have +him hurt." + +McIlvaine and Vance grinned. "That's a fact, Mac. We four fellers +are the main losers. He's ours, an' we can't have him foundered 'r +crippled 'r cut up in any way. Ain't that woman of his gritty?" + +"Gritty ain't no name for her. She's goin' into business." + +"So I hear. They say Jim was crawling around a little yesterday. I +didn't see. + +"I did. He looks pretty streak-id-now you bet." + +"Wha'd he say for himself?" + +"Oh, said give 'im time-he'd fix it all up." + +"How much time?" + +"Time enough. Hain't been able to look at a book since. Say, ain't it +a little curious he was so sick just then-sick as a p'isened dog?" + +The two men looked at each other in a manner most comically +significant. The thought of poison was in the mind of each. + +It was under these trying circumstances that Sanford began to +crawl about, a week or ten days after his sickness. It was really the +most terrible punishment for him. Before, everybody used to sing +out, "Hello, Jim!"- or "Mornin', banker," or some other jovial, +heartwarming salutation. Now, as he went down the street, the +groups of men smoking on the sunny side of the stores ignored +him, or looked at him with scornfull eyes. + +Nobody said, "Hello, Jim!"-not even McPhail or Vance. They +nodded merely, and went on with their smoking. The children +followed him and stared at him without compassion. They had +heard him called a scoundrel and a thief too often at home to feel +any pity for his pale face. + +After his first trip down the street, bright with the December +sunshine, he came home in a bitter, weak mood, smarting, aching +with a poignant self-pity over the treatment he had received from +his old cronies. + +"It's all your fault," he burst out to his wife. "If you'd only let me go +away and look up another place, I wouldn't have to put up with all +these sneers and insults." + +"What sneers and insults?" she asked, coming over to him. + +"Why, nobody 'll speak to me." + +"Won't Mr. McPhail and Mr. Mcllvalne?" + +"Yes; but not as they used to." + +"You can't blame 'em, Jim. You must go to work and win back +their confidence." + +"I can't do that. Let's go away, Nell, and try again." Her mouth +closed firmly. A hard look came into her eyes. "You can go if you +want to, Jim, I'm goin' to stay right here till we can leave +honorably. We can't run away from this. It would follow us +anywhere we went; and it would get worse the farther we went" + +He knew the unyielding quality of his wife's resolution, and from +that moment he submitted to his fate. He loved his wife and +children with a passionate love that made life with them, among +the citizens he had robbed, better than life anywhere else on earth; +he had no power to leave them. + +As soon as possible he went over his books and found out that he +owed, above all notes coming in, about eleven thousand dollars. +This was a large sum to look forward to paying by anything he +could do in the Siding, now that his credit was gone. Nobody +would take him as a clerk, and there was nothing else to be done +except manual labor, and he was not strong enough for that. + +His wife, however, had a plan. She sent East to friends for a little +money at once, and with a few hundred dollars opened a little store +in time for the holiday trade-wallpaper, notions, light dry goods, +toys, and millinery. She did her own housework and attended to +her shop in a grim, uncomplaining fashion that made Sanford feel +like a criminal in her presence. He couldn't propose to help her in +the store, for he knew the people would refuse to trade with him, +so he attended to the children and did little things about the house +for the first few months of the winter. + +His life for a time was abjectly pitiful. He didn't know what to do. +He had lost his footing, and, worst of all, he felt that his wife no +longer respected him. She loved and pitied him, but she no longer +looked up to him. She went about her work and down to her store +with a silent, resolute, uncommunicative air, utterly unlike her +former sunny, domestic self, so that even she seemed alien like the +rest. If he had been ill, Vance and McPhail would have attended +him; as it was, they could not help him. + +She already had the sympathy of the entire town, and McIlvaine +had said: "If you need more money, you can have it, Mrs. Sanford. +Call on us at any time." + +"Thank you. I don't think I'll need it. All I ask is your trade," she +replied. "I don't ask anybody to pay more'n a thing's worth, either. +I'm goin' to sell goods on business principles, and I expect folks to +buy of me because I'm selling reliable goods as cheap as anybody +else." + +Her business was successful from the start, but she did not allow +herself to get too confident. + +"This is a kind of charity trade. It won't last on that basis. Folks +ain't goin' to buy of me because I'm poor-not very long," she said to +Vance, who went in to congratulate her on her booming trade +during Christmas and New Year. + +Vance called so often, advising or congratulating her, that the boys +joked him. "Say, looky here! You're gom' to get into a peck o' +trouble with your wife yet. You spend about hall y'r time in the +new store." + +Vance looked serene as he replied, "I'd stay longer and go oftener +If I could." + +"Well, if you ain't cheekier 'n ol' cheek! I should think you'd be +ashamed to say it." + +"'Shamed of it? I'm proud of it! As I tell my wife, if I'd 'a' met Mis' +Sanford when we was both young, they wouldn't 'a' be'n no such +present arrangement." + +The new life made its changes in Mrs. Sanford. She grew thinner +and graver, but as she went on, and trade steadily increased, a +feeling of pride, a sort of exultation, came into her soul and shone +from her steady eyes. It was glorious to feel that she was holding +her own with men in the world, winning their respect, which is +better than their flattery. She arose each day at five o'clock with a +distinct pleasure, for her physical health was excellent, never +better. + +She began to dream. She could pay off five hundred dollars a year +of the interest-perhaps she could pay some of the principal, if all +went well. Perhaps in a year br two she could take a larger store, +and, if Jim got something to do, in ten years they could pay it all +off-every cent! She talked with businessmen, and read and studied, +and felt each day a firmer hold on affairs. + +Sanford got the agency of an insurance company or two and earned +a few dollars during the spring. In June things brightened up a +little. The money for a note of a thousand dollars fell due-a note he +had considered virtually worthless, but the debtor, having had a +"streak o' luck," sent seven hundred and fifty dollars. Sanford at +once called a meeting of his creditors, and paid them, pro rata, a +thousand dollars. The meeting took place in his wife's store, and in +making the speech Sanford said: + +"I tell you, gentlemen, if you'll only give us a chance, we'll clear +this thing all up-that is, the principal. We can't-" + +"Yes, we can, James. We can pay it all, principal and interest. We +owe the interest just as much as the rest." It was evident that there +was to be no letting down while she lived. + +The effect of this payment was marked. The general feeling was +much more kindly than before. Most of the fellows dropped back +into the habit of calling him Jim; but, after all, it was not like the +greeting of old, when he was "banker." Still the gain in confidence +found a reflex in him. His shoulders, which had begun to droop a +little, lifted, and his eyes brightened. + +"We'll win yet," he began to say. + +"She's a-holdin' of 'im right to time," Mrs. Bingham said. + +It was shortly after this that he got the agency for a new +cash-delivery system, and went on the road with it, traveling in +northern Wisconsin and Minnesota. He came back after a three +weeks' trip, quite jubilant. "I've made a hundred dollars, Nell. I'm +all right if this holds out, and I guess it will." + +In the following November, just a year after the failure, they +celebrated the day, at her suggestion, by paying interest on the +unpaid sums they owed. + +"I could pay a little more on the principal," she explained, "but I +guess it'll be better to use it for my stock. I can pay better +dividends next year. + +"Take y'r time, Mrs. Sanford," Vance said. + +Of course she could not escape criticism. There were the usual +number of women who noticed that she kept her 'young uns" in the +latest style, when as a matter of fact she sat up nights to make their +little things. They also noticed that she retained her house and her +furniture. + +"If I was in her place, seems to me, I'd turn in some o' my fine +furniture toward my debts," Mrs. Sam Gilbert said spitefully. + +She did not even escape calumny. Mrs. Sam Gilbert darkly hinted +at certain "goin's on durin' his bein' away. Lit up till after midnight +some nights. I c'n see her winder from mine." + +Rose McPhail, one of Mrs. Sanford's most devoted friends, asked +quietly, "Do you sit up all night t' see?" + +"S'posin' I do!" she snapped. "I can't sleep with such things goin' +on." + +"If it'll do you any good, Jane, I'll say that she's settin' up there +sewin' for the children. If you'd keep your nose out o' other folks' +affairs, and attend better to your own, your house wouldn't look' +like a pigpen, all' your children like A-rabs." + +But in spite of a few annoyances of this character Mrs. Sanford +found her new life wholesomer and broader than her old life, and +the pain of her loss grew less poignant. + +VI + +One day in spring, in the lazy, odorous hush of the afternoon, the +usual number of loafers were standing on the platform, waiting for +the train. The sun was going down the slope toward the hills, +through a warm April haze. + +"Hello!" exclaimed the man who always sees things first. "Here +comes Mrs. Sanford and the ducklings." + +Everybody looked. + +"Ain't goin' off, is she?" + +"Nope; guess not. Meet somebody, prob'ly Sanford." + +"Well, sornethin's up. She don't often get out o' that store." + +"Le's see; he's been gone most o' the winter, hain't he?" + +"Yes; went away about New Year's." + +Mrs. Sanford came past, leading a child by each hand, nodding and +smiling to friends-for all seemed friends. She looked very resolute +and businesslike in her plain, dark dress, with a dull flame of color +at the throat, while the broad hat she wore gave her face a touch of +piquancy very charming. Evidently she was in excellent spirits, +and laughed and chatted in quite a carefree way. + +She was now an institution at the Siding. Her store had grown in +proportions yearly, until it was as large and commodious as any in +the town. The drummers for dry goods all called there, and the fact +that she did not sell any groceries at all did not deter the drummers +for grocery houses from calling to see each time if she hadn't +decided to put in a stock of groceries. + +These keen-eyed young fellows had spread her fame all up and +down the road. She had captured them, not by beauty, but by her +pluck, candor, honesty, and by a certain fearless but reserved +camaraderie. She was not afraid of them, or of anybody else, now. + +The train whistled, and everybody turned to watch it as it came +pushing around the bluff like a huge hound on a trail, its nose close +to the ground. Among the first to alight was Sanford, in a shining +new silk hat and a new suit of clothes. He was smiling gaily as he +fought his way through the crowd to his wife's side. "Hello!" he +shouted. "I thought I'd see you all here." + +"W'y, Jim, ain't you cuttin' a swell?" + +"A swell! Well, who's got a better right? A man wants to look as +well as he can when he comes home to such a family." + +"Hello, Jim!. That plug 'll never do." + +"Hello, Vance! Yes; but it's got to do. Say, you tell all the fellers +that's got anything ag'inst me to come around tomorrow night to +the store. I want to make some kind of a settlement." + +"All right, Jim. Goin' to pay a new dividend?" + +"That's what I am," he beamed as he walked off with his wife, who +was studying him sharply. + +"Jim, what ails you?" + +"Nothin'; I'm all right." + +"But this new suit? And the hat? And the necktie?" He laughed +merrily-so merrily, in fact, that his wife looked at him the more +anxiously. He appeared to be in a queer state of intoxication-a state +that made him happy without impairing his faculties, however. He +turned suddenly and put his lips down toward her ear. "Well, Nell, +I can't hold in any longer. We've struck it!" + +"Struck what?" + +"Well, you see that derned fool partner o' mine got me to go into a +lot o' land in the copper country. That's where all the trouble came. +He got awfully let down. Well, he's had some surveyors to go up +there lately and look it over, and the next thing we knew the +Superior Mining Company came along an' wanted to buy it. Of +course we didn't want to sell just then." + +They had reached the store door, and he paused. + +"We'll go right home to supper," she said. "The girls will look out +for things till I get back." + +They walked on together, the children laughing and playing ahead. + +"Well, upshot of it is, I sold out my share to Osgood for twenty +thousand dollars." + +She stopped and stared at him. "Jim-Gordon Sanford!" + +"Fact! I can prove it." He patted his breast pocket mysteriously. +"Ten thousand right there." + +"Gracious sakes alive! How dare you' carry so much money?" + +"I'm mighty glad o' the chance." He grinned. + +They walked on almost in silence, with only a word now and then. +She seemed to be thinking deeply, and he didn't want to disturb +her. It was a delicious spring hour. The snow was all gone, even +under the hedges. The roads were warm and brown. The red sun +was flooding the valley with a misty, rich-colored light, and +against the orange and gold of the sky the hills stood in Tyrian +purple. Wagons were rattling along the road. Men on the farms in +the edge of the village could be heard whistling at their work. A +discordant jangle of a neighboring farmer's supper bell announced +that it was time "to turn out." + +Sanford was almost as gay as a lover. He seemed to be on the point +of regaining his old place in his wife's respect. Somehow the +possession of the package of money in his pocket seemed to make +him more worthy of her, to put him more on an equality with her. + +As they reached the little one-story square cottage he sat down on +the porch, where the red light fell warmly, and romped with the +children, while his wife went in and took off her things. She "kept +a girl" now, so that the work of getting supper did not devolve +entirely upon her. She came out soon to call them all to the supper +table in the little kitchen back of the sitting room. + +The children were wild with delight to have "Poppa" back, and the +meal was the merriest they had had for a long time. The doors and +windows were open, and the spring evening air came in' laden with +the sweet, suggestive smell of bare ground. The alert chuckle of an +occasional robin could be heard. + +Mrs. Sanford looked up from her tea. "There's one thing I don't +like, Jim, and that's the way that money comes. You didn't-you +didn't really earn it." + +"Oh' don't worry yourself about that. That's the way things go. It's +just luck." + +"Well, I can't see it just that way. It seems to me just-like +gambling. You win' but-but somebody else must lose." + +"Oh well, look a-here; if you go to lookin' too sharp into things +like that, you'll find a good 'eal of any business like gamblin'." + +She said no more, but her face remained clouded. On the way +down to the store they met Lincoln. + +"Come down to the store, Link, and bring Joe. I want to talk with +yeh." + +Lincoln stared, but said, "All right." Then added, as the others +walked away, "Well, that feller ain't got no cheek t' talk to me like +that-more cheek 'n a gov'ment mule!" + +Jim took a seat near the door and watched his wife as she went +about the store. She employed two clerks now, while she attended +to the books and the cash. He thought how different she was, and +he liked (and, in a way, feared) her cool, businesslike manner, her +self-possession, and her smileless conversation with a drummer +who came in. Jim was puzzled. He didn't quite -understand the +peculiar effect his wife's manner had upon him. + +Outside, word had passed around that Jim had got back and that +something was in the wind, and the fellows began to drop in. +When McPhail came in and said, "Hello!" in his hearty way, +Sanford went over to his wile and said: + +"Say, Nell, I can't stand this. I'm goin' to get rid o' this money right +off, now!" + +"Very well; just as you please." + +"Gents," he began, turning his back to the. counter and smiling +blandly on them, one thumb in his vest pocket, "any o' you fellers +got anything against the Lumber Cpunty Bank-any certificates of +deposit, or notes?" + +Two or three nodded, and McPhail said humorously, slapping his +pocket, "I always go loaded." + +"Produce your paper, gents," continued Sanford, with a dramatic +whang of a leathern wallet down into his palm. "I'm buying up all +paper on the bank." + +It was a superb stroke. The fellows whistled and stared and swore +at one another. This was coming down on them. Link was dumb +with amazement as he received sixteen hundred and fifty dollars in +crisp, new bills. + +"Andrew, it's your turn next." Sanford's tone was actually +patronizing as he faced McPhail. + +"I was jokin'. I ain't got my certificate here." + +"Don't .matter-don't matter. Here's fifteen hundred dollars. Just +give us a receipt, and bring the certif. any time. I want to get rid o' +this stuff right now." + +"Say, Jim, we'd like to know jest-jest where this windfall comes +from," said Vance as he took his share. + +"Comes from the copper country," was all he ever said about it. + +"I don't see where he invested," Link said. "Wasn't a scratch of a +pen to show that he invested anything while he was in the bank. +Guess that's where our money went." + +"Well, I ain't squealin'," said Vance. "I'm glad to get out of it +without asking any questions. I'll tell yeh one thing, though," he +added as they stood outside the door; "we'd 'a' never smelt of our +money again if it hadn't 'a' been f'r that woman in there. She'd 'a' +paid it alone if Jim hadn't 'a' made this strike, whereas he never'd +'a'-Well, all right. We're out of it." + +It was one of the greatest moments of Sanford's life. He expanded +in it. He was as pleasantly aware of the glances of his wife as he +used to be when, as a clerk, he saw her pass and look in at the +window where he sat dreaming over his ledger. + +As for her, she was going over the whole situation from this new +standpoint. He had been weak, he had fallen in her estimation, and +yet, as he stood there, so boyish in his exultation, the father of her +children, she loved him with a touch of maternal tenderness and +hope, and her heart throbbed in an unconscious, swift +determination to do him good. She no longer deceived herself. She +was his equal-in some ways his superior. Her love had friendship +in it, but less of sex, and no adoration. + +As she blew out the lights, stepped out on the walk, and turned the +key in the lock, he said, "Well, Nellie, you won't have to do that +any more." + +"No; I won't have to, but I guess I'll keep on just the same, Jim." + +"Keep on? What for?" + +"Well, I rather like it." + +"But you don't need to----" + +"I like being my own boss," she said. "I've done a lot o' figuring, +Jim, these last three years, and it's kind o' broadened me, I hope. I +can't go back where I was. I'm a better woman than I was before, +and I hope and believe that I'm better able to be a real mother to +my children." Jim looked up at the moon filling the warm, moist +air with a transfiguring light that fell in a luminous mist on the +distant hills. "I know one thing, Nellie; I'm a better man than I was +before, and it's all owin' to you." + +His voice trembled a little, and the sympathetic tears came into her +eyes. She didn't speak at once--she couldn't At last she stopped him +by a touch on the arm. + +"Jim, I want a partner in my store. Let us begin again, right here. I +can't say that I'll ever feel just as I did once I don't know as it's +right to. I looked up to you too much. I expected too much of you, +too. Let's' begin again, as equal partners." She held out her hand, as +one man to another. He took it wonderingly. + +"All right, Nell; I'll do it." + +Then, as he put his arm around her, she held up her lips to be +kissed. "And we'll be happy again-happy as we deserve, I s'pose," +she said with a smile and a sigh. + +"It's almost like getting married again, Nell-for me." As they +walked off up the sidewalk in the soft moon-light, their arms were +interlocked. + +They loitered like a couple of lovers. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext Main-Travelled Roads, by Hamlin Garland + + + |