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diff --git a/old/51797-0.txt b/old/51797-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 67761ac..0000000 --- a/old/51797-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9446 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's To the Highest Bidder, by Florence Morse Kingsley - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: To the Highest Bidder - -Author: Florence Morse Kingsley - -Illustrator: John Rae - -Release Date: April 19, 2016 [EBook #51797] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER *** - - - - -Produced by Giovanni Fini, David Edwards and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - -—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected. - -—A Table of Contents was not in the original work; one has been - produced and added by Transcriber. - - - - - TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER - -[Illustration: In the one spring-time when David Whitcomb loved her - (_Page 74_)] - - - - - TO THE - - HIGHEST BIDDER - - By - - FLORENCE MORSE KINGSLEY - - Author of “The Singular Miss Smith,” “The Glass House,” etc. - - - ILLUSTRATED BY - - JOHN RAE - - -[Illustration: LOGO] - - - NEW YORK - - DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY - - 1911 - - - COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY - DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY - Published, January, 1911 - - - COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY - THE CHRISTIAN HERALD - - - - - TABLE OF CONTENTS - - CHAPTER I. PAGE 1 - ” II. ” 15 - ” III. ” 29 - ” IV. ” 47 - ” V. ” 58 - ” VI. ” 69 - ” VII. ” 78 - ” VIII. ” 89 - ” IX. ” 106 - ” X. ” 117 - ” XI. ” 129 - ” XII. ” 142 - ” XIII. ” 150 - ” XIV. ” 162 - ” XV. ” 175 - ” XVI. ” 188 - ” XVII. ” 203 - ” XVIII. ” 218 - ” XIX. ” 235 - ” XX. ” 246 - ” XXI. ” 259 - ” XXII. ” 269 - ” XXIII. ” 291 - - - - - TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER - - - - - THE HIGHEST BIDDER - - - - -I - - -ABRAM HEWETT and his son “Al” were distributing the mail in the narrow -space behind the high tier of numbered glass boxes which occupied the -left-hand corner of the general store known as “Hewett’s grocery.” -There were not many letters and papers in the old leathern bag whose -marred outer surface bore evidence to its many hurried departures -and ignominious arrivals. Only the “locals” stopped at Barford; the -expresses whizzed disdainfully past, discharging the mailbag on the -platform of the ugly little station like a well-aimed bullet. - -There was one letter in the scant pile awaiting official scrutiny over -which the younger Hewett pursed his thick lips in a thoughtful whistle. -He turned over the thin envelope, held it up to the light, squinted -curiously at it out of one gray-green eye before he finally deposited -it among the letters destined for general delivery. - -This done, a slight sound drew his attention to the wabbly stand on -the counter next to the post-office proper, whereon was displayed a -variety of picture postal cards; “views” of Barford taken by the local -photographer, and offered generously to the public at the rate of two -for five cents. Intermingled with the photographic representations -of the village were cards of a more general and decorative nature; -impossibly yellow Easter chickens, crosses, wreaths, and baskets of -flowers, in a variety of startling colors, and lurking behind these in -a manner suited to the time of year (it being the month of April) were -reminders of a Christmas past, in the shape of stars, holly wreaths, -and churches, their lighted windows sparkling with mica snows. - -Before this varied collection a small boy, with a scarlet tam perched -on the back of his curly head, stood gazing with longing eyes. - -“Oh! hello there, bub!” observed Mr. Al Hewett rebukingly. “You mustn’t -touch them cards, y’ know.” - -The boy stared at him from under puckered brows, his rosy mouth half -opened. - -“What are they for?” he demanded. - -“Why, to sen’ to folks, Jimmy,” explained Mr. Hewett, with a return of -his wonted good humor. “Easter greetings, views of our town, et cetery. -Want one t’ sen’ t’ y’r bes’ girl?” - -“Yes, I do,” said the child earnestly. “I want one for—for Barb’ra. I -want this one.” - -He laid a proprietary hand on a Christmas tree sparkling with tinsel -lights and surmounted by the legend, “I wish you a merry Christmas.” - -“Well, son, that card’ll cost you a nickel, seein’ it’s early in the -season,” responded the youth humorously. “A nickel apiece; three fer -ten. Shan’t I wrap you up an Easter greetin’ an’ th’ Meth’dist church -along with it?” - -The boy was engaged in untying a hard knot in the corner of his -handkerchief. - -“I’ve got ten cents an’ a nickel,” he said. “An’ I want ten cents’ -worth of m’lasses an’ the mail an’ that card. It’s my birfday,” he -added proudly, “an’ Barb’ra said I could buy anything I wanted with the -nickel. She’s goin’ to make me some popcorn balls with the m’lasses.” - -“How old are you, Jimmy?” inquired the youth, as he tied up the card in -brown paper with a pink string, and languidly deposited the nickel in -the till. “‘Bout a hunderd, I s’pose.” - -“I’m six years old,” replied Jimmy importantly. “An’ I’m large of my -age; Barb’ra says so.” - -“Then it mus’ be so, I reckon. Say, here’s a letter fer Barb’ra f’om -’way out west. I’ve been wonderin’ who Barb’ra knows out west. Ever -hear her say, Jimmy?” - -The boy shook his blond head vigorously, as he bestowed the letter in -the pocket of his coat. - -“I’ll ask her if you want me to,” he said with a friendly little smile. - -But young Mr. Hewett was back at his post behind the little window, -where he presently became engaged in brisk repartee with a couple of -red-cheeked girls over the non-arrival of a letter which one of them -appeared confidently to expect. - -Neither bestowed a glance upon the small figure in the red cap which -presently made its way out of the door, carefully carrying a covered -tin pail, and out of whose shallow pocket protruded the half of a -thin blue envelope addressed to Miss Barbara Preston, in a man’s bold -angular hand. - -There was a cold wind abroad, roaring through the branches of the -budding trees, and tossing the red maple blossoms in a riotous blur -of color against the brilliant blue and white of the sky. To Jimmy -Preston trudging along the uneven sidewalk, where tiny pools of water -from the morning’s rain reflected the sky and the tossing trees, like -fragments of a broken mirror, came a sense of singular elation. It was -his birthday; in one hand he carried the beautiful sparkling card, -and in the other the tin pail containing the molasses; while in the -dazzling reflections under foot were infinite heights—infinite depths -of mysterious rapture. - -“If I sh’d step in,” mused Jimmy, carefully skirting the edges of a -shallow uneven pool in the worn stones, “‘s like’s not I’d go clear -through to heaven.” - -Heaven was a wonderful place, all flowers and music and joyous ease. -He knew this, because Barbara had told him so; and nearly all of the -family were there—all but Barbara and himself. But there might not be -popcorn balls in heaven; Jimmy couldn’t be certain on that point; and, -anyway, he concluded it was better to stay where Barbara was and grow -up to be a man as soon as possible. - -The little boy broke into a manly whistle as he pictured himself in a -gray flannel shirt with his trousers tucked into large boots, ploughing -and calling to the horses, the way Peg Morrison did. - -The sidewalk came to an end presently, together with the village -street, just opposite the big house of the Honorable Stephen Jarvis. -Jimmy stopped, as he always did, to look in through the convolutions -of a highly ornamental fence at the cast-iron deer which guarded the -walk on either side, and at the mysterious blue glass balls mounted on -pedestals, which glistened brightly in a passing gleam of sunshine. -There were other things of interest in the yard of the big house: -groups of yellow daffodils, nodding gaily in the wind, red, white, and -purple hyacinths behind the borders of blue-starred periwinkle, and -shrubs with clouds of pink and yellow blossoms. In the summer there -would be red geraniums and flaming cannas and pampas grass in tall -fleecy pyramids. Jimmy wondered what it would be like to walk up the -long smooth gravel path and open the tall front door. What splendors -might be hid behind the lace curtains looped away from the shining -windows; books, maybe, with pictures; a real piano with ivory keys, and -chairs and sofas of red velvet. - -“S’pos’n,” said Jimmy to his sociable little self, “jus’ s’pos’n me an’ -Barb’ra lived there; an’ I should walk right in an’ find Barb’ra all -dressed in a pink satin dress with a trail an’ maybe a diamon’ crown. -She’d look lovely in a diamon’ crown, Barb’ra would.” - -His attention was diverted at the moment by the sight of a smart -sidebar buggy, drawn by a spirited bay horse, which a groom was driving -around the house from the stable at the rear. The man pulled up sharply -at the side entrance, where the bay horse pawed the gravel impatiently. -Jimmy observed with interest that the horse’s tail was cropped short -and bobbed about excitedly. - -He was imagining himself as coming out of the house and climbing into -the shining buggy, and taking the reins in his own hands, and—— - -He waited breathlessly, his eyes glued to an opening in the fence, -while the tall spare figure of a man wearing a gray overcoat and a gray -felt hat emerged from the house. - -Jimmy recognized the man at once. He was the Honorable Stephen Jarvis. -Few persons in Barford ever spoke of him in any other way. “The -Honorable” seemed as much a part of his name as Jarvis. Jimmy, for one, -thought it was. - -“That’s me!” said Jimmy. “Now I’m climbin’ in; now I’ve took the lines! -Now I’ve got the whip! And now——” - -The vehicle dashed out of the open gate, whirred past with a spatter -of half-frozen mud, and disappeared around a bend of the road where -pollarded willows grew. - -“My! I’m goin’ fast!” said Jimmy aloud. “But I ain’t afraid; no, sir! -I guess Barb’ra’ll be some s’prised when she sees me drivin’ in! I’ll -say, ‘Come on an’ take a ride with me, Barb’ra’; an’ Barb’ra, she’ll -say, ‘Why, Jimmy Preston! ain’t you ’fraid that short-tailed horse’ll -run away?’ An’ I’ll laugh an’ say, ‘Don’t you see I’m drivin’?’” - -The laugh at least was real, and it rang out in a series of rollicking -chuckles, as the child resumed his slow progress with the pail of -molasses which had begun to ooze sticky sweetness around the edge. -Observing this, Jimmy set it down and applied a cautious finger to the -overflow; from thence to his mouth was a short distance, with results -of such surprising satisfaction that the entire circumference of the -pail was carefully gone over. “I guess,” reflected Jimmy gravely, “that -I’d better hurry now. Barb’ra’ll be expectin’ me.” - -A more rapid rate of progress brought about a recrudescence of the -oozing sweetness which, manifestly, involved a repetition of salvage. -By this time Jimmy had reached and passed the row of willows, cut back -every spring to the gnarled stumps which vaguely reminded the child -of a row of misshapen dwarfs; enchanted, maybe, and rooted to the -ground like gnomes in the fairy-tales. Beyond the distorted willows, -with their bunched osiers just budding into a mist of yellowish green, -was the bridge with its three loose planks which rattled loud and -hollow when a trotting horse passed over, and responded to the light -footfalls of the child with a faint, intermittent creaking. On either -side of the brook, swollen now to a muddy torrent with the spring -rains, grew crisp green clumps of the skunk cabbage, interspersed with -yellow adders’ tongues and the elusive pink and white of clustered -spring-beauties. - -“If I sh’d take Barb’ra some flowers, I guess she’d be glad,” communed -Jimmy with himself. “I’m mos’ sure Barb’ra’d be awful glad to have some -of those yellow flowers; she likes yellow flowers, Barb’ra does.” - -He climbed down carefully, because of the molasses which seemed to -seethe and bubble ever more joyously within the narrow confines of the -tin pail, and having arrived at the creek bottom he set down the pail -by a big stone and proceeded to fill his hands with pink and yellow -blossoms. It was pleasant down by the brook, with the wind roaring -overhead like a friendly giant, and the blue sky and hurrying white -clouds reflected in the still places of the stream. - -A thunder of hoofs and wheels sounded on the bridge, and the child -looked up to see the round red face of Peg Morrison, and the curl of -his whip-lash as he called to his horses. - -“Hello, Peg!” shouted Jimmy, “wait an’ le’ me get in!” He caught up the -pail and clambered briskly up the steep bank. - -The man had drawn up his horses, his puckered eyes and puckered lips -smiling down at the little boy. - -“Wall, I d’clar!” he called out in a high cracked voice, “if this ’ere -ain’t the Cap’n! Where’d you come f’om, Cap’n? Here, I’ll take your -pail.” - -“It’s got molasses in it, so you’d better be careful,” warned Jimmy. -“I’m goin’ to have six popcorn balls an’ one to grow on, ’cause it’s my -birfday an’ I’m large of my age.” - -“Wall, now, I d’clar!” cried Peg admiringly, “so you be, now I come to -think of it, Cap’n. You’re hefty, too—big an’ hefty.” - -He pulled the little boy up beside him with a grunt as of a mighty -effort. As he did so the blue letter slipped out of the small pocket, -which was only half big enough to hold it, and dropped unnoticed to the -ground. Then the wagon with a creak and a rattle started on once more. - -“You c’n see,” said Peg gravely, “how the horses hes to pull now’t -you’re in.” - -“Didn’t they have to pull’s hard as that before I got in?” inquired -Jimmy. “Honest, Peg, didn’t they?” - -“Why, all you’ve got to do is to look at ’em, Cap’n,” chuckled Peg. -“I’m glad it ain’t fur or they’d git all tuckered out, an’ I’ve got to -plough to-day. Say, Cap’n, the wind’s blowin’ fer business ain’t it? -You’d better look out fer that military hat o’ your’n.” - -“It does blow pretty hard,” admitted Jimmy; “but my hat’s on tight.” - -He glanced back vaguely to see a glimmer of something blue skidding -sidewise across the road into the tangle of huckleberry and hard-hack -bushes; then he turned once more to the man at his side. - -“I’ve got a birfday present for Barb’ra,” he said eagerly. - -“A birthday present fer Barb’ry? ’Tain’t her birthday, too, is it?” -inquired Peg, clucking to his horses. - -“No, it’s my birfday; but I got Barb’ra a birfday present with my fi’ -cents. I’m six.” - -“Sure!” cried Peg. “Anybody’d know you was six, Cap’n, jus’ to look at -you! Six, an’ large an’ hefty fer your age. You bet they would! What -sort of birthday present did you get for Barb’ry—hey?” - -“If you’ll keep the molasses from spillin’ over I’ll show it to you,” -offered Jimmy. “It’s a beautiful picture.” - -“Wall, now I vow!” exclaimed Peg, when the pink string had been -carefully untied and the sparkling Christmas tree exposed to view. -“‘I wish you a merry Christmas,’” he read slowly. “Say, that’s great, -Cap’n! Mos’ folks fergit all about merry Christmas long before spring. -But they hadn’t ought to. Stan’s to reason they hadn’t. They’d ought to -be merrier in April ’an in December, ’cause the goin’s better an’ it’s -’nuffsight pleasanter weather. I’ll bet Barb’ry’ll be tickled ha’f to -death when she sees that.” - -“It sparkles, don’t it, Peg?” - -“Mos’ puts my eyes out,” acquiesced the man. “It’s all kin’s an’ -colors o’ sparkles. It cert’ly is a neligant present. D’ye want to -drive while I do it up fer ye?” - -Jimmy took the reins. - -“I won’t let ’em run away,” he said gravely. - -“Run away?” chuckled Peg. “I’d like to see ’em run away with you a-holt -o’ the lines. They wouldn’t das to try it.” - -“I s’pose I’ll be able to work the farm before long, Peg,” observed -Jimmy, after a short silence, during which he sternly eyed the bobbing -heads of the old farm horses. “I’m pretty old now, an’ I’m gettin’ -taller every day.” - -“H’m!” grumbled Mr. Morrison. “I guess the’ ain’t no ’special hurry -’bout your takin’ charge o’ the farm, Cap’n. Me an Barb’ry’s makin’ out -pretty well; an’ you know, Cap’n, you’ve got to go to school quite a -spell yet.” - -Jimmy knit his forehead. - -“I guess there is some hurry,” he said slowly. “I’ve got to grow up’s -quick’s I can.” - -The man looked down at the valiant little figure at his side with a -queer twist of his weather-beaten face. - -“Did—Barb’ry tell you that?” he wanted to know after a short silence. - -“No,” said Jimmy, shaking his head, “Barb’ra didn’t tell me. I—just -thinked it. You see, it’s this way,” he went on, with a serious -grown-up air, “I’m all Barb’ra’s got, an’ Barb’ra’s all I’ve got. We’ve -just got each other; an’—an’—the farm.” - -Peg pursed up his lips in an inaudible whistle. “You wasn’t thinkin’ of -givin’ up the farm—you an’ Barb’ry; was you?” he inquired presently. - -“What? Me an’ Barb’ra give up the—farm?” echoed Jimmy, in a shocked -little voice. “Why—we couldn’t do that.” - -“Seein’ the’s jus’ th’ two of you, Cap’n—you an’ Barb’ry, an’—an’—the -farm, I didn’t know but what you was calc’latin’ t’ move int’ th’ -village, where the’s more folks, an’——” - -Jimmy shook his blond head vigorously. - -“We couldn’t live anywhere else,” he said decidedly. “It’s—why, it’s -our home!” - -Peg had taken the reins and the wagon jolted noisily between the -tall stone gate-posts, past the big elms and the groups of untrimmed -evergreens, to where the house stood on its low grassy terrace, a -gravelled driveway encircling it. It was a wide, low, old-fashioned -house with narrow porches and small-paned windows, glittering in the -sun like little fires. Obviously the house had not been painted for a -long time; and its once dazzling walls and green shutters had softened -with time and uncounted storms into a warm silvery gray which lent a -certain dignity to its square outlines. - -Jimmy climbed down over the wheel and dashed excitedly into the house. - -“I’ve come, Barb’ra!” he shouted imperiously. “Where are you, Barb’ra?” - -The door of the sitting-room opened and a young woman came out. She -was tall and slender, with masses of warm brown hair, a red mouth, and -a brilliantly clear pale skin; her gray eyes under their long dark -lashes were wide and angry, but they softened as they fell upon the -small figure in the red tam. - -“I’ve got a neligant birfday present f’r you, Barb’ra,” announced the -little boy loudly. “An’ I’ve got a quart of m’lasses an’ I’ve got a -letter f’om way out west. An’ Al Hewett he wants to know——” - -“Hush, Jimmy,” said the girl, stooping to kiss the child’s red mouth. -“There’s—someone here. I—can’t stop now. Go and get warm in the -kitchen. I’ll come presently.” - -She opened a door peremptorily and the child passed through it, his -bright face clouded with disappointment. - -“Don’t you want to see your—birfday present, even?” he demanded with -quivering lips. “I bought it with my fi’ cents, an’ it’s——” - -But the girl had already closed the door behind her; he could hear her -speak to someone in the sitting-room. There followed the sound of a -man’s voice, speaking at length, and the low-toned murmur of a brief -reply. Jimmy laid the small flat parcel containing the postal card on -the kitchen table, and set the pail of molasses on a chair. There was -a froth of sweetness all around the edge now, but Jimmy didn’t care. -Vaguely heavy at heart he walked over to the window and looked out. -Hitched to the post near the lilac bushes was a tall bay horse with -a cropped tail. Behind the horse was a shining sidebar buggy with red -wheels. The horse was stretching his sleek neck in an effort to reach -the tender green shoots of the lilac bushes, his cropped tail switching -irritably from side to side. Jimmy stared with round eyes. - -Presently the side door opened and Stephen Jarvis came out quickly, -jamming his gray felt hat low upon his forehead. He untied the horse, -jerking the animal’s head impatiently to one side as he did so, and -stepped to the high seat; then, at a savage cut of the whip, the horse -darted away, the gravel spurting from under his angry hoof-beats. - -“I’m glad I’m not that horse,” mused Jimmy, “an’ I’m glad—” he added, -after a minute’s reflection—“‘at I’m not—him.” - -He was still thinking confusedly about the short-tailed horse and his -owner, when he heard Barbara’s step behind him. - -The girl stooped, put both arms about the little boy, and laid her hot -cheek on his. Then she laughed, rather unsteadily. - -“Kiss me quick, Jimmy Preston!” she cried. “I want to be loved—hard!” - -The child threw both arms fervently about his sister’s neck. “I love -you,” he declared circumstantially, “wiv all my outsides an’ all my -insides! I love you harder’n anyfing!” - - - - -II - - -FOR a long time (it seemed to Jimmy) after the last hoof-beat of the -ill-tempered horse with the cropped tail had died away on the gravelled -drive Barbara sat with the child in her arms, his curly head close -against her cheek; her gray eyes bright with tears resolutely held in -check. - -“Aren’t you gettin’ some tired of holdin’ me?” inquired Jimmy, with a -stealthy little wriggle of protest. “You know I’m six, an’ Peg says I’m -hefty for my age.” - -Barbara laughed faintly, and the little boy slipped from her arms with -alacrity and stood before her, eyeing her searchingly. - -“I bought you a birfday present with my fi’ cents,” he said, “but you -wouldn’t wait to see it.” - -“You bought me a birthday present?” cried Barbara. “Why, Jimmy Preston! -Show it to me; I can’t wait a minute longer.” - -Jimmy walked soberly across to the table. The first glow of his -enthusiasm had vanished, and he frowned a little as he untied the pink -string. - -“Maybe you won’t like it,” he said modestly. “It’s a picture, an’—an’ -it—sparkles. I fought—no; I mean I _thought_ it was pretty, an’ that -you’d like it, Barb’ra.” - -“Like it, boy! I should say so! It’s the most beautiful birthday -present I ever had.” Barbara spoke with convincing sincerity and her -eyes suddenly wrinkled with fun—the fun Jimmy loved. “I’d really like -to kiss you six times—and one to grow on, if you’ll allow me, sir,” she -said. - -Jimmy considered this proposition for awhile in silence. “You don’t -kiss Peg,” he objected at last. - -“Mercy no! I should hope not!” laughed Barbara. - -She seized the child firmly and planted four of the seven kisses on his -hard pink cheeks. “Now two more under your curls in the sweet place,” -she murmured. “And the last one in the sweetest place of all!” And she -turned up his round chin and sought the warm white hollow beneath like -a homing bee. - -“I guess I’ll be some sweeter after I eat six popcorn balls,” observed -Jimmy, disengaging himself. “The molasses didn’t spill much.” - -“Well, I’m glad of that!” cried Barbara. “I guess I’d better get to -work. You run out and bring in some chips from the woodpile, and I’ll -have that molasses boiling before you can spell Jack Robinson.” - -“J-a-c-k,” began Jimmy triumphantly; but Barbara chased him out of -doors with a sudden access of pretended severity. - -“You’re getting altogether too clever for me, Jimmy Preston!” she -said. Then her face clouded swiftly at the recollection of Stephen -Jarvis’s parting words. - -“What do you propose to do with the boy?” he had asked. - -“Take care of him,” she had replied defiantly, “and save the farm for -him.” - -It was then that Jarvis had risen, crushing his gray felt hat angrily -between his hands. - -“You’re likely to find it impossible to do either the one or the -other,” he said coldly. “The boy is a chip of the old block. As for the -farm, I’ve been trying to make you understand for the last half hour -that it does not belong to you, unless you can meet the payments before -the date I set; and you’ve just told me you can’t do that.” - -“Let me pop the corn, Barb’ra!” begged Jimmy, sniffing ecstatically at -the molasses which was beginning to seethe and bubble fragrantly in the -little round kettle. “I like birfdays,” he went on sociably; “don’t; -you, Barb’ra? I mean I like _birthdays_. Did I say that right, Barb’ra?” - -“Yes, dear,” said his sister absent-mindedly. She was drawing out the -little round mahogany table. “I’m going to put on the pink china,” she -announced, with a defiant toss of her dark head. The defiance was for -the Honorable Stephen Jarvis. - -“It’s beginning to pop!” cried Jimmy excitedly, as he drew the -corn-popper back and forth on the hot griddles with a busy scratching -sound. - -“Don’t let it burn,” warned Barbara. “How would you like some little -hot biscuits, Jimmy, and some strawberry preserves?” - -“Strawberry ’serves?” he echoed. “I didn’t know we had any ’serves.” - -“Well, we have. I’ve been saving ’em for—for your birthday, Jimmy.” - -“Oh, I’m glad!” cried the little boy, redoubling his efforts. “See me -work, Barb’ra. Don’t I work hard?” - -“Yes, indeed, dear.” She hesitated, then added in a low voice, “You -always will work hard; won’t you, Jimmy?” - -The child watched her gravely while she shook the crisp white kernels -into a bowl. He was thinking of her question. - -“Do you think I’ll have to go to school much longer, Barb’ra?” he -asked. “It takes such a long time to go to school.” - -The girl wheeled sharply about. - -“What put that notion into your head?” she demanded. “Of course you’ve -got to go school till—till you’re educated—like father.” Her voice -faltered a little, and a dark flush crept into her cheeks. - -The boy’s eyes were on her face. - -“Of course father was—he was sick, Jimmy, sick and unhappy. You don’t -remember him as I do; but he——” - -“Yes, I know,” the child said simply. - -Then he threw his arms about Barbara and hugged her. He didn’t know why -exactly, except that Barbara liked his rough boyish caresses. And he -wanted to make her smile again. - -She did smile, winking back the tears. - -“I want you to study—hard, Jimmy,” she went on in a low tremulous -voice; “and grow to be a good man—the best kind of a man. You must! I -couldn’t bear it, if you——” - -“Well, I won’t, Barb’ra,” promised the child gravely. He eyed his -sister with a sudden flash of comprehension as he added stoutly, “You -don’t have to worry ’bout me. I’m growin’ jus’ ’s fas’ ’s I can, an’ I -know mos’ all my tables, ’ceptin’ seven an’ nine an’ some of eight.” - -Barbara laughed, and there was the same odd ring of defiance in the -sound. Then she opened a cupboard in the wall and took out a cake -covered with pink icing. - -Jimmy’s blue eyes grew wide with wonder. “What’s that?” he demanded. - -Barbara was setting six small candles around the edge; last of all she -planted one in the middle. - -“You couldn’t guess if you tried,” she said gaily. “I just know you -couldn’t. You’re such a dull boy.” - -“I can guess, too!” cried Jimmy with a shout of rapture. “It’s a cake! -It’s my birfday cake! An’ it’s got six candles on it an’ one to grow -on. I ’member last year it had only five an’ one to grow on; but I -growed that one all up. I want Peg to see it. Can I go out t’ the barn -an’ get him? Can I, Barb’ra?” - -The girl hesitated as she cast a troubled eye on the table set daintily -with the pink china, and the few carefully cherished bits of old silver. - -“You may ask Peg to come in and have supper with you, if you like,” she -said slowly. “Just this once—because it’s your birthday.” - -Jimmy didn’t wait for a second bidding; he dashed out of the back door -with a boyish whoop, carefully studied from the big boys in school. - -Peg (shortened from Peleg) Morrison had worked on the Preston farm for -so many years that he appeared almost as much a part of the place as -the shabby old house itself, or the rambling structures at its rear -known indeterminately as “the barns.” He slept over the carriage-house, -in quarters originally intended for the coachman. Here also he cooked -handily for himself on a rusty old stove, compounding what he called -“tried an’ tested receipts” out of a queer old yellow-leaved book -bound in marbled boards, its pages written over in Peg’s own scrawling -chirography. - -“I wouldn’t part with that thar book for its weight in gold an’ -di’mon’s,” he was in the habit of saying solemnly to Jimmy. “No, Cap’n, -I reelly wouldn’t. I begun to write down useful inf’mation in it when I -wasn’t much bigger’n you be now, an’ I’ve kep’ it up.” - -“Vallable Information, by Peleg Morrison,” was the legend inscribed on -its thumbed cover. Jimmy admired this book beyond words, and quite in -private had started one of his own on pieces of brown paper accumulated -in the attic chamber where he played on rainy days. - -“Hello, Cap’n!” observed Peg with a genial smile, as the little boy -thrust his yellow head in at the door of his quarters. “Say! I do -b’lieve you’ve growed some since I seen you last. It must be them -popcorn balls, I reckon. Pop-corn’s mighty tasty and nourishin’.” - -“I haven’t eaten ’em—not yet!” said Jimmy breathlessly. “An’, Peg, I’ve -got a birfday cake—an’ it’s got six candles on it, an’ one to grow on; -an’—an’ it’s all pink on top; an’ Barb’ra, she’s made a whole lot of -biscuits; an’ we’ve got some strawberry ’serves, an’—an’ we want you to -come to supper; jus’ this once, ’cause it’s my birfday. Barb’ra said to -tell you. An’ she’s put on the pink dishes, too!” - -“Wall, now, Cap’n, that surely is kind of Miss Barb’ry. But you see I -ain’t got my comp’ny clo’es on. M’ swallow-tail coat’s got the rear -buttons off, an’ m’ high collar ’n boiled shirt’s to m’ wash-lady’s.” - -Peg winked humorously at Jimmy, in token that his remarks were to be -interpreted as being in a purely jocular vein. - -“We don’t care ’bout clo’es—me an’ Barb’ra,” said Jimmy, grandly. “An’ -I want you to see my cake wiv the candles burning. I’m goin’ to blow -’em out when we are all through wiv supper; then we’re goin’ to eat the -cake.” - -“Wall, now I’ll tell you, Cap’n. I’ll mosey in ’long ’bout time you -get t’ the cake. I wouldn’t miss seein’ them candles blowed out fer -anythin’. You c’n tell Miss Barb’ry I’m obleeged to her fer th’ -invitation—mind you say Miss Barb’ry, Jimmy. ’Cause that’s manners, -seein’ I’m hired man on this ’ere farm.” - -“Does Barb’ra pay you lots o’ money?” asked Jimmy, with sudden grave -interest. - -Peg puckered up his mouth judicially. - -“You don’t want t’ git in th’ habit o’ askin’ pers’nal questions, -Cap’n,” he said, with a serious look in his kind old eyes. “‘Tain’t -reelly p’lite, you know. An’ the’s times when it’s kind o’ embarrassin’ -to answer ’em. But, in this ’ere case, I’m pertickler glad to tell you, -Cap’n, that Barb’ry—I mean Miss Barb’ry—does pay me all I ask fur, an’ -a whole lot besides. You see I hev special privileges here on this -place that ain’t come by ev’ry day, an’ I value ’em—I value ’em highly. -An’ that reminds me, Cap’n, that I’ve got a little present fer you, -seein’ you’re six, goin’ on seven, an’ big an’ hefty fer your age. Jest -you clap yer eyes onto that an’ tell me what you think of it. ’Tain’t -what you’d call reelly val’able now; but you keep it fer—say fifty -years an’ do what I’ve done with mine, an’ money won’t buy it f’om -you.” - -“Oh, Peg!” gasped Jimmy, in a rapture too deep and pervasive for words, -“is it—a val’able inf’mation book?” - -“That’s what it is, Cap’n,” chuckled Peg, holding off the book and -gazing at it with honest pride. “Y’ see, I couldn’t find th’ mate to -mine in looks; but this ’ere red cover beats mine all holler, an’ you -see I’ve put ‘Vallable Information by James Embury Preston’ on it in -handsome red letters. Take it, boy, an’ don’t put nothin’ into it ’at -won’t be true an’ useful, is the prayer o’ Peg Morrison.” - -The old man’s tone was solemn and his blue eyes gleamed suddenly moist -in the midst of their network of wrinkles. - -“The’s folks in this world,” he went on soberly, “‘at would be mighty -glad if they had a book like that, full o’ tried an’ tested rules—fer -conduct, as well as fer hoss liniment an’ pies an’ cakes. In the -front page o’ mine I put down more’n twenty years ago, ‘Never promise -anythin’ that you ain’t willin’ to set ’bout doin’ the nex’ minute.’ -That’s a good sentiment fer man or beast. Ye c’n turn to a rule fer -mos’ anythin’, f’om what to do fer a colt ’at’s et too much green -clover, up to how to set on a jury. But I’ve took my time to it, an’ -ain’t never wrote anythin’ down jus’ t’ fill paper. Now you trot along, -Cap’n; an’ I’ll be with you before you git them candles blowed out.” - -“I—I’d like to shake hands, Peg,” said Jimmy fervently. “I’m too big -an’ hefty to kiss people for thank you. But I like this book better’n -anyfing—I mean anything.” - -He put out his small brown hand on which babyish dimples still -lingered, and the old man grasped and shook it solemnly. - -“You’re more’n welcome, Cap’n!” he said heartily. “An’ thinkin’ y’ -might like to set down a few sentiments I got you a bottle o’ red ink -an’ a new steel pen. I like red ink m’self. It makes a handsome page.” - -“I never s’posed I’d have a whole bottle of red ink,” said Jimmy, with -a rapturous sigh of contentment filled to the brim and running over. -“Don’t forget to come and see my cake,” he called out as the old man -convoyed him to the foot of the stairs with a nautical lantern. - -“I’m goin’ right back up to put on m’ swallow-tail,” Peg assured him. -“You’ll see me in ’bout half an hour.” - -Barbara knit her fine dark brows a little over the birthday book with -its quaint inscription. - -“I shouldn’t like you to suppose that was the way to spell valuable -information,” she said crisply. “Suppose we put another card over this -one, dear. I’ll write it for you.” - -Jimmy pondered this proposal in silence for a few minutes, then he -shook his head. - -“I want my book to be ’zactly like Peg’s,” he said firmly. “It’s a -val’able inf’mation book; that’s what it is.” - -He kept it by him all the while they were eating their supper off the -pink and white china Grandfather Embury brought from foreign parts, -while the seven candles cast bright lights and wavering shadows across -the table on the boy’s rosy little face and the girl’s darker beauty. - -“Peg’s comin’ in’s soon’s he puts on his swallow-tail,” said Jimmy -placidly. “I like Peg better’n anybody, ’ceptin’ you, Barb’ra. He’s so -durned square.” - -“You shouldn’t say such words, Jimmy,” Barbara said, with a vexed -pucker between her brows. “You must remember that you are a gentleman.” - -“So is Peg a gentleman,” said Jimmy, valiantly ready to do battle for -his friend. “An’ he says durned.” - -Barbara shook her head impatiently at the child. - -“If you say that word again, Jimmy,” she threatened, “I shall be -obliged to forbid you going out to the barn at all.” - -“I guess you don’t mean that, Barb’ra,” the little boy said firmly. -“Course I have to go out to the barn; but I promise I won’t say durned -’cept when I plough.” - -A sound of hard knuckles cautiously applied to the back kitchen door -announced Mr. Morrison, attired in his best suit of rusty black, his -abundant iron-gray hair, ordinarily standing up around his ruddy, -good-humored face like a halo, severely plastered down with soap and -water. - -“Good-evenin’, Cap’n,” he said ceremoniously, “I hope you fin’ yourself -in good health on this ’ere auspicious occasion, sir; an’ you, too, -Miss Barb’ry, as a near relation of the Cap’n’s. I hope I see you well -an’—an’ happy, ma’am.” - -“See my cake, Peg,” shouted Jimmy, capering wildly about the old man. -“See the candles!” - -Peg pretended to shade his eyes from the overpowering illumination. -“Wall, now, I mus’ say!” he exclaimed. “If that ain’t wo’th coverin’ -ten miles o’ bad goin’ t’ see. That cert’nly is a han’some cake, Miss -Barb’ry, an’ the Cap’n here tells me you made it.” - -Barbara smiled, rather sadly. - -“Yes,” she said, “I made it. If you’ll blow out the candles now, Jimmy, -I’ll cut it and we’ll each have a piece.” - -The little boy climbed up in his chair. - -“I have to sit down when I blow,” he said seriously, and sent the first -current of air across the table from his puckered lips. “One of ’em’s -out!” he announced triumphantly. - -“Give it to ’em agin, Cap’n!” cried Peg. “Give ’em a good one. That’s -right! Now the nigh one’s gone; but that off candle’s a sticker. I -dunno whether you’ll fetch that one or not, Cap’n.” - -The child drew in a mighty breath, his puffed cheeks flushing to a -brilliant scarlet, and blew with all his might, the flame of the one -lighted candle waned, flared sidewise, and disappeared, leaving a -light wreath of smoke behind. - -“There! I blowed ’em out, all by myself,” he exulted. “I’ve got a -strong wind in my breaf, haven’t I, Peg?” - -“I declar’, I’d hate to have you try it on the roof o’ the barn, Cap’n. -The loose shingles’d fly, I bet,” Peg assured him jocularly. - -Barbara was cutting the cake, her troubled eyes bent upon her task. Mr. -Morrison glanced at her anxiously. - -“I seen a rig hitched out t’ the side door this afternoon,” he said -slowly. “‘Twant a—a sewin’-machine agent; was it, Miss Barb’ry?” - -“No,” said the girl shortly; her look forbade further questions. - -“I’ll tell you who ’twas, Peg,” said Jimmy sociably, as he began to -nibble the edges of his slice of cake. “It was the Hon’rable Stephen -Jarvis. An’ his horse’s tail is cut off short so’t it can’t switch -’round, an’ it makes him cross. I guess it would make me some cross, -too, if I was a horse. Wouldn’t it make you, Peg?” - -“I reckon’t would, Cap’n,” said the old man, fetching a heavy sigh for -no apparent reason. He turned to Barbara, whose red lips were set in an -expression of haughty reserve. - -“If I’d ’a’ knowed ’twas the Hon’rable Stephen Jarvis fer certain,” -he went on, with an effort after careless ease of manner, “I b’lieve -I’d ’a’ took the opportunity to talk over crops with him fer a spell. -We’re goin’ to have a first-rate crop o’ buckwheat this year, an’ -winter wheat’s lookin’ fine. The’d ought to be plenty of apples, too. I -pruned the trees in the spring an’ manured ’em heavy last fall.” - -Barbara gazed steadily at the table. She did not answer. - -“I was thinkin’ some o’ plantin’ onions in the five acre field this -year,” went on Peg, an agitated tremor in his voice. “They’re a heap o’ -work, onions is, what with weedin’ ’em an’ cultivatin’ ’em; but the’s -big money in ’em; white, red, an’ yellow sorts. What would you say to -onions, Miss Barb’ry?” - -“There’s no use,” said the girl, “of our planting—anything.” She turned -her back abruptly on pretence of pulling down a window shade. “I’ll -speak to you to-morrow—about the work.” - - - - -III - - -AFTER Jimmy had said his prayers and was tucked up in bed, tired but -happy, the book of “Vallable Information” under his pillow, Barbara -sat for awhile by the open window in the dusk of the April night. The -wind had gone down since sunset, and in the stillness she could hear -the “peepers,” singing in the distant marshes, and the soft roar of -the river, filled to its brim with the melted snows from the hills. -Something in the sound of the swollen river and the gleam of a single -star, seen dimly between drifting clouds, brought the remembrance of -other April nights to Barbara’s mind. - -Her thoughts went back to the day when her father, then a proud, -handsome man in his prime, had brought his new wife to the farm. Her -own passionately mourned mother seemed strangely forgotten in the joy -of the home-coming and the girl had resented it in the dumb, pathetic -fashion of childhood. After a little, though, she had come to love the -gentle creature who had won her father’s heart. There followed a few -happy years, regretfully remembered through a blur of tears, when the -little mother, as Barbara learned to call her, filled the old house to -overflowing with sunshine. Then on an April night when the river lifted -up its plaintive voice in the stillness that fell after a wild, windy -day, Jimmy came, and the little mother went—hastily, as if summoned out -of the dark by some voice unheard by the others. Barbara remembered -well the night of her going, and of how, with a last effort, she had -lifted the tiny baby and placed him in her own strong young arms. - -“Love—him—dear,” whispered the failing voice. Then she had smiled once, -as if with a great content, and was gone. - -Jimmy’s voice broke sleepily through these bitter-sweet memories. - -“Barb’ra!” he called, “are you there? I forgot somethin’.” - -“What did you forget, dear?” asked the girl, going to his bed. - -“I love you, Barb’ra!” murmured the little boy, snuggling his hand in -hers. - -She stooped to kiss him all warm and sweet with sleep. Then drew the -blankets closer about his shoulders. - -“It was—a—a—letter,” the drowsily-sweet little voice went on. -“I—forgot——” - -“Jimmy,” said Barbara the next morning, as she brushed the child’s -yellow hair, “what was it you said last night about a letter?” - -“Oh, I bringed—no, I brought a letter home to you in my coat pocket, -and I forgot to give it to you.” - -“It isn’t in either of your pockets, dear. I looked there last night. -Try and think what you did with it.” - -The little boy looked troubled. - -“The man gave it to me, an’ it was blue. An’ he said it was f’om way -out west, an’ he asked me who did you know out west; an’ I said I -didn’t know; but I’d ask you. I put it in my pocket.” - -“Perhaps it wasn’t anything important,” Barbara said slowly, “but——” - -“No, I guess it wasn’t,” agreed Jimmy placidly. “Say, Barb’ra, can I -have two popcorn balls to take to school?” - -“But what do you suppose became of the letter?” persisted Barbara. -“Which pocket did you put it in?” - -Jimmy eyed the small garment uncertainly. - -“It was in this one,” he decided; “I ’member I put the letter in my -pocket an’ it stuck out, ’cause it was too long.” - -“Did you come straight home from the post-office?” demanded Barbara. -“Did you, Jimmy?” - -Jimmy reflected. - -“I walked along,” he said, “an’ ’nen I looked in through the fence to -see the deer an’ the shiny blue round things—you know, Barb’ra, when -the sun shines you c’n see——” - -“I know,” said the girl, with a touch of impatience. - -“An’ ’nen I saw the horse wiv a short tail come out, an’ I p’tended I -was drivin’ an’ goin’ awful fast! But I couldn’t trot real fas’ because -the m’lasses spilled. I had to stop an’ lick it off lots of times.” - -“Why, Jimmy!” said the girl rebukingly. - -“Wiv my fingers,” explained Jimmy mildly. “You know you have to do -something when it comes out all bubbles ’round the edge; an’—an’ ’nen -I——” - -“You must have dropped the letter somewhere along the road,” -interrupted his sister. - -“Uh-huh! I guess I did,” assented the culprit. “But I didn’t mean to, -Barb’ra. Truly I didn’t.” - -His lip quivered as he looked up at her stormy face. - -The girl controlled herself with an effort. - -“Of course you didn’t mean to, darling,” she said, kissing the rosy -mouth, which had begun to droop dolefully at the corners. “Perhaps it -was just an advertisement, anyway, and not worth bothering over. I’ll -walk along with you and see if we can find it.” - -But the letter, snugly hidden under a clump of unfolding fern, gave -no token of its presence as the two walked slowly past it, their eyes -searching the road and the tangled growths on either side. - -Barbara walked swiftly to the post-office, after she had left Jimmy -at the schoolhouse. It had occurred to her that someone might have -returned the missing letter to the office. - -Al Hewett, when questioned, shook his head. - -“Nope,” he said, “the’ ain’t nobody brought it here. ’Course I’d ’a’ -saved it fer you if they had. I remember the letter all right, I -happened to notice the postmark. It was fo’m Tombstone, Arizony. Know -anybody out there?” - -The girl shook her head. “Was there any printing—or—writing on the -envelope?” she asked. - -“Not that I recall,” said Mr. Hewlett, mindful of his official state. -“Of course you understan’ with the amount of mail we handle in this -office that we couldn’t be expected to notice any one letter in -pertickler. I’m real sorry, Barb’ra,” he added, with genuine good -feeling. “Jimmy’s pretty small t’ deliver mail. He’s a nice little -shaver, though. Anythin’ in the line o’ groceries to-day?” - -“Not to-day,” said Barbara, her cheeks flushing. - -Then she looked up with sudden determination. “Is your father here?” -she asked, in a low voice. “If he is—I’d like to see him.” - -“Pa’s in the back room makin’ up accounts,” the younger Hewett informed -her. “I’ll call him, if you say so.—Pa!” - -“No; don’t, please,” objected Barbara hastily. “I’ll go and speak to -him there.” - -But Mr. Abram Hewett had already appeared in answer to the summons -and was advancing briskly behind a counter gay with new prints and -ginghams. His face stiffened at sight of Barbara, and he darted an -impatient look at his son. - -“Could I speak with you—just a moment, Mr. Hewett?” asked Barbara, in a -low, determined voice, “on business?” - -The man coldly scrutinized the flushed face the girl lifted to his. - -“If it was ’bout the balance o’ that account o’ yours——” he began, “I -was just lookin’ it over, ’long with some others like it. You c’n come -in here.” - -Barbara followed his short, bent figure, her heart beating heavily. But -she had found a remnant of her vanished self-possession by the time Mr. -Hewett had climbed to the high stool behind the long-legged desk, which -represented the financial centre of the establishment. “Well?” he said -interrogatively, fixing his lowering regard upon her. - -Barbara glanced at the two fly-specked legends which flanked the desk -on either side, reading respectively, “My time is money; don’t steal -it,” and “This is my busy day.” - -“I didn’t come to finish paying that bill to-day,” she said, a flush of -shame mounting to her forehead. “But the hens are beginning to lay now, -and——” - -“Eggs is cheap an’ plentiful,” demurred Mr. Hewett, with unconcealed -impatience. “I couldn’t agree t’ allow ye much on eggs.” - -“It wasn’t the bill I came to see you about,” said Barbara, with a -proud look at him. “I shall pay it in money as soon as I possibly can.” - -“Oh!” interjected Mr. Hewett. Then he added sharply “Humph!” drumming -meanwhile on the lid of his desk to denote the lapse of unfruitful -minutes. - -Barbara still hesitated, while she strove to find words to introduce -the difficult business she had in mind. - -Mr. Hewett cleared his throat suggestively. - -“There’s a mortgage on the farm,” she said slowly, “and we’re going to -lose it, unless——” - -“Unless you pay up,” suggested Mr. Hewett briskly. “Yes; jes’ so. I’ve -been wonderin’ how you managed to hang on to it s’ long’s you have.” - -“I’ve worked,” said Barbara, in a low, tense voice. “I’ve worked early -and late, ever since father died, and before that. But—there was unpaid -interest, and interest on that; and last year the apples failed, and -so——” - -“He’s goin’ to foreclose on ye. Yes, yes; exac’ly. I s’pose likely -Jarvis holds the mortgage?” - -“Yes,” said Barbara breathlessly. “But if I only had a little more time -I could manage it—somehow. I must keep the farm for Jimmy. I promised -father he should have it.” - -Mr. Hewett was silent, his plump face drawn into the semblance of a -dubious smile. - -“I’ve come to ask you to take up the mortgage for me, and give me more -time to pay it. Will you do it?” asked Barbara, avoiding the man’s look. - -Mr. Hewett shifted his gaze to the ink-well, around the edge of which a -lean black fly was crawling dispiritedly. - -“W’y, no,” he said decidedly. “I shouldn’t like to interfere; I -couldn’t do it.” - -“Why couldn’t you?” demanded Barbara. “If we have a good apple year, I -could pay the mortgage in two years. It doesn’t cost us much to live.” - -“If it’s a good apple year, apples’ll be a drug on the market,” Mr. -Hewett prophesied gloomily. “Nope! I’m sorry; but I guess you’ll have -to let Jarvis foreclose on ye. I shouldn’t like to run up against -Jarvis, y’ know.” - -“But—there’s Jimmy!” The girl’s voice rang out in a sharp cry. - -“Put the boy in an institootion, or bind him out,” advised Mr. Hewett, -drumming impatiently on the lid of his desk. “The’s folk a-plenty that -wouldn’t mind raisin’ a healthy boy to work.” - -Barbara turned swiftly. - -“Say!” called Mr. Hewett; “hold on a minute!” Then, as Barbara paused, -“This ’ere account’s been standin’ since long before your pa died. -I’ve been pretty easy on you to date, but I guess I’ll have to attach -somethin’ before Jarvis gits his hold onto things. You’ve got some -stock, I b’lieve, an’——” - -But Barbara was already out of hearing, hurrying as if pursued. Two or -three women, looking over dress goods at the counter, turned to look -after the slim figure in its black dress. - -“She don’t ’pear to see common folks any better’n her father did,” said -one, with a spiteful laugh. - -“Well, I don’t see’s she’s got much to be stuck up about,” put in -another. “What with her father drinkin’ himself to death, an’——” - -“Was that what ailed him?” inquired a newcomer in the neighborhood. -“I remember he was buried a year ago last winter, just after we moved -here. But I never heard he was a drinking man.” - -“None of us suspicioned it for quite a spell,” explained the first -speaker volubly. “Donald Preston was too awful stylish and uppity to -go to the tavern an’ get drunk like common folks; he used to sen’ for -his liquor f’om out of town. The best of brandy, so they say; then he’d -drink, an’ drink till he was dead to the world, shut up in his room. He -kind of lost his mind ’long toward the last, they say. He lived more’n -two years that way ’fore he finally died.” - -“She didn’t take care of him like that, did she?” - -“Yes, she did. Her an’ the hired man; an’ I guess they had their hands -full part the time. He used to cry an’ holler nights like a baby -towards the last. Me an’ Mr. Robinson heard him once when we was comin’ -home f’om a revival meetin’ over to the Corners. Seth, he was for -stoppin’ an’ seein’ if there was anythin’ we could do, but I says, ‘No, -I don’t want to mix up in it,’ I says. Afterwards I was kind of sorry; -I’d like to have seen the upstairs rooms in that house.” - -The subject of these manifold revelations and censures was walking -rapidly down the village street, her mind a maze of unhappy -reflections. She stopped short at the end of the sidewalk, as Jimmy had -done the day before. - -“I don’t suppose there’s any use,” she thought, her eyes fixed on the -imposing front which the Jarvis residence presented to the public -gaze. “But I’ll try, anyway. If he’d give me a year—or even six months -longer, I’m sure I could get the interest paid up.” - -Without waiting for her elusive courage to vanish into thin air the -girl pushed open the front gate, which clanged decisively shut behind -her. The harsh metallic sound appeared to pursue her relentlessly up -the long gravelled walk, past the stiff figures of the cast-iron deer, -past the blossoming shrubs and the glittering blue glass globes—quite -up to the pillared entrance. A sour-faced woman opened the door. - -Mr. Jarvis was at home, she informed Barbara. “But he’s busy,” she -added importantly. “The’ can’t nobody see him this mornin’, an’ he’s -goin’ away to-morrow.” - -“Then I must see him,” Barbara said firmly. “Tell Mr. Jarvis that Miss -Preston would like to see him—on—on business.” - -Stephen Jarvis had spent several hours shut up in his library that -morning, during which period he had opened and examined his mail, read -the morning papers, published in a neighboring city, and the county -papers, one of which he owned, and whose editorial utterances he -controlled. - -The morning sun, streaming cheerfully through the clear windows, lay -across his paper-strewn desk, bringing into prominence its handsome -fittings and the large sinewy hand which reached purposefully for a -pen. As he sat there in the revealing light Stephen Jarvis appeared -very nearly what he had made of himself in the course of some thirty -laborious years. Nature had provided him with a big-boned, powerful -body, topped by a head in no wise remarkable for its beauty, yet -significant as the compact rounded end of a steel projectile; eyes of -no particular color, deep-set beneath penthouse brows; a nose, high in -its bony structure, curving at the tip, with a suggestion of scorn; -a jaw, heavy but clear-cut, well furnished with strong, even teeth. -Jarvis was born a farmer’s son, poor with the poverty of sparse acres, -sparsely cultivated through successive generations of uncalculating, -simple-hearted men, content to live and die as had their forbears. It -was far otherwise with Stephen Jarvis. His initial conclusion, derived -from keen-eyed observation and comparison, resulted in an active -hatred of the grinding poverty his fathers had accepted with settled -stoicism as the common lot. He would not, he resolved, remain poor. -He would in some way—in any way—acquire houses, lands, money. This -single idea, planted, rooted, and grown mighty, brought forth fruit -after its kind. In ten years’ time he had climbed out of the walled -pit where he had found himself; in the decade which followed, having -learned, experimentally, of the compelling power of the fixed idea -doggedly adhered to, he had gone on, adding more houses, more lands, -more money to what he already possessed; and this process having by -now become somewhat monotonously easy, he had reached for and seized -political power of the sort most easily grasped by the large hand of -wealth. He still continued almost mechanically to loan money at a -high rate of interest, to execute and foreclose mortgages, but there -was no longer zest or excitement in the game. And there intervened -disquieting moments like the present when he perceived that, after -all, he was not successful, as the world counted success; nor rich, as -the world counted wealth; moments when he realized his loneliness and -the coldness of his hearth-stone, where neither friends nor children -gathered. - -His wife, dead more than two years, had been a dull, emotionless woman, -with a flat, pale, expressionless face and a high-shouldered, angular -figure. Jarvis had married her without pretence of passion because she -had money, and in his poverty-pinched youth he had thought of little -else. He had never been unkind to the woman who bore his name. He had, -in fact, paid very little attention to her, and she had trodden the -dull round of her existence unprotestingly and died as unobtrusively as -she had lived. A portrait of the late Mrs. Jarvis in the cold medium of -black and white crayons, hung above the mantel. The man’s eyes rested -upon it mechanically as he lifted them from the dull report of a dully -rancorous speech delivered on a late public occasion by his political -opponent in the county. The portrait failed to arouse memories either -sweet or bitter; but Jarvis observed that his housekeeper in her -annual spring cleaning had taken the pains to protect the picture in -its showy, expensive frame. He frowned as he noticed the barred pink -netting from behind which his wife’s plain features looked forth with -a suggestion of pained protest. The effect was distinctly unpleasing. -He caught himself wondering irritably why the picture should confront -him thus; portraits were foolish, unmeaning things, anyway; shrouded -with pink tarlatan they became impossible. His gaze still lingered -frowningly upon the picture when there came a dubious tap upon the -panels of the door. - -“What d’you want?” demanded Jarvis sharply, as he recognized the -intruder. “I thought I told you not to disturb me this morning.” - -“Well, I told her so; but she wouldn’t go away,” the woman apologized. -“I guess ’f I let her stan’ there till she’s good an’ tired o’ waitin’, -she’ll——” - -“Kindly acquaint me with the name of the person who wishes to see me, -Mrs. Dumser,” he interrupted, with a quick, choleric lift of the hand. - -“It’s that Preston girl,” the woman said sullenly. “I told her you was -busy and——” - -“Show her in at once,” her employer ordered briefly. On the whole he -welcomed the interruption. There was a certain excitement akin to that -experienced by the sportsman when he subdues some struggling wild -creature to his will. It was a species of weak folly, he told himself, -to entertain anything like compassion for borrowers of money who could -not pay. And Stephen Jarvis was not a weak man. He was, moreover, -thoroughly familiar with all the various excuses, subterfuges and -pitiful expedients of such luckless individuals, as well as complete -master of the final processes by which he was wont to detach them from -their forfeited possessions. His mouth, long, straight, expressionless, -and shaded by a closely clipped mustache, tightened as Barbara Preston -entered. - -He glanced at her sharply as the girl sank into a chair opposite the -desk without waiting to be asked. - -The light from the long French windows fell full upon the slender -young figure in its plain black gown, and her face, seen against the -sombre background afforded by rows of leather-bound law-books, appeared -vividly alive, defiantly youthful, like a spray of peach blossoms -against a leaden sky. - -“You wished to see me, I believe,” said Jarvis, perceiving that the -girl was struggling with involuntary fear of him, a fear heightened by -her surroundings. “What can I do for you?” - -She met his gaze unflinchingly. - -“I have come,” she said, “to see if you will give me a little more -time. It is going to be a good apple year, and—and I’ll work—hard to -save the farm.” - -Her eyes darkened and widened; a quick color sprang to lips and cheeks, -as when a flag is suddenly unfurled to the wind. - -“If you’ll only give me a chance!” she cried. - -“What sort of a chance are you looking for?” he wanted to know. - -Barbara’s eyes fell before his steady gaze. - -“I—want——” she began, and stopped, obviously searching for forgotten -words and phrases. - -He waited imperturbably for her to go on. - -“I want you to let me stay—in my home.” - -He lifted his eyebrows. - -“I thought we discussed that matter pretty thoroughly yesterday -afternoon,” he said. “I can think of nothing more to say on the -subject.” - -“But,” she persisted, “I don’t intend to give it up. I—can’t.” - -He was silent. But his look angered her unreasonably. - -“You don’t want the farm!” she burst out, with sudden hot indignation. -“You’ve got most of the farms about here now, and you’ll have the -others in time, I suppose.” - -“You appear to know a good deal about my business,” he said ironically. -“But you’re right. I don’t want the Preston farm. I don’t want any of -’em. Why should I? Most of them are like yours, worn out, worthless. -But the owners want my money—your father did. And I let him have what -he asked for. I might have refused. But I let him have a thousand -dollars, and he took it, did as he liked with it—drank it up, for all I -know. And now you come here begging——” - -The girl sprang to her feet; her gray eyes blazed angrily upon him. - -“I’m not begging!” she cried. “All I want is the chance to pay -you—every cent, and I could do it—I will do it.” - -“Perhaps you will tell me how you are going about it,” he said coldly. - -She sank back into her chair. - -“Yes!” she said slowly. “I am—begging. I am begging for time. Give me -another year—give me this summer, and let me—try!” - -He was studying the girl’s passionate face with a curious interest. A -singular idea had presented itself to him, and he was considering it -half mockingly. Nevertheless it lent a human sound to his voice as he -answered her. - -“See here, Miss Preston,” he said. “I admire your pluck and energy. -But let me tell you that you don’t want to hold on to that farm. The -orchards are too old to be productive; the land needs fertilizers, -rotation, all sorts of things that require brains and money. That old -fool, Morrison, hasn’t managed the place properly, and can’t. It’s a -losing fight, and you’d better give it up—peaceably.” - -“But I want it,” she urged, “for Jimmy. I want to hold the place for -him. He’ll soon grow up now, and—he’s the last of the Prestons.” - -She stopped short and sprang to her feet, with a little gasp of angry -protest. - -“You are laughing at me!” she cried indignantly. “You have no right——” - -She was mistaken; Stephen Jarvis seldom indulged in laughter; but his -hard-set mouth had relaxed somewhat under his clipped mustache. His -greenish brown eyes shone with an unaccustomed light. He was thinking -his own thoughts, and for once, at least, he found a singular pleasure -in them. - -“Don’t get excited,” he advised her coolly. “Sit down and we’ll talk -this over. You want to keep the farm for that half-brother of yours, -you say. Well, I’m disposed to give it to you to do as you like with, -if you——” - -She gazed at him almost incredulously. - -“You’ll give me time to try?” she asked breathlessly. “Oh, thank you!” - -He answered her impetuous question with another. “Did you notice the -person who showed you in? Yes; I see you did, particularly. Well, she’s -my housekeeper. She’s been here since my—since I buried the late Mrs. -Jarvis. But I—well; I’m tired of seeing the woman about. I shall need -somebody to take her place, and—Stop! I want you to hear me out.” - -The girl had not resumed her seat at Jarvis’s bidding. She retreated -swiftly toward the door. The man’s imperious voice followed her. - -“Come back! I’m not done with what I had to say!” - -But Barbara had already closed the door definitely behind her. -The woman in black silk stood just outside. She had, in fact, been -listening. - -“Well!” she breathed explosively, staring at Barbara. Then she rustled -toward the front door, her ample draperies filling the narrow twilight -passage with a harsh, swishing sound. - -“You better not show your face here again!” she said in a low, fierce -voice, as she held the door wide for Barbara to pass out. - - - - -IV - - -JIMMY PRESTON sat curled up on one foot by the table in Peg Morrison’s -loft. His yellow hair was damp and towsled, for he had run bare-headed -through the rain, bearing his precious book of “Vallable Information” -tucked under his blouse. - -“I didn’t bring my red ink,” he explained breathlessly to Peg, “‘cause -I was ’fraid I’d spill it. I fought I could borrow some of yours.” - -“You can, an’ welcome, son,” agreed Peg, “but remember that’ll give me -an option on yours. Them that borrows ought to be willin’ to lend. They -ain’t though, as a gen’ral thing. Borrowers is spenders, and lenders is -savers, as a rule.” - -“I’ll lend you my whole bottle of red ink an’ I’ll lend you my pen, -too,” said Jimmy magnificently. - -The little boy spread his book open on the table for Mr. Morrison’s -inspection. “You see I’ve begun it already,” he said with pride. - -“Le’ me see; what you got here?” and Peg traced the first wavering line -with a horny forefinger. - -“That’s how not to lose a letter,” said Jimmy proudly. “Barb’ra says -sometimes letters are ’portant, an’ you don’t want to lose ’em.” - -“‘Lev letters in the posoffis. They wil be saf ther,’” read Peg -slowly. He paused and screwed his mouth in a noiseless whistle. - -“Don’t you think that’s a vallable inf’mation?” demanded Jimmy -anxiously. “If I hadn’t taken that letter and put it in my pocket, I -shouldn’t have lost it. Barb’ra could have got it herself, and maybe -it was ’portant. You can’t tell ’thout you read a letter whether it’s -’portant or not; an’ you can’t read a letter when it’s lost.” - -“So you lost a letter ’dressed to Barb’ry, did you? H’m! Where’d you -lose it?” - -“If I knew, I’d go an’ find it,” said Jimmy soberly. “I put it in my -pocket, an’ it was blue, an’ it was f’om out west. Barb’ra doesn’t know -who it was f’om. But she’d like to know.” - -“H’m!” repeated Peg. “You’d ought to carried it all the way right in -your han’, where you c’d see it. Pockets are kind o’ dangerous when it -comes to letters. I know a whole row o’ little boys ’at ain’t alive at -all, ’count o’ a letter bein’ lost. They never was born,” he added by -way of explanation. - -Jimmy drew a deep sigh of sustained interest. - -“You see it was this way,” continued Peg circumstantially. “The’ was a -young feller ’at I used to know, an’ he was workin’ in a lumber-camp -one winter where the’ wasn’t any pos’offis; one o’ the men used to -carry the letters in an’ out, a matter o’ fifteen miles. One time he -lost a letter this young feller wrote to his girl, an’ didn’t think to -say nothin’ ’bout it; an’ she got all worked up ’cause she didn’t hear -f’om him, an’ after a spell she up an’ married another man; an’ so the -young man I was speakin’ of never got married, an’ never had any little -boys o’ his own. He felt awful bad ’bout it fer a long time, but he -ain’t never los’ a letter ’at b’longed to anybody else.” - -The pattering sound of the rain on the barn roof increased to a steady -roar as Peg related this short but instructive tale. - -“I sh’d think those little boys would feel bad,” said Jimmy -sympathetically. “I’d hate not to be alive.” - -“Mebbe they do; an’ ag’in, mebbe they don’t,” observed Peg cautiously. -“Anyhow, some of ’em would be growed up by this time; farmin’ it, -mebbe, or keepin’ store.” His eyes wore a far-away look. - -Jimmy dipped Peg’s pen in the red ink bottle. - -“How do you spell not, Peg?” he inquired. - -“K-n-o-t,” replied the old man, with a sigh. - -Jimmy was silent for a long minute, his pen travelling slowly along the -blue line and leaving a trail of wabbly red letters behind. - -“‘Hough knot to los a letter,’” he read aloud, with honest pride in his -achievement. “What’ll I say next, Peg?” - -“Keep yer mind an’ yer eyes onto it till you get it t’ the person it’s -meant for,” the old man said, with some sternness. “You’ve got to do -that with ev’rythin’ you do,” he went on. “You can’t go moseyin’ ’long -thinkin’ ’bout ev’rythin’ under the sun ’cept what you’re doin’. If -you’re ploughin’, plough, an’ put all the grit an’ gumption you’ve got -onto ploughin’. Most folks ain’t so smart ’at they c’n afford to run a -d’partment store in their minds. Hold on! Don’t try to write all that. -Jus’ say, pay attention to that letter. You know, Cap’n,” he went on -impressively, “you come of awful fine stock. The Prestons was always -smart; your great-gran’father, he was smarter ’an all possess, an’ your -gran’father, he was jes’ the same.” - -“An’ my father was, too,” interrupted Jimmy, eying the old man with a -pucker between his brown eyes. “Wasn’t he smarter’n all possess, Peg?” - -“‘Course he was, Cap’n,” agreed the old man hastily. “Up to the -time he was took sick, he was A number one. An’ Barb’ry—I mean Miss -Barb’ry, she’s awful smart an’ ambitious, too, fer a female. Oh, you’ll -get along in the world, Cap’n, ’course you’ll get along! But losin’ -letters is like losin’ other things, such as money an’—an’ health, an’ -reputation an’—farms. It all comes o’ lettin’ yer mind kind o’ wander. -You won’t do that, will you, Cap’n?” - -The man’s voice trembled; he seemed anxiously intent on the little -boy’s answer. - -“I won’t, if I can help it, Peg,” Jimmy answered honestly. “But,” he -added candidly, “I like to think ’bout things in school—all kind o’ -things. When I look out the windows an’ see the trees wavin’ an’ hear -the birds I like t’ p’tend I’m outdoors playin’.” - -“Don’t you do it, Cap’n,” Peg spoke almost solemnly. “You keep a -stiddy holt on them thoughts o’ yourn’ an’ nail ’em down to readin’, -writin’, an’ ’rithmetic. If you ketch ’em a-wanderin’ out the window, -you fetch ’em back an’ make ’em work. You c’n do it, every trip.” - -“But if I don’t want to——” - -“There you got it! Struck the nail square on the head, Cap’n. You’ve -got to make yourself want to. You ain’t too young to learn, neither. -Gracious! I wisht somebody’d told me what I’m tellin’ you, when I was -’bout your age. I’ve kind o’ reasoned it out, watchin’ folks an’ their -doin’s, an’ noticin’ how I try an’ squirm out o’ doin’ things. The’s -two folks in ev’rybody, Cap’n; a lazy, good-fer-nothin’ sort o’ a chap, -that won’t do nothin’ in school, nor anywheres else if he c’n help it, -an’ there’s a smart, good, up-an’-a-goin’ feller ’at’s anxious to git -along in the world. I know ’em both inside o’ me. An’ ol’ lazybones -come nigh onto ruinin’ me when I was a boy. Lord! I jes’ wouldn’ work! -Ust t’ lie half th’ day in the sun an’ think o’ nothin’, when I’d ought -t’ been hoein’ corn. Then I’d come in an’—say I had the backache, -or th’ headache or—mos’ anythin’ I could think of. Ol’ lazybones is -an awful liar, Cap’n. You don’t want t’ listen to anythin’ he says. -You want to shet him up an’ keep him shet. He’ll lead a man t’ drink -an’ to steal other folks’ time an’ money; he’s meaner’n pusley an’ -slyer’n—well, he’s s’ durned sly, Cap’n, that you gotta be on his track -all the endurin’ while.” - -“Do you think I’ve got two folks in me, Peg?” asked Jimmy, laying his -hand over the pit of his stomach with a worried look. - -“I’m reelly ’fraid ye have, Cap’n,” said Peg firmly. “I never see -anybody ’at hadn’t. But ef you git th’ upper han’ o’ ol’ lazybones -now’t you’re small, you won’t have much trouble with him.” - -“I’m not small, Peg,” Jimmy corrected him. “You said I was large -an’—an’ hefty fer my age.” - -“Sure you be, Cap’n, but you ain’t reelly a man growed. That’s what I -mean, an’ I want you should grow up into an A number one man, full o’ -grit an’ gumption. An’ you can’t do it unless you start right. You see, -Cap’n, I’m gittin’ ’long in life an’ I’ve figgered it out ’at ’bout six -folks out o’ every ten kind o’ see-saws back an’ forth betwixt bein’ -lazy an’ lyin’ an’ no ’count, an’ bein’ industrious an’ truthful. Folks -like that gits ’long so-so; they don’t hev no partickler good luck—ol’ -lazybones keeps ’em f’om that; but they don’t git nowheres neither, -’cause they don’t stick to biz. Then the’s ’bout three out o’ ev’y ten -thet gives right up to ol’ lazybones f’om the start; an’ he runs ’em -right into th’ ground ’s fas’ ’s possible. The tenth man, he stomps -on ol’ lazybones ev’ry time he opens his head t’ speak, an’ bimeby he -gits on the right track s’ stiddy an’ constant ’at nobody c’n stop ’im. -An’ he’s the one thet gits thar! I want you should be that kind o’ a -man, Cap’n. An’ that’s one reason I give you that book o’ Vallable -Info’mation. It’ll help you to kind o’ think over differ’nt things that -happens. Now I’ll bet you won’t lose another letter in a hurry.” - -“No, I won’t,” Jimmy said earnestly. “An’ I’m goin’ to try an’ stomp on -ol’ lazybones.” - -“That’s right, Cap’n,” cried Peg. “You jes’ stomp on him hard an’ -proper. You git th’ upper han’ o’ him b’fore he grows too big and -hefty, an’ bimeby he won’t bother you.” - -“Peg,” said Jimmy, after a period devoted to reflection, “the Hon’rable -Stephen Jarvis is in our house.” - -“Dear me! You don’t say so!” ejaculated Peg, with a frightened start. - -“He makes Barb’ra cry,” said Jimmy, scowling fiercely. “I wanted to -stay an’ keep him f’om doin’ it; but Barb’ra said for me to come out -here and see you. I’d like to stomp on him—hard!” - -The subject of these dubious comments and conjectures, more ill at ease -than his worst enemy had ever hoped to see him, sat in the dull light -of the rainy afternoon, looking at Barbara Preston with new eyes: to -wit, the eyes of a man. - -“I suppose,” the girl said steadily, “you have come to tell me that you -will foreclose the mortgage.” She gripped her hands close in her lap. - -“No,” said Stephen Jarvis, “that was not my intention. As I have -already informed you, the mortgage will foreclose itself, when the time -comes.” - -He stopped short and narrowed his lids frowningly. - -“I have been thinking about you,” he said harshly, “since you left me -so abruptly yesterday. Why did you do it? And yet, I am glad, on the -whole, that you did. I want to tell you that I stood in my library door -and witnessed my housekeeper’s dismissal of you from my house. Her own -followed without delay.” - -“I am sorry,” Barbara told him mechanically. She was noticing dazedly -that Jarvis was dressed as she had occasionally seen him in church, and -that his gloves and linen were quite fresh and immaculate. - -“Why should you be sorry?” he demanded with a straight look at her. - -“I—why, I think I should be sorry for any woman who had lost what she -wanted to keep,” Barbara answered. “If you discharged her because I——” - -“You were not primarily the cause of her dismissal,” he said coolly. “I -had already told you that I was tired of seeing the woman about.” - -He was silent for a long time, gazing frowningly at the floor. - -Suddenly he looked up and, meeting Barbara’s astonished and somewhat -indignant eyes, held them steadily with his own. - -“You are wondering why I came here to-day. You are afraid of me, and -you doubtless fancy with the rest of the world that you—dislike me -exceedingly.” - -Barbara opened her lips to reply. - -“Don’t take the trouble to deny it,” he went on, with a faint sneer. -“I know what most people think of me, perhaps with reason. But I -am myself, not another; and so far, fear—dislike have seemed to me -unavoidable.” Again his rigid lips relaxed into something like a smile, -and he looked questioningly at the girl. - -“It ought to be easy,” she said uncertainly, “to make people like you. -You might——” - -“I know what you are thinking of,” he interrupted rudely. “But it -wouldn’t do. People fear and hate a hard man; they despise a fool. I -refuse to be despised.” - -He rose and walked up and down the room impatiently as if his thoughts -irked him. Finally he paused before the window where a scarlet geranium -blossomed on the sill, and turned a singularly flushed face upon the -girl. For a dazed instant she wondered with a thrill of painfully -remembered fear if he had been drinking. - -“You will be startled at what I am about to say to you,” he said, in -a changed voice. “I should have laughed at the idea if anyone had -suggested it to me a week ago. But—I want you to marry me. I want you -to be my wife. No! don’t answer; don’t refuse! You haven’t thought what -it means. You cannot consider the matter so suddenly. But this much -you can understand, I will give you this place on our wedding-day—to do -with as you like, and I will attach no conditions to the gift.” - -Barbara had not removed her fascinated gaze from his face. She felt -like one dreaming fantastically and struggling unavailingly to awake. - -“Perhaps you do not realize what you have asked of me,” she said at -last. “But—I will not sell myself for this farm. That is what you have -asked me to do.” - -Her eyes sparkled blue fire; her lips curled disdainfully. - -“Don’t be a fool,” he said roughly. “I want nothing of the sort. I want -you—you! I need you. I am more sure of it now than ever.” - -He took three steps toward her, his rugged face alive with -determination—the grim determination which had wrested all that he -possessed from the grip of a hostile world. - -“When I want anything,” he said doggedly, “I always get it. Didn’t you -know that? I want you.” - -“You’ll not get me—ever!” cried Barbara. - -She knew it must be war to the bitter end between them, and she flung -the gage of battle full in his face with fine recklessness. - -“You may take everything I have, if you can. But you’ll not get me!” - -He stood up and buttoned his frock coat over his white waistcoat. - -“I’ll not take your answer to-day,” he said, quite unmoved by her -anger. “I had no intention of doing so.” - -He strode to the door without another look at her, signalled his -coachman, stepped into his closed carriage, shut the door hard behind -him and rolled away, with a smooth whir of shining wheels. - - - - -V - -“I’LL give her time to think before I see her again,” Jarvis decided, -as his swift-stepping bays carried him along through the April rain. He -dropped the window of his brougham and drew in deep satisfying breaths -of the moist air. He was glad that she had not yielded supinely, as a -weaker woman might have done. There was to his mind something heroic, -splendid in her attitude as she defied him. For the first time in his -life, Stephen Jarvis felt the stir of half-awakened passion; and the -savage within his breast, never wholly eliminated or even tamed by an -imperfect civilization, exulted at the thought of the imminent conflict -of wills, the flight, the pursuit, the inevitable capture. - -“I’ll give her time to think—to be afraid!” he repeated; “then——” - -The blood hammered in his temples and involuntarily he clenched his -strong hands, as if already crushing that weaker woman’s will and -subduing it to his own. - -But Barbara Preston was not thinking of the fact that Stephen Jarvis -had asked her to be his wife. Being a woman, and, moreover, hard driven -by cruel necessity, she might have been pardoned, if for a moment she -had allowed her thoughts to linger upon the interview which had just -ended. She might even have recalled with a certain speculative interest -the luxurious interior of the carriage into which he had stepped and -the smooth roll of the wheels which had borne him away, safe shut from -the wind and the weather. So might she be lifted and sheltered from the -bleak peltings of poverty, and life become a smooth progression instead -of a painful pilgrimage. The girl sat quite still by the window looking -out through misty panes into a mistier world, and only vaguely aware of -dripping lilac sprays, ruddy with swelling buds, and of the flash of -wet brown wings athwart the gray sky. - -Stephen Jarvis, master of fate, and thrilling with the clash of his -will upon hers, could hardly have known that the ghost of another man -stood between him and the object of this new, urgent desire of his. He -would have laughed the shadowy presence to scorn had he known it. - -Yet it was this mere shadow of a man which chained Barbara’s thoughts -while the April rain softened the landscape to a soft green blur. After -all it was but natural that her one pitiful little love story should -come back to her now, even to a vision of David Whitcomb’s eager face, -his dark impatient eyes, and tossed hair, and the strong clasp of his -hand upon hers in the dusk of the summer twilight. - -It was Jimmy who had come between them; little motherless Jimmy, then a -baby a year old, with big appealing eyes under a fluff of soft yellow -hair, and a voice sweeter than any bird’s. All the woman’s heart in -her had gone out to the helpless little creature who nestled in her -arms at night, and whose eyes and voice followed her as she went about -her work by day. This in the days when her father, grown suddenly old -and apathetic, had begun to shut himself up in his library, for what -purpose Barbara did not guess, at first. When she did know it was too -late. The leaves of the book had been long closed and sealed, but the -heart within her shivered at the remembrance of what was written there. - -“If you really loved me,” David had said hotly, “you would not let -anyone or anything come between us.” - -She told him that she could not go to him over the bodies of a sick -father and a helpless child. And since he had asked this of her, she -did not, indeed, love him. - -After this stormy scene—the last between them, since David Whitcomb had -gone away, no one knew whither, nor indeed cared, since he was young -and friendless and poor—Barbara had cried herself to sleep for many -successive nights, quietly, so as not to disturb the sleeping child. -But one does not weep overlong at night whose brain and hands and feet -are employed in the daytime. Only the beggared rich may give themselves -to the indolent luxury of grief. After many nights of weeping followed -by days of anxiety and uncounted labors, the pain of that parting -subsided to a dull aching memory, which wakened once to cry out -bitterly when she heard that he had been seen on a ship bound to the -Yukon region in the early days of the gold fever. Many perished along -the trail that year. It was rumored that David Whitcomb was among the -number. No word ever came back to contradict the rumor, which after the -lapse of months was accepted as a fact, and so—forgotten. - -It was a long time—as youth measures time—since she had thought of -David Whitcomb. Now she deliberately travelled back over the years -between, and stood looking at her anguished young self, torn between -love and duty, and at her one lover, who was not noble enough—she saw -this with mournful certainty now—to help her lift and carry her heavy -burden. Nevertheless she forgave him—as she had done hundreds of times -in the past, excusing him tenderly, as a mother might have done, for -his hot young selfishness, which refused to share her heart with a -dying man and a helpless little child. - -“I am glad,” she said aloud to the shadowy presence of her one lover, -“glad that I did not yield.” - -But her face was grave and sorrowful as she rose to answer a gentle -knock at the kitchen door. - -Peg Morrison stood there under the shelter of an ancient green -umbrella, his puckered face smiling and healthily pink against the pale -green of the outside world. - -“I lef’ the Cap’n a-studyin’ over his book,” he chuckled, as he stepped -into the kitchen, carefully wiping his feet on the braided rug inside. -“He takes to vallable info’mation as the sparks fly upwards, an’ I’m -glad to see it. Thinks I, as I looked at him settin’ down improvin’ -maxims in red ink, this is a good time to talk over the situation with -Miss Barb’ry.” - -Barbara drew a deep breath. - -“Come in,” she said briefly. - -Then, as Peg seated himself in a wooden chair, ceremoniously arranging -his coat-tails on either side, she added, “There isn’t much to say.” - -“Wall, I’ve been thinkin’ fer quite a spell back that mebbe you’d -like t’ lease th’ farm to me, ’stid o’ my workin’ it on shares, as -heretofore. I’m——” - -“But you haven’t had any share, Peg,” Barbara said, with a shade of -impatience. “And that is why I have felt so—so unwilling to have you -stay here and work, when I couldn’t possibly pay you what I knew you -were earning.” - -Peg struck one heavy palm upon his knee before he answered, his kindly -face drawn into myriad comical puckers. - -“Now, look-a-here, Miss Barb’ry,” he began. “You an’ me’s argued this -’ere question over more’n once. If I don’t get my share I’d like to -know who does? I git m’ livin’, don’t I? An’ I git free house-rent, -don’t I? An’ them two items, livin’ an’ house-rent, ’s ’bout all mos’ -folks git. W’y, Miss Barb’ry, I live luxurious to what lots o’ folks -do. And then ag’in you mus’ remember that I ain’t a reelly d’sirable -farm laborer. I’m gittin’ ’long in life, an’ I can’t put in the kind -and description o’ a day’s work folks’ll pay good wages fer. I’ll bet -you——” - -And the old man raised his voice to the argumentative pitch commonly -employed in heated controversies around the stove in Hewett’s grocery. - -“I’ll bet you a dollar an’ a half ’at I couldn’t git a place on a farm -’round here to save my neck! I’ll bet I’d git turned down quicker’n -scat ev’ry place I’d try. ‘What!’ they’d say, ’ol’ Peg Morrison wants a -place? That ol’ coot? Why, he ain’t wo’th his victuals!’ ’Tain’t reelly -fur f’om charity, Miss Barb’ry, fer you to keep me here, givin’ me -all the veg’tables an’ po’k I want, with now an’ then a fresh egg, er -a—chicken. Sakes alive! I tell ye I’m grateful of a winter night when I -creep under that nice patchwork quilt you give me ’at I’m workin’ fer a -lady—on shares.” - -Barbara laughed, an irrepressible girlish laugh, even while she shook -her head. - -“I couldn’t pay you for what you’ve done for Jimmy and me since—since -father died, and—before, too. And I can’t thank you, either. I couldn’t -find words to do it if I tried.” - -“Thank me!” echoed the old man exuberantly. “Say, excuse me fer -appearin’ to smile, Miss Barb’ry.” His voice grew suddenly grave. “I -guess ther’ ain’t any pertickler use in quarrellin’ ’bout it, after -all. I’ll do what I can fer you an’ the boy—bein’ a poor shakes of a -laborer—jes’ ’s long ’s I live, an’ you c’n d’pend upon it. But now -what do you think ’bout leasin’ th’ farm—say, fer a thousand dollars?” - -Peg’s eyes grew round, and he gasped a little at the magnitude of the -proposition. - -“I’ve got a dollar or two laid by fer a rainy day, an’ I’ll put that -down in advance,” he went on, with a chuckle, “an’ the way I’ve -figgered it I’ll make big money on the deal. W’y, look-a-here,” and -he drew a soiled newspaper from his pocket, “I come ’cross this ’ere -article th’ other day. I’d like t’ read t’ you what it says on the -subjec’ o’ onions. ‘Thirty-three acres o’ land in onions netted John -Closner of Hidalgo, Texas, ’leven thousan’ dollars!’ Hear that, will -ye? He says he perduced thirty-six carloads off’n his farm—more’n a -carload t’ an acre!’ Hold on! that ain’t all—’course that’s in Texas. -But listen t’ this, Miss Barb’ry——” - -“But, Peg, there isn’t any use of talking,” interrupted the girl, “the -mortgage is going to be foreclosed the first of June, unless I——” - -“Foreclosed—eh? Foreclosed!” echoed the old man. “Wall, I was ’fraid of -it when I seen his buggy here yist’day an’ ag’in t’-day. Farmers ’round -here say they hate th’ sight o’ that red-wheeled buggy worse’n pison -snakes. It gene’ally means business o’ th’ kind they ain’t lookin’ -fer. Say! I wisht I’d got a-holt o’ this ’ere article on onion-growin’ -before. I reelly do. Jes’ listen t’ this: ‘Onions are profitably grown -in th’ north, also. Ebenezer N. Foote of Northampton, Mass., has -perduced av’rage crops ’s high es nine hunderd an’ ten bushels t’ th’ -acre! He says he expects to raise that to twelve hunderd! The annual -value of his crop ranges f’om five hunderd to six hunderd dollars per -acre!’” - -Peg’s voice swelled into a veritable pæan in a high key; his face -glowed with the ecstasies of his imaginings. He carefully folded the -newspaper and stuffed it into a capacious pocket. - -“Now, y’ see,” he went on oratorically, “exclusive o’ the orchards, -which had ought to net us at least five hunderd dollars this year, we -could put in, say, twenty acres o’ onions, at five hunderd dollars per -acre, that would net us—l’me see, five hunderd dollars times twenty -acres ’ud make. Here, lemme figger that out.” - -The old man fumbled in his vest pocket for a stubbed pencil. - -“I ain’t th’ lightnin’ calculator you’d expect fer such a schemin’ ol’ -cuss,” he murmured apologetically, as he wet the lead preparatory to -computation. - -Barbara smiled. “It would be ten thousand dollars,” she said. “But, -Peg, don’t you see——” - -“Ten thousand dollars! Whew! I guess that ’ud make a mortgage look kind -o’ sick, wouldn’t it? We’d ought to hold on a spell longer an’ give -onions a try.” - -“But we can’t, Peg. It’s only six weeks before the first of June, and -I’ve only twenty dollars in the world.” - -Barbara leaned back in her chair, her face relaxed and weary and -unutterably sad. - -“You must look for another place right away, Peg,” she went on, “I’ll -try and find one for you. Then, if I can get a school, or—some sort of -work. I don’t care much what it is, if it will keep Jimmy and me.” - -“The’s a whole lot o’ money in p’tatoes, too,” grumbled Peg, his -anxious blue eyes on her face. “I’d ought to ’ave sowed peas an’ oats -on that hill lot las’ fall an’ ploughed ’em in this spring. It says -in this ’ere article on big crops that’ll grow p’tatoes like all -possessed. I wisht I’d come acrost th’ inf’mation b’fore.” - -“Mr. Jarvis says the farm is worn out,” Barbara said, a growing -despondency in her voice. “He says the orchards are worthless, too; -they are old.” - -“Shucks!” exploded Peg. “‘Course Jarvis’d talk like that when he’s -gittin’ it away f’om you fer nothin’ like its value. I’ll bet he’d have -another story to tell ef anybody was to try ’n buy it of him. Values -has a way o’ risin’ over night like bread dough once Stephen Jarvis -gits a-holt o’ a piece o’ prop’ty.” - -“He asked me to marry him,” said Barbara abruptly. Then bit her lip -angrily at the old man’s look of amazed incredulity. “I’m sure I don’t -know why I told you, only I—haven’t anyone to speak to, and—no one to -advise me.” - -Peg’s face grew suddenly grave. - -“Don’t you be afraid I’ll mention it, Miss Barb’ry,” he said gently. -“‘Course I was kind o’ s’prised—at first. But I don’t know’s I be, come -t’ think o’ it. He asked you to be Mis’ Jarvis? Wall! You goin’ to do -it, Miss Barb’ry?” - -“He said he would give me the farm,” Barbara went on slowly, “to do as -I liked with. I could—give it to Jimmy.” - -She looked at him with a child’s unconscious appeal. - -“Do you think I ought to—to marry him, Peg?” - -The old man was still eyeing her soberly, even wistfully. - -“I’ve knowed you sence you was a little girl no higher’n my knee, -Miss Barb’ry,” he began. “I’ve seed you grow up. An’ I’ve seed you go -through some pretty hard experiences. Now, I ain’t the kind to talk -very much ’bout my religion, an’ the’s times when I don’t ’pear to have -a nawful lot of it; but the’s a God that hears an’—an’ takes notice. -That much I’ve found out, an’ ef I was you I’d go to headquarters an’ -git th’ best advice. But I’ll say this, ef the farm is wore out,—es he -says,—it ’pears t’ me he’s askin’ a pretty high price fer th’ prop’ty. -He wants your youth, Miss Barb’ry, an’ your pretty looks, an’ your -life. An’ es fer the Cap’n—Wall, I’d ruther not d’pend too much on th’ -Hon’rable Stephen Jarvis, when it comes t’ th’ Cap’n. That’s the way it -looks to me. ’Course I don’t p’tend to be a good jedge o’ what’s best -in th’ world. I don’t look like it, do I?” - -He glanced down at his patched and faded clothes with a cheerfully -acquiescent smile. - -“I’ve a notion,” he went on, “that the Lord’ll advise ye ’long th’ same -lines ’s I hev. But don’t take my word fer it.” - -“None of my prayers have been answered,” Barbara said, her red lips -setting themselves in obstinate lines. “I’ve given up expecting -anything so foolish. I prayed to have father get well, and he—died.” - -“But he got well,” put in Peg quietly. “You c’n bet he did. Mebbe the -Lord couldn’t fetch it ’round any other way. The’ was so many things -ag’in him.” - -Barbara’s delicate brows went up scornfully. - -“I don’t call dying getting well,” she said. - -“H’m!” murmured the old man gently. “Mebbe we don’t always call things -by their right names.” - -He got to his feet slowly. - -“Wall, I mus’ be gittin’ out t’ the barn.” - -He fixed his friendly, anxious eyes on the girl. - -“I guess I’d figger a spell on that marryin’ proposition, ef I was -you,” he said softly, and shook his head. - -He turned, with his hand on the latch, to cast a dubious look back at -the girl. - -“It ’pears t’ me you ain’t cut out right for the second Mis’ Jarvis,” -he said. “She’d ought b’ rights t’ be a big, upstandin’ female, -with—with red hair.” - -He shut the door hastily behind him. - - - - -VI - - -IT is a well-worn, yet none the less true saying that every human life -is a chain of causes and effects; each effect a cause, and each cause -an effect, stretching back to an unimagined and unimaginable First -Cause; and on and on into endless, undreamed of vistas of the future. -Yet the realization of this vague, yet tremendous fact comes but seldom -even to the thoughtful mind, so busy are we forging link on link of the -chain which binds us alike to past and future. - -Barbara Preston, stopping aimlessly to read the notice of an auction -of farm stock and household furniture advertised to take place in a -neighboring township, could not guess that the trivial impulse that -stayed her feet by the big chestnut at the roadside linked itself with -events already slowly shaping in her future. The notice was printed in -bold red letters on a buff background, calculated to seize and hold the -eye of the passerby, and set forth the fact that one Thomas Bellows, -Auctioneer, would, on the twenty-fifth day of April, sell to the -highest bidder, on the premises of the owner, four milch cows, three -farm horses, and sixty-four sheep. Also one young carriage horse, well -broken, sound, kind, and willing. Other items relating to household -gear and poultry followed, set down in due order of their relative -importance. - -The red letters on the buff ground passed into Barbara’s eyes—as -indeed they were purposefully intended—and impressed themselves on her -memory. She considered them half angrily as she pursued her way to -the post-office, picturing to herself the day when Thomas Bellows or -another, would noisily exploit the contents of her own well-loved home. -There was little there to bring money, and the mortgage covered stock -and furniture as well as the land itself. She had learned this from a -curt letter addressed to her by Stephen Jarvis in reply to questions of -her own as concisely put. - -Apart from her half-dazed recollection of the rainy afternoon a week -since, their relations as ruthless creditor and hopeless debtor -appeared to be unchanged. During the interval she had gone doggedly -about her self-imposed labors, rising in the faint light of dawn to set -strawberry and lettuce plants, wintered carefully on the south side of -the big barns, with the vague unreasoning hope that somehow or other -she might be permitted to reap the fruit of her toil. Between times -she was casting about for another home and other modes of livelihood -for herself and Jimmy. It would be difficult, if not impossible, she -was told, to secure a position to teach. Only normal-school graduates -stood any chance of preferment, and there appeared to be no prospect -of a vacancy of any kind before fall. To become a dressmaker’s -apprentice was possible; but the woman who provided the opportunity -offered instruction for the first six months in lieu of wages. And -obviously one could not live on information alone, however valuable. -Household servants were always in brisk demand, she had been reminded; -but pride of race wrestled with the untold humiliation of such a lot. -Besides, there was Jimmy. Her heart grew faint at the thought of the -loving, carefully-shielded child in the cold shelter of an “asylum” or -the bound property of some shrewd farmer, an investment involving a -grudging expenditure of coarse food and scanty, insufficient clothing -and forced to yield an ever-increasing increment of labor. Oh, life was -cruel at its best. Her flesh and her soul cried out at the thought of -what its worst might be. If there was a way of escape, why not accept -it? - -She was turning these things wearily over in her mind when the quick -whir of wheels sounded at her back. She stepped aside to allow the -vehicle to pass, without raising her eyes. - -A harsh, domineering voice, the sort of voice to be slavishly obeyed, -ordered the horse to stand still. - -She looked up quickly to meet the eager gaze of the man who was in her -thoughts. A vivid color, of which she was angrily conscious, rose to -her forehead. She stammered some sort of greeting, her eyes drooping -before the dominant insistence in his. - -“I was just on my way to your house,” he said. - -His voice, as well as his eyes, was eager, insistent. - -“Get in, won’t you, and ride with me? I have something to say to you.” - -The girl hesitated, her cheeks paling. He sprang to the ground, -speaking sharply to his young, restive horse. - -“Allow me to assist you,” he said, with a politeness wholly unfamiliar -to Barbara. - -She gave him an astonished look, which he interpreted correctly, with -the acumen of a trained politician. - -“You have been thinking that I was exceedingly abrupt—even rude, in -the way I spoke to you the other day,” he said, as he took her firmly -by the hand and lifted her to a seat in the vehicle which was “dreaded -more’n pison snakes” by the delinquent debtors in the countryside, -according to Peg Morrison. - -He bent to look keenly into her face, as he seated himself at her side. -“Isn’t that so,—Barbara?” - -At the sound of her name in that new, strange voice of his the girl -started and almost shivered. She was beginning to be afraid of -herself—this no less new and strange self, who was tired of being poor -and hardworked and anxious, and who longed after comfort and ease and -affection of some strong, compelling sort. She lifted her eyes to his. - -“I have been thinking many things,” she murmured, “since—since you——” - -He laughed under his breath. - -“Yes; and you have been doing some things, too,” he said. “I heard -you were looking for a place to teach, and—it didn’t encourage me to -suppose that you were thinking very favorably of what I proposed. Did -you secure a position?” - -“N-o, I didn’t,” she acknowledged. She hesitated visibly, then added, -“They told me you were a school commissioner, and that I must apply to -you.” - -“Why didn’t you apply to me?” he wanted to know. “Didn’t you think -I would be a good sort of person to help you in your desire for -independence?” - -“I didn’t ask you,” she said, “because——” - -“Well?” he questioned sharply. “You didn’t ask me for help because——” - -“How could I?” she demanded, with a spirited lift of her head. “I asked -you for help before and you refused.” - -He looked at her with piercing keenness. - -“Did I?” he said gravely. “Well, I offered you—a position. You haven’t -forgotten, have you?” - -Barbara’s heart beat suffocatingly fast. His eyes were on her face, -compelling her, mastering her. - -“Would you—Could I take care of Jimmy just the same?” she asked, in a -muffled voice. - -He gave his horse a sharp cut with the whip before he answered. - -“I can’t see why you should bring the boy into our affairs,” he said -coldly. “But he can live with us—for the present, if you like. Then -there is the Preston farm; as I’ve already told you, you may do as you -like with it.” - -Barbara looked mistily away over the fields past which they were -driving, the sound of meadow-larks, calling and answering, and the soft -jubilant gurgle of a bluebird on a nearer fence-rail reaching her like -vaguely reproachful voices out of a dead past. Then as now had the -meadow-larks called “Sweet! oh, my sweet!”—in the one spring-time when -David Whitcomb loved her. - -“I shall have to—to think,” she murmured. “I am afraid——” - -“Of what?” he demanded. “Of me?” - -She did not answer, and again he cut the horse impatiently with his -keen whip-lash, holding the spirited creature with a strong grasp on -the reins as he did so. - -“Well,” he said, after a long silence, “I’m afraid I can’t make myself -over, even for you. But I’ll tell you something, my girl, there are -worse men in the world than Stephen Jarvis, and perhaps you’ll fall in -with some of ’em, if you turn me down. Look at me, will you?” - -Unwillingly she turned her face to his. - -“I shall not take a silly _no_ for an answer,” he said under his -breath. “I never have, and I shan’t begin with you. I need you, and you -need me.” - -His eyes held her powerfully. - -“Do you love another man?” - -“No,” said Barbara faintly. She could not bring herself to uncover her -one dead love before those pitiless eyes, while the meadow-larks were -calling and answering with such piercing sweetness. David Whitcomb was -dead. If she had ever loved him it was as another self in a dim past, -growing ever dimmer. - -“Then,” said the Honorable Stephen Jarvis quietly, “you will marry me.” -He broke into a short laugh. “Do you know I couldn’t bear to think of -your loving another man? Is that being in love? Tell me, Barbara.” - -He laughed again softly, as he bent to peer into her averted face. She -felt herself yielding, her weak hold on past and future loosening. - -She did not answer, but her red mouth quivered. - -He experienced a sudden thrilling desire to touch the fresh innocent -lips with his. - -“It would be curious,” he murmured unsteadily, “if I should learn what -love is for the first time. Shall I tell you how old I am, Barbara?” - -She looked up at him without curiosity. - -“Well, I’m thirty-seven; and I’ve never loved any woman—I have never -loved anything, except money and success. But now—Barbara!” - -He bent toward her, his cold eyes alive with passion. - -“No—no!” she cried, shrinking from him in sudden terror. - -His face stiffened into its accustomed mask. - -“You’re thinking I’ve waited too long,” he said bitterly, and the -curling lash stung the bay horse in the flank. - -Neither spoke again while the wheels spun dizzily along over the mile -of road which brought them to the big stone gate-posts of the Preston -farm. - -He drew up his foaming horse sharply. - -“I won’t come in,” he said, “if you’ll get out here.” - -She felt herself vaguely humiliated as she stepped down from the high -vehicle without assistance. - -“Stop!” he ordered as she passed quickly inside, as if in haste to gain -shelter. - -She looked up at him uncertainly, her eyes wide with an emotion akin to -terror. - -“I shall not humiliate myself by coaxing or cajoling you,” he said -haughtily. “You are best left alone for the present.” - -He lifted his hat with a sweeping bow, and the red-wheeled buggy dashed -away. - -Barbara drew a long, struggling sigh. She felt curiously light and -free, as if she had made a breathless escape from some grasping hand, -outstretched to seize her. - -The sight of Jimmy running swiftly down the driveway toward her -heightened the sensation to almost passionate relief. - -“Hello, Barb’ra!” shouted the little boy. “I came home from school, an’ -you wasn’t here. An’ you can’t guess what I’ve got for you!” - -The child’s face, glowing rosily with health and mischief, was uplifted -to hers. She stooped and kissed it tenderly. - -“What have you got for me, Jimmy?” - -“Guess!” - -“I can’t guess,” she answered soberly. “You’ll have to tell me.” - -“You ain’t cross wiv me, are you, Barb’ra?” - -“No, dear, of course I’m not. Why should I be cross? Why, it—it’s a -letter! Where did you get it, Jimmy?” - -“It’s the one I lost,” said the child, puckering up his chin -disappointedly. “I fought you’d be glad. Peg found it. He said he -’membered the wind was blowin’ that day; so he looked all along the -road on bof sides, an’ he found it right under a bush.” - -Barbara hastily tore the sodden envelope apart. Her fingers trembled as -she unfolded the large stained sheet. - -“Is it all spoiled?” asked Jimmy anxiously. “Can’t you read it?” - - - - -VII - - -BARBARA stared at the stained and defaced sheet with wide, frightened -eyes. Her hands trembled. - -“Can’t you read it, Barb’ra?” pleaded Jimmy anxiously, standing on -tip-toe to peep at the letter. “Peg said he was ’fraid you couldn’t; -but he said maybe you’d know who it was from, an’ if it was ’portant.” - -Barbara did not answer. The rain-soaked paper in her trembling fingers -faced her like a mute accusing ghost out of the past. The lines of -writing folded close upon each other and soaked with rain and the stain -of the wet brown earth had been completely obliterated; but two words -of the many had escaped; her own name at the beginning of the letter, -and another at its close. - -“He is not dead!” she murmured. “He is not dead!” - -Jimmy clutched her sleeve, dancing up and down in his impatience. - -“Is it ’portant, Barb’ra—is it? Can you read it?” he persisted. - -She faced the child, her eyes clouded with despair and anger. - -“No, I can’t read it!” she cried. “Oh! if you had only brought it to -me!” - -She turned swiftly and hurried toward the house, leaving the child -lagging forlornly in the rear, his blue eyes brimmed with tears. - -Peg Morrison, digging a patch of garden in the rear of the house, his -battered straw hat drawn low over his eyes, his teeth firmly closed on -a twig of apple-tree wood, became presently aware of a small dejected -figure lurking in the shadow of the blossoming tree. - -“Hello, Cap’n!” he called out cheerfully, relinquishing the twig in -favor of a spent dandelion stalk. “Did ye find Barb’ry—heh? An’ did ye -give her the letter?” - -“I gave it to her; but she—can’t read it. An’—’n’ I’m ’fraid it was -’portant. She’s mad wiv me, Barb’ra is; ’n’ I haven’t had any dinner, -either.” - -The child manfully swallowed the sob that rose in his throat. Then he -selected a tall dandelion with a plumy top which he put in his mouth in -imitation of Peg, who watched him with a dubious smile. - -“Wall, now, that’s too bad, Cap’n,” sympathized the old man. “But -ef Barb’ry can’t read the letter it mus’ be ’cause ’tain’t best she -should. Things don’t happen b’ chance, Cap’n. You want t’ remember -that. There’s Somebody a-lookin’ out fer things as don’t make no -mistakes.” - -Jimmy pondered this dark saying while the dandelion stem slowly -uncurled itself into a dangling spiral. - -“Then it was all right for me to lose that letter, ‘N’ you said——” - -Peg frowned thoughtfully at the antics of a pair of barn-swallows -swooping in and out from under the eaves. - -“No; it wa’n’t right fer you to be careless an’ lose the letter, -Cap’n,” he said decidedly. “But the Lord—wall, you see, the Lord is -consid’able smarter’n what we be, an’ He c’n fix things up that go -wrong. Kind o’ arranges it so’t the universe won’t fly the track, no -matter what we do. We ain’t p’mitted t’ disturb the gen’ral peace t’ -any great extent. You’ll understan’ these things better when you’re -growed up, Cap’n.” - -“Will I?” said Jimmy hopefully. - -Peg thrust his spade into the ground. - -“Guess I’d better walk over t’ the house with you, an’ see if the’s -anythin’ I c’n do,” he said briefly. - -Barbara was setting the table with quick darting movements of her lithe -figure when the two came in range of the kitchen door. She paused -abruptly at sight of them. - -“You must come in and eat your dinner quick, Jimmy,” she called, “or -you’ll be late to school.” - -“You g’wan in, Cap’n,” Peg urged in a diplomatic whisper. “I guess -she’s pretty nigh all right. But I wouldn’t pester her none ’bout that -letter ef I was you. Mebbe she’d ruther not talk ’bout it yet.” - -The child stole into the kitchen with hanging head and sat down at the -table spread for two. He was very much ashamed of himself in the stormy -light of Barbara’s gray eyes; but Mr. Morrison’s remarks concerning -the Maker of the universe appeared worthy of passing on. He fortified -himself with a large slice of brown bread and butter, thickly overlaid -with apple-sauce. - -“It couldn’t have been _very_ ’portant, Barb’ra,” he said blandly. - -The girl faced about in the act of taking two boiled potatoes out of a -saucepan. - -“But it was, Jimmy. I know that much, and I can’t read it.” - -“Peg says there’s Somebody a-lookin’ out for things, an’ He made that -letter fall out o’ my pocket.” - -“Peg,” interrupted Barbara wrathfully, “knows nothing about it.” - -“‘N’ He let it rain, too,” pursued Jimmy determinedly. “‘N’ He let the -ink run, ’n’ the mud get on it. Do you want me to tell you who it was? -Do you, Barb’ra?” - -“Well, who do you suppose it was?” - -“God!” exploded the child dramatically. “Peg said——” - -“I don’t want to hear what Peg said. He doesn’t know.” - -“I shall put it,” said the child, “in red ink, in my Vallable -Inf’mation book. It’s a vallable inf’mation.” - -“It would be, if it was true.” - -“An’ if it isn’t true, it’s a vallable inf’mation. I’ll put it down -that way.” - -“I would,” advised Barbara gloomily. Then she repented herself and -stooped to kiss the child’s quivering lips. “Anyway,” she said, “I love -you; and you didn’t mean to lose the letter.” - -After Jimmy’s inquisitive blue eyes were tight shut that night, Barbara -examined the blurred sheet once more, holding it between her eyes and -the bright light of the lamp. A word here and there appeared to emerge -from the chaos, where the sharp penpoint had bitten the paper. - -“... never forgotten,” was tolerably distinct. Then followed a hopeless -blur of brown earth stains and purple ink. But further down the page -she read, - -“Write—if you——” - -That was all, except his name, “David Whitcomb,” at the foot of the -page. - -The postmark had resisted the spoiling of both rain and mould, and -read distinctly, as Al Hewett had declared, “Tombstone, Arizona,” in -a blurred circle, with the date “April 2” and the hour of stamping -“2-P.M.” - -With a sudden glad impulse Barbara pulled a sheet of paper toward her. - -“Dear David [she wrote], Your letter has just reached me, but I can -only read a part of it, because——” - -She paused and hesitated; then went on firmly: - -“Jimmy lost it, and it lay out under a bush in the rain for more than -a week. I can make out only a few words here and there, but those few -tell me that you have not forgotten, and that you want me to write to -you.” - -The girl paused to draw a deep, wondering breath. - -“I can’t tell you how strange it seems to be writing to you, because -I have been thinking of you, David, for nearly three years as dead. -They said you were lost on a trail in Alaska. And I thought it must be -true. But your letter—even though I can’t read it—has brought me the -assurance that you are not in some far-away heaven, where I have tried -to picture you, David, but on earth. - -“This letter may never reach you, for I can only be sure that your -letter to me was mailed in Tombstone; but I want to tell you that -only Jimmy and I are left. Father died a year ago, and since then I -have been trying to hold the farm for Jimmy. We are the last of the -Prestons, you know, and I do want——” - -She stopped short, laid down her pen and listened breathlessly. She -fancied she had heard the child’s voice calling her from the room -above. She glided noiselessly to the foot of the stair, and listened, -her slight figure seeming to melt, spirit-like, into the shadows. It -was very lonely in the old house. The tall clock on the stair-landing -ticked loud and solemnly in the stillness, and the wind in the budding -trees without swept past the house with a long sighing breath. The -girl shivered as she listened, then she went quickly back to the -sitting-room with its cheerful circle of light and its drawn curtains, -and paused to read the words she had written to David Whitcomb. They -sounded stiff and trite after her brief absence in the shadowy hall. -After all, was she not taking too much for granted? Perhaps he was -merely asking for information, which he felt sure he could obtain from -her on the score of old friendship. He had left some books in the bare -little room he had occupied in the village for a year. The minister had -them, she had been told. Her cheeks crimsoned slowly as she crumpled -the half-written page and tossed it into the waste basket. - -Then she chose a fresh sheet and wrote slowly, with frequent pauses: -“Dear David: I was very much surprised to receive a letter from you -after all these years. I must explain that though I received your -letter to-day I have not been able to read it. It had been quite -spoiled with rain and mildew. If this reaches you—and I cannot be sure -of it, because I have only the postmark to go by—please write to me -again, and I will answer at once.” - -She signed the letter quite formally and simply with her full name, -Barbara Allen Preston. - -She mailed the letter the next morning, passing the great Jarvis -mansion on her way to the post-office with averted looks. On the -sixteenth morning thereafter she received back her letter written to -David Whitcomb, with the words printed across the envelope, “Not called -for.” She scarcely knew how much she had been expecting from David till -her own unopened letter reached her with the effect of a door hard -shut in the face of entreaty. - -It was on that same day, as she walked slowly toward home, leaving her -fruitless letter in a trail of tiny white fragments behind her, that -the high-stepping bay horse and the red-wheeled buggy again passed her. -She looked up involuntarily, her face white and sad, to receive a cold -stare and curt nod from the man on the high seat. His whip-lash curled -cruelly around the slender flank of his horse as he passed, and the -sensitive creature sprang forward with a lunge and a quiver, only to -receive a second and third stinging cut from the lash. - -Barbara straightened herself as she watched the light vehicle disappear -around a turn in the road. - -She was thinking with a vague terror that so he would have tortured and -driven her, cruelly, with no hope of escape. She was not prepared to -see him return almost immediately at the same furious speed, and still -less for his words as he pulled up his foaming horse. - -“Get in,” he ordered her roughly. “I must speak to you.” - -She looked up at him, her gray eyes sparkling defiance from under their -long curling lashes. - -“No,” she said loudly, “I will not.” - -“Will not?” he repeated. “But I say you shall listen to me.” - -She walked on quietly. He stared after her with a muttered oath, as if -half-minded to go on. Then he leaped down, jerked his horse roughly to -the fence-rail, tied him fast, and strode after the slim figure in the -shabby black gown. - -He overtook her in a few long strides. She turned to face him in the -middle of the muddy road. - -“I told you I would leave you to yourself. I meant to. I intended to -let you be frightened, harassed, driven to the wall; but I can’t,” he -said in a low, choked voice. “I—love you! I love you! Do you hear me?” - -She shrank back trembling before the man’s white face and blazing eyes. - -“I never knew before what it was like to—to love,” he stammered. “But -I do now. What did you mean by saying that you would not—sell yourself -for a worn-out farm? Sell yourself—to me? Why, girl, I’d give you all -that I have—and my soul to the devil for—— I’ll do anything you say, if -you’ll only marry me! I’ll give you a dozen farms. I’ll——” - -“Stop!” cried Barbara, her face slowly whitening. “I—I am sorry I said -that. I didn’t mean——” - -“Do you mean that you’ll marry me, Barbara—Barbara!” - -His eyes devoured her. - -“Listen,” he went on. “I’ve put in ten such days and nights as I never -expected to spend in this or any other world.” - -He gripped her by the arm. - -“You—must love me,” he stormed. “I—I can’t give you up!” - -His shaken voice dropped into a low, pleading tone. - -“You’ll not believe it, Barbara. But I—didn’t know what it was like to -love anyone. Why should I? I married for money—I’m not ashamed to tell -you. But Barbara! Barbara!” - -The words rang out in a stifled cry, as he read the fear—the aversion -in hers. - -She writhed out of his grasp, her breath coming and going in little -gasps. - -“Stop!” she cried. “I—can’t listen!” - -She clutched at the fence-rail as if she feared his violence. - -He folded his arms quietly, his face grown suddenly rigid. - -“Something has happened since the other day,” he said. “What is it?” - -She was silent. - -He took two long steps and stood over her, big, powerful, threatening. - -“You shall answer me. Who or what is it that has come between us?” - -Again he waited for her to speak; but she stood mute with bent head. - -His clenched hands dropped at his side. - -“You’ll not answer me,” he said, in a cold, hard voice. “Well, be it -so; go your way, and I’ll go mine. But—I shall not give you up. You’re -killing yourself with hard work; it is I who force you to it. I am -your master. You can’t escape me!” - -“You are not my master!” she said wildly. “I’m free—free!” - -He turned without another look at her, his savage heel grinding an -innocent clover blossom into the mud of the road. - - - - -VIII - - -BARBARA stole softly down the creaking stair in the gray obscurity of -dawn, her shoes in one hand, a smoking candle in the other. There was -much to be done, much to be thought of, and Jimmy must not wake up to -hinder for two full hours yet. - -It was cold in the kitchen, and the faint pink light streaming from -the east shone in uncertainty through misted panes. Barbara sat down, -her red lips sternly compressed, her dark brows drawn in a frowning -line above her eyes, and applied herself briskly to lacing up her -shoes. It was a relief to be accomplishing something real, tangible, -after the whirling mist of dreams from which she had emerged shaken -and breathless. Dreams of any description seldom visited Barbara’s -healthily tired brain, but the vanished darkness of the past night had -been haunted with confused visions. Now Stephen Jarvis was pursuing -her through trackless forests, where long branches reached down like -crooked, grasping hands. Always she managed to elude her pursuer and -always he followed, his panting breath in her ears, till suddenly -stumbling and falling through a vast crevasse in the darkness she found -herself on a wide plain, starred with narcissus, swaying spirit-like -in the bright air; high overhead white clouds floated and the winds of -May blew cool fragrance into her face. At first she was alone, seeking -for something, she knew not what; then David Whitcomb stood at her side. - -“Come!” he cried imperiously, and his blue eyes pleaded with hers. “We -must make haste to escape before the child overtakes us!” - -She turned to follow his pointing finger and saw Jimmy running toward -them, his arms outstretched, his bare, rosy feet stumbling amid the -folds of his long white gown. Then, with the wild irrelevancy of -dreams she heard the raucous voice of Thomas Bellows, the auctioneer -from Greenfield Centre, shouting something indistinguishable in the -far distance. Instantly the wide plain, the impassioned lover, and -the running, stumbling little figure vanished. She was at home now, -hurrying in anxious haste from room to room to find everything empty -and desolate and the sun shining in through dimmed window-panes on -the bare floors. Outside on the lawn a confused pile of household -furniture, books, and carpets, looking sadly worn and old in the -pitiless light of day, were being rapidly sold under the hammer. - -“Here you are, ladies an’ gents,” shouted the auctioneer, “lot number -twenty-four, a strong, healthy young woman, kind an’ willin’! A good -cook an’ housekeeper. How much am I offered? Come, ladies, let me hear -your bids!” - -The faint light of morning touching her closed eyelids like a cool -finger-tip suddenly aroused the girl to a consciousness of reality (if -indeed the experiences of this mortal life be more real than dreams). -She rose at once, dressed hastily, and having by now finished the -lacing up of her shoes stood gazing out at the familiar door-yard with -gathered brows. - -“I ought,” said Barbara half-aloud in the silence of the kitchen, -“to be good for something.” She looked down at her young strong -hands; hands skilled in many uses, her forehead still puckered with -unaccustomed thoughts. - -Then she opened the back door quietly, for she was still mindful of the -sleeping child above, and went out into the frosty dawn. A robin was -singing loudly in the top of the budding elm down by the gate. - -“Cheer up! Cheer up!” the jubilant bird voice seemed to be saying. -Then the song ceased and the strong brown wings spread and carried the -voice toward the dawn, which now flung long streamers of rose and gold -athwart the frigid blue of the sky. A bright, cold moon swung low in -the west and the distant houses of the village, huddled close among -dark folds of the hills, began to send up delicate spirals of smoke -which ascended and hung motionless in mid-heaven, like unshriven ghosts. - -Peg Morrison was washing the mud off the wheels of the old buggy to the -tune of Denis, lugubriously wafted to the winds of morning through his -nose. - - “Blest be-hee th’ tie-hi which bi-inds, - Aour ha-ur-uts in Chris-his-chun lo-ove; - Th’ fe-hell-o-shi-hip of ki-hin-dred mi-hinds, - Is li-hike to tha-hat above!” - -“Peg!” cried Barbara, in her imperious young voice. - -The old man stopped short in his rendition of Fawcett’s immortal -stanzas, an apologetic smile over-spreading his features. - -“Good-mornin’, Miss Barb’ry,” he said. “A nice, pleasant mornin’, ain’t -it? Thinks I, I’ll wash up this ’ere buggy an’ make it look’s well’s I -kin. Then, mebbe, ’long towards arternoon I’ll git ’round t’ call on -th’ Hon’rable Stephen Jarvis. I reckon I——” - -“No,” interrupted Barbara decidedly, “you mustn’t do that. It wouldn’t -do any good,” she added, in anticipation of protest. - -“It’s th’ matter o’ th’ onions I was thinkin’ o’ bringin’ to his -attention,” said Peg, raising his voice. “‘F I c’n prove to th’ -Hon’rable Stephen Jarvis that onions’ll raise that goll-durned mortgage -within one year f’om date, I——” - -“Peg,” protested Barbara indignantly, “how do you suppose I’m ever -going to train Jimmy to speak properly if you persist in using such -language?” - -“Meanin’ th’ expression goll-durned, o’ course, Miss Barb’ry,” -acquiesced the old man meekly. “You’re right, I ain’t no manner o’ -business to use swear words b’fore ladies. But that consarned, measly——” - -The girl stamped her foot impatiently. - -“There’s no use talking to you,” she said sharply. “I’ll just have to -keep Jimmy away from you.” - -“Don’t do that, Miss Barb’ry; please don’t!” pleaded Peg. “I won’t do -him no real harm. I ain’t no-ways vicious, ner—ner low-down; an’ that -little chap—— Why, Miss Barb’ry, me an’ th’ Cap’n ’s been a chumin’ -it sence he could crawl out t’ th’ barn on ’is han’s an’ knees. Ef he -don’t fall int’ no worse comp’ny ’n Peleg Morrison’s, I guess the Cap’n -’ll come out all right. An’ you kin bet your bottom dollar onto it.” - -Peg swashed the remaining water in his pail over the hind wheel of the -buggy with an air of stern finality. - -“Of course I know you’re good, Peg,” murmured Barbara contritely. “I -didn’t mean——” - -“Don’t mention it, Miss Barb’ry,” interrupted Mr. Morrison, with -generous politeness. “Your tongue gits the start o’ your jedgment -occasionally, same’s your pa’s ust to, but I shan’t lay it up ’gainst -you. Any more”—and he raised his voice in anticipation of a possible -interruption—“any more’n I done in the past.” His eyes twinkled kindly -at the girl. - -“I want you to harness the buggy for me after breakfast, Peg,” Barbara -said soberly. “I’m going—somewhere on business, and I want to start -early.” - - “Blest be he th’ tie-hi which bi-inds.” - -warbled Peg unmelodiously, as he stooped to apply his wet sponge to the -rear springs. - -“Did you hear me, Peg?” demanded Barbara. - -The old man gazed reproachfully at the girl through the spokes of the -wheel. - -“W’y, I’m goin’ to use the horses fer ploughin’ this mornin’, Miss -Barb’ry,” he said soothingly. “An’ they’ll be all tuckered out b’ -night.” - -“But there’s no use of doing any more ploughing. I told you that last -week. Unless I can manage somehow to—to raise the money, the farm——” - -“Don’t say it!” interrupted Peg. “I don’t b’lieve in namin’ troubles. -It helps ’em to ketch a body, someway, to notice ’em too much. I -b’lieve in actin’ ’s if the’ wa’nt anythin’ th’ matter ’s long ’s ye -kin.” - -“Yes, and while you’re doing it the mortgage will foreclose itself,” -Barbara said, recalling Stephen Jarvis’ curt phrase with a thrill -of anger. “You hitch up Billy for me and bring him around at seven -o’clock. Will you do it, please, Peg?” - - “The fe-hell-o-shi-hip of k-hin-dred mi-hinds!” - -chanted Mr. Morrison, with entire irrelevance. - -“Very well, if you won’t, I’ll walk. It’s ten miles there and back, but -you won’t care, as long as you have your own way.” - -“Where was you thinkin’ of goin’, Miss Barb’ry?” demanded Peg -cautiously. “Ye know I ain’t set on anythin’ that ain’t fer your -good—yours an’ the Cap’n’s.” - -But Barbara had already disappeared in a flutter of angry haste. - -“Now, I s’pose,” soliloquized Mr. Morrison, “that I’ll actually hev -to give up ploughin’ the hill lot this mornin’, an’ all ’long o’ that -young female.” He shook his head solemnly. - -“O Lord!” he burst out, “you know Miss Barb’ry, prob’bly’s well’s I do. -She’s a mighty nice girl an’ always hes been; but she’s turrible set -in her ways, an’ I declar’ I can’t see what in creation she’s a-goin’ -to do; what with everythin’—you know now—I’ve spoke ’bout it frequent -enough. Then the’s the Hon’rable Stephen Jarvis—him that holds th’ -mortgage—he wants t’ marry her. But I don’ trust that man, Lord. I -don’t know how he looks to you. But to me he ’pears hard-fisted, an’ -closer’n the bark to a tree, an’ I c’n tell you he licks the hide off’n -his horses right along. But the’ may be some good in him. Ef the’ is, -bring it out, O Lord, so ’t folks kin see it. An’ fix things up with -Miss Barb’ry, somehow. Kind o’ overrule Jarvis an’ the mortgage an’ all -the rest, the way you know how. Amen!” - -Peleg Morrison was on intimate terms with his Creator, and on this -occasion, as in the past, he derived such satisfaction from his -converse with the Almighty that he was enabled presently to go on -with his vocal exercises. The washing of the buggy was thus happily -completed, the worn cushions dusted, and the horses fed and watered -by the time the sun peeped over the fringes of dark woods. At seven -o’clock, as he was tying the wall-eyed bay to the hitching-post in the -side yard, Barbara appeared in the open door, a brown loaf in her hand. - -“Here’s some fresh bread for your breakfast, Peg,” she said. She -glanced at the horse. “I shan’t be gone very long. You can plough when -I come back, if you want to. It won’t hurt the ground to plough it.” - -“The mare’s kind o’ skittish this mornin’,” replied Peg, accepting the -addition to his meagre bill of fare with an appreciative grin. “Mebbe -I’d better go ’long an’ drive.” He glanced anxiously at the girl. “I -wouldn’t do nothin’ rash ef I was you, Miss Barb’ry; like—like gittin’ -engaged to be married, or anythin’ like that.” - -“Don’t worry, Peg,” Barbara said soberly, “that’s precisely what I -don’t mean to do.” - -She felt entirely sure of herself now, even while her cheeks burned -hotly at the remembrance of Jarvis’ look when he said, “I am your -master.” - -“I’ll scrub floors for a living,” she promised herself, “before I yield -to him.” - -All the pride of a strong nature shone in her eyes as she stooped over -Jimmy, sitting at the table, his short legs dangling, his slate pencil -squeakily setting down queer crooked figures in straggling rows. - -“I’m ahead in my ’rithmetic,” the little boy announced triumphantly. -“I’m doin’ reg’lar zamples. I like zamples. An’ bimeby I’ll be all -growed up, an’ nen I’ll take care of you, Barb’ra.” - -She kissed him underneath the short yellow curls in the back of his -neck. - -“Oh, Jimmy,” she sighed, “I wish you were grown up now!” - -The child straightened himself anxiously. - -“My head’s way above your belt when I stand up,” he said, “‘n’ I ate -lots of brown bread an’ milk for breakfast. I’m growing jus’ as fast’s -I can.” - -Barbara hugged him remorsefully. - -“You’re just big enough—for six,” she assured him. “And—and we’ll come -out all right, somehow. We just will, precious!” - -“‘Course we will,” echoed the child. He slipped from his chair and eyed -his sister with a searching gaze. - -“If you’re scared of anybody, Barb’ra,” he said valiantly, “I’ll take a -big stick, ’n’—’n’—I’ll—I’ll—I won’t let anybody hurt you, Barb’ra!” - -The girl laughed rather unsteadily as she hurried him into his coat and -cap. “Learn a lot at school, dear,” she murmured, “and you’ll have the -best kind of a big stick.” - -The remembrance of his warm little arms about her neck comforted her -as she drove the wall-eyed mare along the road. She was going to do a -very strange thing. Something she had never heard of any woman doing -before. Just how the idea had taken form and substance in her mind she -did not know. She appeared to herself to have awakened with the resolve -fully formed, distinctly outlined, even to the small details, which -she busily reviewed while she was tying the horse before the house of -Thomas Bellows, auctioneer. There was a shop in the lower front story -of the house, which had once been a piazza, but now protruded with -two bulging front windows to the edge of the sidewalk. The windows -disclosed a variety of objects in the line of household appurtenances, -clocks, flatirons, a pile of tin-ware, likewise a yellow placard -reading, “Auction to-day,” surmounted by a professional flag of a faded -red color. - -Mr. Bellows himself, in blue overalls and a pink shirt, was occupied -in wiping off an exceedingly dusty and ancient sewing machine with an -oily rag. He looked up sharply as the discordant jangle of the bell -announced the opening of his shop door. - -“Good-mornin’, miss,” he said as Barbara entered. “If you don’t mind -shuttin’ that door behind you. It beats all how cold the wind stays, -don’t it? You want to look over some o’ these goods, heh? Household -effects of the widow Small down to the Corners. Died las’ week, an’ her -daughter don’t want to keep none o’ her things. They’ll be sold at two -sharp. It ain’t a bad idea to cast yer eye around a little b’fore the -biddin’ begins. Things show off better. Now this ’ere machine——” - -“I don’t want to buy anything,” stammered Barbara. “I—want you to sell -something for me.” - -“Yas,” assented Mr. Bellows explosively, standing up and resting a -grimy hand on either hip, the while he surveyed Barbara’s slim figure -attentively. “Jus’ so! Well?” he added tentatively. “Sellin’ things fer -folks is my business. What d’ye offer: goods, stock, or real estate? -It’s all the same to me.” - -“It—it isn’t—— Could you sell my work for me? I mean——” - -The man stared hard at the girl, his squinting eyes puckered, his mouth -drawn close at the corners. - -“I’m a gen’ral auctioneer,” he announced conclusively. “It’s m’ -business to sell household effects, stock, or real estate, on -commission.” - -“I want some money—a good deal of money,” Barbara went on, “and I want -it right away.” - -“I’ve seen folks in your fix before,” commented the auctioneer dryly, -as he again applied himself to the sewing machine. “I gen’rally make -out t’ sell what’s offered. But I can’t guarantee prices.” - -“You sell horses, don’t you?” demanded Barbara. - -“Horses? Sure!” - -“And—and oxen. They’re meant to work, and people buy them to work. -That’s what I want to do. I want to work for three—or four years, if I -must; and I want the money all at once—in advance.” - -“I don’t know as I ketch your idee,” said Mr. Bellows. “You want money, -an’ you want it right away, an’ you want me to sell——” - -“I want you to sell my work—honest work, housework, any kind of work -that I can do, for—for a term of years.” - -Mr. Bellows abandoned further efforts at bettering the condition of the -late Widow Small’s sewing machine. He stood up and scowled meditatively -at Barbara. - -“Seems t’ me I’ve seen you b’fore, somewheres; haven’t I?” - -“My name is Barbara Preston,” the girl said haughtily. - -“An’ you want I should——” - -“When people buy a horse they really buy and pay for the labor of -that horse in advance,” Barbara said composedly. “I am more valuable -than a horse. I have skill, intelligence; I wish to sell—my skill, my -intelligence to the highest bidder.” - -“Well, I swan!” exclaimed Mr. Bellows. Then he fell to laughing -noisily, his wizened countenance drawn into curious folds and puckers -of mirth. - -Barbara waited unsmilingly. - -“Say! d’you know I’ve been asked to sell mos’ everythin’ you ever heard -of,” said Mr. Bellows, getting the better of his hilarity, “but I never -was asked to sell—a girl. A good-lookin’, smart, likely girl. I guess -you’re jokin’, miss. It wouldn’t do, you know.” - -“Why wouldn’t it?” urged Barbara. - -“Well, it wouldn’t; that’s all. I’ve got m’ reputation as an -auctioneer to think about; an’—lemme see, your folks is all dead, ain’t -they?” - -“No,” said Barbara. “I have a brother six years old.” - -Her dry tongue refused to add to this statement. She was conscious of -an inward tremor of fear lest he should refuse. - -“Whatever put such a curious notion into your head?” Mr. Bellows wanted -to know. - -“I may as well tell you,” the girl said bitterly. “You’ll be asked to -sell me out soon. We’re going to lose everything we’ve got—Jimmy and I; -the farm, the—furniture—everything.” - -“You don’t say!” Mr. Bellows commented doubtfully. “Well, that had -ought to net you something—eh?” - -“We shan’t have anything; everything will be gone,” the girl said -coldly. - -“Sho! that’s too bad,” Mr. Bellows said good-naturedly. He stuck his -thumbs into the arm-holes of his vest, and scowled absent-mindedly into -space. Then he looked at Barbara again. “Mortgage—eh?” he suggested. -“Coverin’ pretty much everythin’—eh?” - -“Everything,” repeated Barbara, in a dull tone. - -“Everythin’—save an’ exceptin’ one smart, willin’ young woman—eh? You’d -ought to bring a purty good figger—in the right market.” - -Mr. Bellows paused to give way to mirth once more. - -“The matrimonial market’s the one partic’lar field I ain’t had much -’xperience in,” he concluded. “An’ auctionin’ off goods of the sort you -mention ain’t ’xactly in my line, an’ that’s a fac’, miss. So I guess——” - -“You don’t understand,” Barbara interrupted quickly. “Let me explain. -When I found that everything was lost”—her voice trembled in spite of -herself—“I thought at first I would teach school—let the farm go and -teach——” - -“Well, why don’t you do that?” Mr. Bellows inquired. He was a -kind-hearted man, with sympathies somewhat blunted by his professional -zeal in a calling which for the most part concerned itself with -clearing away the wreckage of human hopes. “You’d make a right smart -school-ma’am, I should say.” - -“I’m not a normal school graduate,” Barbara told him. “Besides, they -have no vacancies. Then I tried to get sewing to do. I can sew neatly. -But I might easily starve on what I could earn with my needle. A woman -told me she knew of someone who wanted—a—servant,” Barbara’s voice -shook, but she went on bravely. “She said that people sometimes paid as -much as twenty-five dollars a month for such work. And that it wasn’t -easy to find women who could do that kind of work well. I said I would -not work in another woman’s kitchen. But I—I am willing to do it, if I -can sell my work for twelve hundred dollars.” - -“Whew!” ejaculated Mr. Bellows. - -“It sounds like a lot of money, I know,” Barbara went on; “but it is -four years’ service at twenty-five dollars a month. I want it all at -once. Then I can pay the mortgage on our farm, and keep it.” - -“Huh!” commented Mr. Bellows explosively. - -“I could lease the farm while I was working, and it would bring in -enough money to take care of Jimmy.” - -Her face clouded swiftly at the thought of the possible separation. - -“Wall, I don’t know of anybody who’d be willin’ to pay down any -twelve hundred dollars spot cash for a _hired girl_,” objected Mr. -Bellows. “Y’ couldn’t get nobody to bid on a proposition like that. Y’ -might”—the man hesitated, then went on harshly, “y’ might up an’ die, -or——” - -“A man on the farm next to ours paid three hundred dollars for a horse, -and it died the next week,” Barbara said quietly. “Then he bought -another. He had to have a horse.” - -“Well, he owned it for good an’ all, an’ you——” - -“I’ll work four years-or five for the money,” said Barbara steadily. -“And I shall be worth far more than an ordinary servant.” - -Mr. Bellows wagged his head argumentatively. “I’d hev to charge you -five per cent.,” he warned her. “An’ you couldn’t get any bidders, -anyhow.” - -“That,” said Barbara, “would be my affair. What I want to know is, will -you sell me?” - -The blood hammered in her temples; her hands and feet were icy cold; -but she eyed the man steadily. - -Mr. Bellows had been making a rapid mental calculation. - -“W’y, I don’ know,” he said, scratching his head reflectively. “I don’t -want to go int’ no fool job fer nothin’. M’ time’s valu’ble.” - -“I’ll pay you—ten dollars, if—if—no one buys me,” said Barbara faintly. - -Mr. Bellows bit his thumb-nail thoughtfully. - -“All right!” he burst out at length. “You name the day, git th’ bidders -t’gether an’ I’ll auction ye off. Gracious! It don’t sound right, some -way.” - -He looked at the girl carefully, real human kindness in his eyes and -voice. - -“Who holds your mortgage, anyhow?” he asked indignantly. “I sh’d think -most anybody’d be ashamed o’ themselves t’ drive a nice young woman -like you to——” - -“If I can realize enough money to pay what I owe I shall be—glad,” the -girl said. “I am obliged to work hard anyway. My plan will pay, if it -succeeds; don’t you see it will?” - -“W’y, yes; I see all right. I don’t b’lieve you c’n work it, though,” -was Mr. Bellows’ opinion. - -Barbara did not explain her intentions further. She requested Mr. -Bellows to say nothing of what had passed between them, and this he -readily promised. - -“‘Tain’t a matter t’ make common talk of,” he agreed, with a dubious -shake of the head. “The’s folks that might not ketch the right idee. -Sellin’ a pretty girl at auction ’ud draw a crowd all right; but I’d -advise you t’ let me use my jedgment ’bout biddin’ ye in, if it’s -necessary.” - - - - -IX - - -AS a man thinketh in his heart, so is that man, was the Nazarene’s -succinct announcement of a law as ancient and immutable as the -correlated principles which govern gravity and motion. From the -beginning of things visible, when the thoughts of the great I Am -first began to fashion new and strange creations out of the whirling -fire mist, until now, the thoughts of a God—of a man, continually and -inevitably mould his appearance and the circumstances of his existence. -As there can be no question as to the reality of this fundamental -principle at the root of all phenomena, so there can be no evasion of -its action and effect. - -Stephen Jarvis, having successfully achieved wealth by a constant -and unremitting application of his powerful ego to the thoughts of -money-getting by any and all means, looked the part. No man can do -otherwise. Having chosen his rôle, he proceeds to a make-up more -skilful and complete than can be conceived by the bungler in the -actor’s dressing-room. Upon the plastic mask of the body his thoughts -etch themselves, his habits paint themselves, his character blazons -itself, till at middle age, he cannot longer hide himself from the -observant eye of the world. He is, in appearance, in reality, what his -thoughts have made him. - -If it be possible to imagine the havoc which the oft-quoted bull in the -china shop would create by a sudden and unpremeditated use of his brute -force, one may, perhaps, conceive of the inward tumult, the confusion, -the very real loss, and consequent anguish entailed upon a man like -Jarvis by the sudden invasion of a genuine passion. - -A thousand times he railed at himself, profanely calling himself many -varieties of a fool. Once and again he strove to restore to cold, -passionless order the seething maelstrom of his thoughts. Why, he -demanded fiercely of himself, should he long to possess this girl with -every aching fibre of his being? The mere urge and fever of animal -passion did not explain the matter; there was something deeper, more -elemental still in the fury of the desire which possessed him, which -drove him forth out of his comfortable house by night and by day as -if pursued by the furies. Because Jarvis was a strong man, his nature -hardened by years of stern, unrelaxing self-discipline, the utter rout -and confusion of his cold, passionless self was the more complete and -disastrous. He hated himself for loving a woman who disdained him, and -hating himself, he loved her with a despair akin to torment. That she -was poor, helpless, already fast closed in his savage grip, like a bird -in a snare, he knew; and yet for the first time he dimly realized the -illusive part of her which successfully evaded his grasp, defied his -power, despised his threats. He might, if he would, crush her by main -force; he could not compel her to love him. - -The thought of his own strength, helpless before her weakness, -maddened him. Houses, lands, money, had become passively obedient to -the power of his will. He controlled these things, did with them as -he pleased, in effect an overlord, haughty, unbending, merciless; but -this one thing which he had put out his hand to take—carelessly, as -one will pluck a ripe apple from the bough at the languid prompting -of appetite—this girl, who had for years been no more to him than the -birds hopping in the trees outside his window, how and by what means -had she suddenly contrived to gain this monstrous ascendency over him? -What uncanny power in those clear gray eyes of hers had metamorphosed -Stephen Jarvis, cool, middle-aged man of affairs, into the weak -creature he had always despised in his saner moments? - -During these days of inward tumult he carried on the dull routine of -his business, forcing himself to the task with all the powers of a will -suddenly turned traitor to its master. In spite of himself he seemed -to see her there in his lonely house over against the sombre rows of -books, her face vividly alive, defiantly youthful. Despite his resolves -she perpetually came between him and the printed page which he strove -to read; worst of all, she haunted his restless slumbers by night, now -pleading with him; now defying him; mocking him with elfin laughter, -as she fled before him, the child in her arms; while he pursued -leaden-footed through uncounted miles of shadowy country. - -The two did not meet face to face, while the rains and chilling winds -of April gradually spent themselves, and the grass, illumined with -a thousand cheerful sunbursts of dandelions, grew long under the -blossoming trees. The mated birds sang only at dawn now, being too -busy with the rapturous labors of nest-building to pause for vocal -expression of their gladness. In the fields staid farm-horses indulged -in unwonted gambols and nosed their mates with little whinnying cries; -grazing cattle lifted their heads from the sweet springing grass to -gaze with large wistful eyes at the widespread landscape. Once, long -ago, they had roamed the unfenced pastures of the world in May, herded -cows and yearlings, and the lordly bulls leading on, while the urge and -rapture of the returning sun brooded the earth, compelling it to bring -forth after its kind. Though she did not see him, yet none the less -Jarvis obtruded his harsh visage into Barbara’s thoughts by day and by -night. Nor could a wiser man than Jarvis have guessed that the girl -was literally enfolded in cloudy thought forms, projected toward her -from his own brain, with all the accuracy and certainty of an electric -current traversing the viewless paths of air between wireless stations. -That we do not understand these phenomena with any degree of accuracy -does not render them the less effective. - -It was still early in May when Jarvis drove over to inspect a wood-pulp -factory in the neighborhood of Greenfield Centre. Its proprietor had -borrowed capital heavily within the past year, and Jarvis had been -narrowly watching the gradual ebb of the factory’s output. It was the -old story of misapplied energy, paralyzed into inaction by impending -failure. Jarvis scored the luckless proprietor mercilessly during their -brief interview; later he sought the services of Thomas Bellows, the -auctioneer. - -“You may sell him out, plant, machinery, and all; reserve nothing,” -Jarvis ordered; and, referring to his book of memoranda, added the date. - -Another entry that he saw there met his sombre eyes. He stared at it -frowningly. - -“Anythin’ more in my line in the near future?” Mr. Bellows wanted to -know. - -He rubbed his hands as he asked the question. The Honorable Stephen -Jarvis was, as he put it, “a stiddy customer and a good one,” being -constantly in need of Mr. Bellows’ services. - -“Yes,” said Jarvis, a dull red flush rising in his sallow face. “The -contents of the Preston house, the stock, and implements, must be sold -on June first.” - -Mr. Bellows struck one hairy fist into the other by way of preface to -his words. He was not afraid of Stephen Jarvis, being sufficiently -well provided with worldly goods, albeit these were for the most part -second-hand, and in the nature of left-overs from many auctions. - -“It seems a pity,” quoth Bellows, “to sell her out. Couldn’t you wait -till fall, say, and give the little Preston girl a chance? I ain’t what -you might call soft m’self; but I’m blamed if I could help feelin’ -sorry for the girl when she come in here one day last week t’ engage my -professional services.” - -“What is Miss Preston proposing to sell?” demanded Jarvis. Something in -his voice gave Mr. Bellows a curious sensation. He gave Jarvis a sharp -look as he answered. - -“Nothing that belongs to you, I reckon.” - -“Tell me what it is,” repeated Jarvis. “I’ll be the best judge of -that,” His voice shook, and also the hand which held the leather book -of fateful dates and occasions. - -“I’m sorry; but I guess I can’t ’commodate you,” responded the other. -“Perfessional etiquette, you know; in this ’ere case binding.” - -“You have no right to refuse,” said Jarvis, and something of the real -nature of his secret thoughts flared up in his eyes. “Everything that -concerns Miss Preston concerns me.” - -Mr. Bellows was puzzled. - -“Meanin’, of course, that you hold the lien on her prop’ty,” he -hazarded. “But you don’t”—and he paused to chuckle to himself—“hold no -lien on what she’s propos in’ to sell to the highest bidder?” - -“What do you mean?” demanded Jarvis. - -His tone was menacing, and he fixed angry eyes, red from sleeplessness, -on the old auctioneer. - -“You’ll either explain yourself,” he said, “or—you’ll get no more -business from me, to-day or any other day.” - -Mr. Bellows expectorated violently in the general direction of the -opposite wall. - -“I ain’t,” he declared valiantly, “afeard of no threats, nor yet -of nobody. But I’m goin’ to tell you, ’cause it’s you that’s drove -her to it, an’ you’d ought to know what sort of girl she is. I had -three-quarters of a notion to tell you anyhow, an’ I tol’ m’ wife so, -when I found it was you that held the lien on her house an’ furniture. -Business is business with me as well as any other man; but I’d be -ashamed to drive a woman to the point of sellin’ herself.” - -“_Selling herself!_” echoed Jarvis. - -The observant eyes of Mr. Bellows were upon him, as he fell back a pace -or two and strove to steady himself. - -“That’s what I said. Yes, sir; she asked me right here in this shop to -sell her at public auction. ‘I’ve lost everythin’,’ she says; ‘but I’ve -got myself, an’ I’ll sell that, an’ pay what I owe.’” - -“My God!” breathed Jarvis. “I—drove her to it!” - -“You’re right, you did,” agreed Mr. Bellows. - -“You can’t do it, man. I forbid it!” - -“Oh, y’ do; do ye? Wall, I don’t see how you’re going to make out to -prevent it. The girl’s got a right to herself, and I’ve got a right -to——” - -“I shall prevent it,” Jarvis interrupted fiercely. “It’s -inhuman—uncivilized, monstrous!” - -“Well, that’s the way it struck me—at first,” acquiesced Mr. Bellows; -“but the way she put it up t’ me kind of won me over. She’s a takin’ -sort of girl, kind o’ good-lookin’, an’ innercent. W’y, Lord bless -you, she’s no more idee of the way a man—like you, for instance—might -look at it than a child. She wants to work out—for a matter o’ four or -five years, she says; an’ she thinks she c’n get some fool woman to -bid twelve hunderd dollars spot cash fer bein’ sure of a hired girl -all that time—‘W’y,’ I says to her, ‘you might up an’ die,’ ‘Yes,’ -she says, ‘so might a horse; but folks hes to hev horses!’ I tell you -she’s cute an’ bright, an’ I’m goin’ to sell her to the highest bidder, -same’s I agreed to.” - -Jarvis was silent for a long minute, his eyes fixed unseeingly on the -miscellaneous collection of shabby and broken furniture in the rear of -the shop. - -“Is it to be a public sale?” he asked coolly. - -“Well, as t’ that, I can’t rightly tell you. I left the advertisin’ o’ -the goods, an’ the date o’ sale to the young lady. I reelly hope you -will call it off. I s’pose you c’n easy fix things up so ’t she——” - -“Did she ask you to tell me this?” demanded Jarvis suddenly. “Tell me -the facts.” - -“Did she ask me—to tell you?” echoed Mr. Bellows wonderingly. “You bet -she didn’t! You wasn’t named betwixt us. I asked her who held the -lien on her prop’ty, an’ she didn’t answer. Thought it was none o’ my -business, likely. I suspicioned it was you, though. You get most of ’em -around these parts.” - -Jarvis made no reply. He closed the red leather book, slipped it into -an inside pocket, then deliberately drew on his driving gloves. - -“Can you tell me the date of this—this sale?” he asked. - -“What you want t’ know for? Thinkin’ of puttin’ in a bid?” chuckled Mr. -Bellows. - -Jarvis gave him a terrible look. - -“I’d advise you to keep still about this. Don’t attempt to interest -anyone else in Miss Preston’s affairs. Do you hear?” - -“I ain’t deef,” responded Mr. Bellows in an aggrieved voice. “‘N’ I -don’t know’s I see what business ’tis of yours, anyhow. Mebbe she’ll -get the money an’ pay you. ’Twouldn’t surprise me if she did. She’s -bound she will, an’ where there’s a will there’s a way, I’ve heard -tell.” - -“The date, man; give me the date!” - -“Seein’ I’ve told you so much, I s’pose you might as well know; the -sale’s set for the eighteenth.” - -“Where?” - -“At her house.” - -“And you’re actually going to—— No; she’ll never do it. She won’t be -able to bring herself to it.” - -“Wall, I’ll bet you ten dollars she will; d’ye take me?” - -Jarvis turned without another word and left the place. He suddenly felt -the need of the outdoor air. Barbara’s desperate expedient convinced -him as no words of hers could have done of the hopelessness of his -case. “She hates me,” he told himself; and for the first time he looked -within for a reason for her aversion. - -He drove slowly, his thoughts a mad whirl of fury and despair. For the -first time he saw himself as he fancied he must look to her, a man -past his first youth, cold, forbidding, harsh, unlovely. He perceived -with a flash of prescience that she cared nothing for money, save as -it signified the thing she held most dear; nothing for the position, -power, and luxury for which he had sold his honor and his manhood. -Stripped of these things, what must he appear in her eyes? A monster of -selfishness and greed, no less; to be feared, detested, escaped by any -means even to the sacrifice of brain and body. He groaned aloud in the -scorching flame of his humiliation. - -He told himself that he would go to her, beg her forgiveness, offer -her all that she had asked for, and more. He would give her the farm -free of all indebtedness. Then he realized, with sickening certainty, -that she would not accept anything from him. He had told her that he -was her master. To escape this slavery she was about to sell herself to -another. The thought was insupportable. Even while he perceived her -perfect ingenuousness and the practical realization of her own worth -which lay beneath this fantastic and seemingly impossible plan of hers, -he sensed its frightful danger. In order to attract bidders she would -be forced to advertise her plans. Who would respond? Who would buy, and -for what purpose? - -He whipped his horse to a furious speed and soon reached his house. -The newspapers, unread for days, were piled on a table near his desk. -He seized one, turned to its advertising columns and rapidly reviewed -their contents, then another, and another in rapid succession. At last -his devouring eyes lighted and fastened upon a single paragraph, hidden -among the miscellaneous advertisements where a puzzled proofreader had -doubtless placed it: - - “For Sale at Auction [he read]: A young woman in good health, able - and willing to do housework and plain sewing; or could teach a - little child and care for it, would like to secure a position with a - respectable family for a term of years. Her services will be disposed - of at private auction to the highest bidder, for a term of three, - four, or five years. Please communicate with B., _Telegram_.” - -Jarvis crushed the paper in his hands savagely, as though he would -destroy the strange little appeal to an unfriendly world. Then he -sought for and read it again, his eyes fixed and frowning. - - - - -X - - -THERE are times when to the unintelligent observer the affairs of this -world appear a hopeless tangle, a web without a pattern, a heap of -unclassified material without an architect, a wild, unmeaning chaos -of things animate and inanimate, all grinding, groaning, clashing -together, sport of the gods or of demons, tending towards nothing, -useless, hideous. But to one who views the world from another and -higher level there sometimes appear illumining hints of harmony and -completeness, tokens of a Master Mind working continually among the -affairs of men and universes, setting all in divine order, either -with or without the understanding and co-operation of the lesser -intelligences. - -Thus when Barbara Preston was impelled, she knew not how, to send -forth her strange and piteous little appeal to the unknown, it found -instant response, and proceeded to fit itself into the scheme of things -as perfectly and as cunningly as a tiny bit in a picture puzzle. The -paper in which it appeared passed into the hands of a great number of -persons, who glanced carelessly at its glaring headlines or searched -painstakingly through its losts and founds or things offered, or help -wanted, according to their varied tastes or necessities. On the second -day thereafter, as was also to be expected, the particular edition -containing the queer little unclassified appeal, found its way to many -ash-cans, waste-paper baskets, bureau drawers, and pantry shelves; in -its progress it helped to build numberless fires, it wrapped parcels -of every conceivable shape and size; it fluttered out of car windows, -across decks of steamers and ferry-boats; it floated and dissolved -in many waterways, and finally disappeared, swallowed in the abyss -which appears always to yawn for all things of human creation. Having -vanished mysteriously, unobtrusively, as must every printed page sooner -or later, it nevertheless left its mark on the lives of many. Plans -were changed, voyages undertaken or abandoned, marriages made and -unmade. In a word, prosperity, ruin, joy, sadness, glory, despair—all -came about through its appearance, and persisted in ever widening -circles after it had passed from sight and mind. - -Four men and ten women, to be exact, of those who chanced to -notice Barbara’s somewhat absurd little advertisement, cut it -out of the doomed sheet, and placed it in securer quarters, for -further consideration. Of the women four wrote to Barbara asking -for references; of the men, one conceived it to be “a business -opportunity,” not to be written of here; one was a widower blessed with -three small unruly children and little appetite for further matrimonial -experience; another a rich, crabbed old miser, bent on escaping -designing relatives, and the fourth an enterprising young mining -engineer, very deeply in love with a pretty girl and anxious to marry -her and take her with him to a region remote from civilization. The -girl had sighed, demurred, wept—she was of the delicate, clinging vine -variety, and totally unfit for the hard experiences of a mining camp. -But to this fact the amorous engineer was quite naturally oblivious. He -dilated glowingly upon the wonderful efficiency of Chinese servants, -who could, he assured her, beat creation in the expert disguising of -the inevitable “canned goods,” which formed the staple of provision. -Her questions and those of her mother elicited the fact that there were -no women to be hired in any capacity, the wives of the miners, for -the most part, being of a free and independent nature, and, moreover, -entirely occupied with their own affairs. - -Mamma looked at Ethel, and Ethel looked at Mamma; Mamma’s glance being -dubious and Ethel’s timidly imploring. - -“I couldn’t think of allowing darling Ethel to go away out there to -that dreary, lonely place, with no one to wait on her and take care of -her except a Chinese man,” Mamma said tearfully. She added that Ethel -was delicate, very delicate. - -“The mountain air will make her strong,” declared the engineer -enthusiastically. Then he gazed lovingly at the slight, pale, -fashionably gowned young woman who somehow managed to hold the wealth -of his honest affections in her small, highly manicured hands, and in -whom he fancied all possible happiness was embodied “forever” (as he -would have put it). - -The end of it all was Mamma’s ultimatum, strongly backed up by Ethel’s -dutiful acquiescence, to the effect that a suitable maid must be -secured; a person who would combine in one the capabilities of cook, -ladies’ maid, seamstress, and nurse, and who would accompany the timid -bride on her long journey away from Mamma’s side. - -Imagine, then, the bridegroom’s dilemma, and his anxiety to secure the -advertising young person, who upon further inquiry promised so exactly -to fill the conditions of his happiness. - -These persons, therefore, or their representatives foregathered at -the Preston farm on the morning of the eighteenth of May. With them -also appeared a half dozen or so of neighbors, curious and prying, -and the usual complement of shabby individuals, mysteriously aware of -the unusual, and always to be seen at village weddings, funerals, and -public auctions. - -Thomas Bellows, alert, business-like, came early in the morning. - -“Say, if you want to back out even now,” he said to Barbara, “I c’n -tell th’ folks th’ auction’s off. I guess you’re feelin’ kind of -frightened an’ sorry you was so rash, ain’t you?” - -“No,” said Barbara composedly. “I am not—frightened or sorry.” But her -face was unnaturally white, and her eyes, deeply circled with shadowy -blue, belied the statement. “Must I—stand up and be—sold, like—like——” - -“No, ma’am!” exclaimed Mr. Bellows decidedly. “Not by a jugful! You’ve -heard from some of the folks interested, you said?” - -“Yes,” said Barbara, “I’ve had a number of letters. Two women are -looking for a girl to do all their housework; one needs a nursery -governess—she is going with her family to South America to stay five -years; another requires a reliable person to look after an imbecile -child.” - -“Huh!” exploded Mr. Bellows, “that all?” - -By way of answer Barbara produced the letter of the elderly man -who required a competent housekeeper, and that of the widower, the -engineer, and the type-written communication of the person who promised -a luxurious home in exchange for “slight occasional services of a sort -easily rendered.” - -“Huh!” commented Mr. Bellows, after a deliberate perusal of these -epistles. “Did you tell ’em all to show up to-day?” - -He looked sharply at the girl, as he tapped the rustling sheets with -a blunt, tobacco-stained forefinger. “The sale ’ll have to be made -conditional on satisfactory evidence that the highest bidder is an -honest, respectable sort of person. - -“The’s folks,” he added darkly, “‘at I wouldn’t sell a cat to—if I -cared shucks ’bout the cat.” - -“I’m not afraid,” said Barbara, “to do any sort of work.” - -“Mebbe not,” Mr. Bellows acquiesced dryly. “Wall, guess I’ll wait till -I git a good look int’ their faces. I’ll bet,” he added, “‘at I c’n -size ’em up all right. An’ I’ll see t’ it ’at the right bidder gits -the goods. An’ now I’ll tell you what to do. You set here inside the -parlor, same’s if you was the corpse, we’ll say, at a funeral, an’ I’ll -let the bidders come in one b’ one an’ kind o’ size you up. ’Course -they’ve got to know the general specifications, an’ mebbe they’ll want -to ask a few questions. But you’d best let me talk up the article like -I know how. That’s m’ business; an’ I won’t make no fool mistakes.” - -Barbara drew a deep breath. - -“What,” she faltered, “are you going to say?” - -“Oh, you don’t have to worry none ’bout what I’ll say. I’ll crack you -up sky-high same’s I would a first-class horse. All you’ve got to do is -to set right still an’ let me do th’ auctioneerin’. I’ll run you up to -fifteen hunderd, if I kin.” - -“Tell them I—I’ll work—hard and faithfully,” faltered Barbara. - -She choked a little over the last word, her eyes bright with unshed -tears. - -“If I was you, ma’am, I’d put on a red ribbon or—or somethin’ -cheerful-lookin’,” advised Mr. Bellows, with awkward sympathy. “I like -a good bright red m’self. An’ say, don’t you worry none. You ain’t -’bliged to accept anybody’s bid, unless you feel like it. I’m goin’ t’ -bid ye in m’self, if things don’t go right. Where’s the little boy?” he -asked suddenly. - -Barbara controlled herself with an effort. - -“In school,” she replied briefly. “He—Jimmy isn’t to know, till—till -afterward.” - -“Mebbe you c’n take him along,” hazarded Mr. Bellows, “to—South -America, say, or——” - -“I shall leave him here,” Barbara told him with stony calm. “I have -arranged everything.” - -A stamping of feet on the porch brought a defiant light to the girl’s -eyes and a scarlet flush to her cheeks; Mr. Bellows surveyed her with -open satisfaction. - -“That’s right!” he encouraged her. “Perk right up! You look wo’th th’ -money now all right. I’ll open the front door and let the folks pass -right in. Ye don’t need to do a thing but set right still an’ let me -manage things. Biddin’ ’ll begin at ten-thirty, sharp!” - -And he bustled away full of importance. - -Barbara stood quite still in the spot where he had left her, her eyes -fastened with a kind of fascinated terror upon the groups of persons -coming toward the house. The day was bright and warm and the clumps -of old-fashioned shrubs on either side of the driveway, lilac and -bridal wreath and snowball, were in full bloom. On the other side of -the fence long lines of apple trees laden with odorous pink and white -bloom, lifted their gnarled limbs to the blue sky. Barbara saw a woman -pointing out the trees to the man at her side. She knew the woman, -and fancied she might be speaking of the great yield of fruit to be -expected that year from the once famous Preston orchards. - -For two years past the girl had been toiling to bring the trees back to -a thrifty condition; this spring for the first time they promised heavy -returns for all her labors. - -She clenched her strong brown hands in a passion of unavailing protest -against the cruel fate which flaunted the myriads of blossoms in her -face to-day. - -More people were coming than she had expected. Her face burned -with shame at sight of the two shabby hired hacks among the groups -of pedestrians. A woman in one of them thrust her head out of the -window and asked some questions of the driver. He nodded his head and -presently drew up in front of the house. - -“Well, I declare,” she heard in a high-pitched feminine voice, “this -seems like quite a nice place. I thought——” - -The buzzing of tongues in the rooms across the narrow hall increased; -the people were congregating there. She could hear the occasional sound -of Mr. Bellows’ creaking boots and his loud authoritative voice, as he -answered questions and arranged the chairs, which two of the shabby men -under his direction were bringing from various parts of the house. - -There was something dreadfully suggestive of a funeral in the subdued -hum of voices, the solemnly inquisitive glances levelled towards the -house, and the active, creaking steps of Mr. Bellows. Alone in the -dim old parlor, peering through the shutters, alternately cold with -apprehension and hot with shame, Barbara found herself threatened with -hysterical laughter. They will come in presently and look at me, she -thought, and stiffened into instant rigidity at sound of the creaking -knob. - -“Yes, ma’am,” she heard the old auctioneer saying. “You’ll find the -young woman right in here. She’s ready t’ be interviewed, an’ I’ll -guarantee she’s wo’th double the price anybody’ll bid for her. One at a -time, if you please. An’ five minutes only allowed.” - -The door opened, and a tall, showily dressed woman entered. She stared -at Barbara through a lorgnette. - -“Are you the young woman who is to be sold at auction?” she asked, in -an unbelieving voice. “I am Mrs. Perkins, the housekeeper at Clifton -Grange. I wrote you, with reference to a boy of six. He is large of his -age, and not easy to care for. But his mother, who is an invalid, won’t -hear to his being sent away from home. Yes; I received your references. -But you don’t look old enough to attempt the position I speak of. -But I shall have to bid, I suppose, for we can’t keep a nurse in the -house. They simply will not stay through more than one of his fractious -spells. And of course, if we buy you, you’ll be obliged to remain. Are -you strong in your hands?” - -“Yes, very,” said Barbara, conscious of the increasing dryness of her -lips and throat. - -“You have rather a nice face,” observed the woman dubiously. “And I do -hope you’re naturally lively and cheerful; you’ll get along better with -_him_ if you are. If he takes a notion to you, he’ll be pretty good -most of the time. But if he don’t—— Are you used to children?” - -“I have a brother.” - -“How old?” - -“Six years.” - -“Well, I declare! Quite a coincidence. Is your brother an ordinary -child?” - -“He is perfectly normal, if that is what you mean,” Barbara managed to -say. It was being harder than she thought. - -“One thing more,” the woman was saying. “You didn’t answer one -question I asked. How did you ever come to think of doing anything -so strange as selling your services at auction? And why should you -demand all the money at once? If your references—your pastor’s letter -and others—hadn’t been so satisfactory, we shouldn’t have thought of -considering you. But we do want to secure someone who will stay, and -of course you’ll be obliged to; though I’m not allowed to bid above a -certain sum. Now I shall expect a truthful answer to——” - -Mr. Bellows obtruded his puckered face into the room. - -“Time’s up, ma’am,” he said authoritatively. “Other bidders waitin’ -their opportunity.” - -Barbara could not afterward recall all that passed during the -intolerable period before the bidding began. She was vaguely aware of -women, tall and short, curious, eager, clutching hand-bags, presumably -containing large sums of money. There were men, too. The representative -of the Boston widower, the young mining engineer, more eager and -determined than ever after his short interview with Barbara. - -“I’ll bid every cent I can on you,” he assured the girl, with boyish -sincerity. “You’re just the one for us, and I know you’d enjoy the life -out there. We wouldn’t treat you like an ordinary servant; you’d be -more like a friend, I can see that, and I’m sure Ethel—Mrs. Selfridge -[he blushed at his own delightful mendacity] will like you very much. -She’ll want to see you at once, if I am the lucky winner.” - -It was all strange, dream-like, and for the most part intolerable. -Barbara raised her heavy eyes once more at the sound of the hard-shut -door. Stephen Jarvis stood looking at her in silence. She felt rather -than saw that some great though subtle change had come over him. - -“Why,” he asked in a voice as changed as his looks, “have you done this -thing?” - -She did not answer, and he drew a step nearer. - -“Tell me,” he said under his breath, “will you give it up? if I—agree -to all that you asked for—time to meet the payments?” - -He hesitated as if choosing his words with care. - -“You were right about the orchards,” he went on. “There will be a good -yield—more than enough.” He stretched out his hands imploringly, “Spare -me, Barbara,” he entreated. “Don’t put yourself and me to shame before -them all!” - -The door swung open a little way. - -“Did you say the young woman was in here?” inquired a feminine -voice, sharp with curiosity. Barbara caught a momentary glimpse of a -militant-looking turban glittering with jet beads. Jarvis shut the -door, and stood against it, a tall sombre figure of authority. - -“Let me put a stop to it all, Barbara,” he urged. “Barbara!—in God’s -name! I can’t let you do it!” - -“It is—too late,” she said, speaking slowly because of the dryness of -her throat and mouth. “Don’t you see—I must go on with it, and I—shall -pay you—every cent!” - -He drew a difficult breath that was almost a sob. - -“You—will—pay—me,” he repeated, a dreadful self-loathing struggling -with the despair in his eyes. Then he went away, quietly, as he had -come. - - - - -XI - - -PEG MORRISON smote the rough brown backs of his horses with a practised -slap of the lines. - -“Y’ remind me o’ the sect in gen’ral,” he observed, in a loud, critical -voice, as the off member of the team backed and fidgeted uneasily. -“When y’ want a female, woman er hoss, to go, thet’s th’ pertickler -time they elect t’ stan’ still, an’ when y’ want ’em to stan ’still—— -Whoa, thar; can’t ye?” - -Mr. Morrison paused to wipe the moisture from his brow with an ancient -handkerchief of red and white, while he gazed lovingly at the wide -expanse of glistening brown earth which had been deeply ploughed, and -more or less levelled into smoothness under the action of the harrow -which the horses were dragging. - -“Planted t’ onions,” he went on, still addressing his observations to -the horses, whose heads drooped sleepily toward the fresh-smelling -ground, “this ’ere ten acres ’ll net, anyway you figger it, four -hunderd an’ fifty dollars t’ the acre; an’ that’ll total—l’me see, -somethin’ like——” - -Mr. Morrison’s gaze being wholly introspective at this stage of the -mental problem under consideration, he failed to notice the man who -came swinging along the road at a smart rate of speed. At sight of the -old man leaning meditatively against the fence, a spent dandelion stalk -in his mouth, the pedestrian halted. - -“Why, hello, Peg!” he called out in a clear and somewhat authoritative -voice. - -The stranger wore a rough suit of weather-stained tweeds; and his felt -hat, set at a becoming angle on his curly head, shaded a face bronzed -by sun and wind almost to the color of the full brown beard curling -away from his red mouth with a careless boldness repeated in the -humorous blue eyes which roved over the shabby old figure by the fence. - -He laughed outright at the puzzled look in Morrison’s face. - -Then he folded his arms on top of the fence. - -“Well, how goes it, old man?” he inquired. “Same lazy old horses—eh? -Same job, same season of the year, same old clothes, I should say—even -to the red and white bandanna. Makes me feel as if I’d been dreaming. -Maybe I have; who knows?” - -“Who be ye?” demanded Peg. “Seems ’s ’o I’d seen ye somewhars; but I -can’t think whar.” - -“Don’t be hasty, my friend,” advised the other, pulling his hat over -his laughing eyes. “You’ve forgotten me, and so, apparently, has -everyone else. I saw Al Hewett at the station and he told me Miss -Preston was unmarried and still at home, and that old Don Preston had -gone to his reward a couple of years ago.” - -“I c’n see you used t’ live ’round here,” hazarded Peg, shaking his -head, “but I can’t seem t’ rec’lect who ye be; ’nless—— If I didn’t -know he was dead I might think you was the young feller ’at used t’ -teach school in th’ village. Whitcomb, his name was. But he’s been dead -a matter o’ three years.” - -“That being the case,” said the stranger coolly, “perhaps you’ll -tell me about the auction up at the farm. I heard some women asking -questions about it at the station.” - -“Auction?” repeated Peg. “The’ ain’t no auction at our place—not yet. -But you sure do remind me o’ that young school-teacher feller. He got -gold crazy, an’ went off——” - -“Yes, I know; and got lost on a trail and froze to death,” interrupted -the stranger. “So I heard. Sad, wasn’t it? Did they find the body?” - -“Not,” said Peg, his puzzled eyes still searching the stranger’s face, -“as I heerd tell of.” - -“Then you think the coast is clear up at the farm? Is Barbara—Miss -Preston—at home?” - -“Miss Barb’ry was to home when I come away at six-thirty this mornin’. -Say, are you——?” - -“I’ll walk over and call on her,” interrupted the young man, with some -impatience. “Perhaps Barbara will remember an old friend. Her eyes used -to be bright enough.” - -Peg unhitched the harrow with fine deliberation. - -“Hold on a minute,” he requested, “an’ I’ll step ’long with ye. It’s -gittin’ ’long towards noon, anyhow.” - -He was furtively studying the younger man’s face and figure, as he let -down the bars and drove his horses through. - -“B’en doin’ any school-teachin’ sence ye left these parts?” he drawled, -as the two struck the road at a pace commensurate to the unhurried gait -of the old horses. - -“No,” said the stranger. He plunged his hands deep in his pockets, the -merriment suddenly gone from his face and eyes. - -“Ye look consid’ble older’n ye did,” observed Peg mildly, “an’ the -whiskers gives ye a diff’rent look; but come t’ take notice, most -anybody’d know ye, though ye must hev knocked ’round consid’able. Hev -any luck minin’?” - -Whitcomb laughed, throwing back his head as if the question afforded -him a vast deal of amusement. - -“Luck?” he echoed. “Certainly; a man’s bound to strike luck of one sort -or another.” - -“That’s a fac’,” agreed Peg sententiously, “an’ you can’t most always -sometimes tell one sort f’om the other. What passes fer the worst sort -o’ luck ’ll frequent turn out to be fust-rate. I knew a man once——” - -He stopped short, his jaw dropping at sight of the numerous vehicles -congregated near the house which they were approaching. “I swan!” he -ejaculated. “It sure does look like—— But Miss Barb’ry never said -nothin’ t’ me. She never tol’ me——” - -“I’m going in,” said David Whitcomb, scowling. - -Several women congregated near the door stared at him with a resentful -air as he made his way masterfully among them. - -At one end of the long, low room, his back to the open windows, stood -Thomas Bellows, a small bare table in front of him, on which he rested -the flat of his outspread hands while haranguing the company ranged on -either side, the women for the most part comfortably seated, the men -standing in the rear, as if half ashamed to be present. - -“Eight hunderd, do I hear?” inquired the auctioneer in a tone of -passionate protest, “it bein’ understood there’ll be a five years’ -lease on the prop’ty in question? Ladies an’ gents, that ain’t right! -Eight hunderd ain’t a patch on what she’s worth. I’ve told you what -sort of goods you’re biddin’ on an’ you’ve had the opportunity to see -fer yourselves. Eight hunderd ten, do I hear? Who’ll make it a fifty? -Eight hunderd fifty; who’ll make it nine hunderd? Come! let me hear -some good lively biddin’ on the part of the lady in the green dress. -This lady is lookin’ fer an honest, permanent hired girl; she told me -so b’fore the biddin’ begun. She’s had a terrible time with hired help; -she’s paid ’em high wages, an’ they break her china dishes, steal her -clo’es, an—— - -“That’s right! eight hunderd sixty-five from the young man in the -comer. That gentleman knows what’s what; an’ he’s lookin’ fer an A -number one helper t’ take west t’ help his wife do the cookin’. W’y, -this is the opportunity of a lifetime, an’ if you let it pass—eight -hunderd seventy dollars I’m offered, who’ll make it nine hunderd? I’ll -tell ye, straight, ladies, this perfec’ly healthy, honest, willin’, -agreeable, faithful young woman ain’t goin’t’ be knocked down t’ any of -ye at nine hunderd dollars. Don’t think it fer a minute! She’s goin’ to -git her price, an’ I know what it is.” - -“For God’s sake, what’s going on here?” asked Whitcomb of a man in a -fashionable light suit, with a diamond in his shirt-front. “What is the -man selling?” - -By way of answer the man held up his two hands, the fingers -outstretched. - -“There you are, ten hunderd dollars I’m offered; one thousand dollars! -Who’ll make it eleven? A thousand dollars may sound like a pretty good -sum t’ slap down all at once, ladies; but do a little figurin’, if -you please! You pay eighteen, twenty, twenty-five dollars a month for -a raw, untrained foreigner; can’t speak English, can’t cook, can’t -do nothin’, an’ once you get her trained off she goes’s lively’s a -flea. Five years of domestic peace in yer home! Five years of perfec’ -happiness! Ain’t it worth more’n a measly thousand dollars? The -gentleman in the comer says it is; he bids ten hunderd fifty. Ten -hunderd fifty, ten hunderd sixty! Oh, come, let’s run ’er up faster! I -can’t stan’ here all day foolin’. The gentleman in the corner again. -Yes, sir, eleven hunderd! Who’ll make it twelve?” - -“Stop long enough to tell me what you’re selling, man,” called the -latest comer, in a loud, clear voice. “I didn’t get here in time to -find out, and no one will tell me.” - -A general murmur of protest arose all over the room. A tall woman, with -a high-peaked nose set midway in a large expanse of purplish-red face, -arose. - -“I’m through!” she announced acidly. “Let me out of here.” - -“No, you ain’t, ma’am. Kindly set down in that nice comf’table cheer -you’ve been occupyin’ fer about ten minutes longer. I’ll answer this -gentleman quick an’t’ the p’int an’ we’ll go on with the biddin’. I’m -auctionin’ off five years o’ faithful work an’ service; I’m auctionin’ -peace an’ happiness in the home; I’m auctionin’ the educated brains an’ -han’s an’ feet of the smartest young lady in this ’ere United States of -Ameriky! An’ that’s Miss Barbara Preston. Do you want to bid? Eleven -hunderd dollars I’m offered; who’ll make it twelve?” - -“It’s an outrage on civilization!” cried the man who had interrupted. -“I protest against the sale!” - -“Put him out! Put him out!” shouted a dozen voices. - -In the midst of the tumult some one signalled twelve hundred, and -Thomas Bellows caught the figures. Pounding on the table with his -mallet, he commanded order. - -“The sale will be continued, and I’m offered twelve hunderd dollars; -remember, gentlemen; remember, ladies, your bids will be cancelled -if you do not live up to your part of the previous agreement. Spot -cash before you leave the room, and a guarantee of honorable service -and kind treatment. Gentlemen! Ladies! Your attention, please! -Twelve hunderd dollars I’m offered! Twelve hunderd, going! Twelve -hunderd dollars! Twelve hunderd, fifty? Yes, sir! Twelve hunderd, -sixty! Thirteen hunderd dollars I’m bid by the gentleman by the door. -Come down front where we can all see you, sir. Thirteen hunderd, -going!—Fourteen hunderd! Now this is something like! Isn’t there any -lady present who’ll make it fifteen?” - -The woman in the green dress rose in her place. - -“This is preposterous!” she cried. “No servant is worth——” - -“Be quiet, madam,” commanded the auctioneer. “I’m runnin’ this sale. -Fourteen hunderd dollars. Is there any lady or gent in the room who’ll -raise it? Fourteen hunderd fifty. Fifteen hunderd!” - -“Sixteen hundred!” - -The young man in the travel-stained tweeds shook his fist in the face -of the small, seedy man, who drawled out his bids in a hoarse, scarcely -audible voice. - -“Sixteen hunderd I’m offered by the gentleman who has just arrived. -Sixteen hunderd, going!” - -“Two thousand!” piped the little man in the creased checked suit. - -“Twenty-one hundred!” shouted the latest comer, his eyes blazing. - -“Twenty-three hundred!” said the engineer in a dogged monotone. - -“Twenty-five hundred!” wheezed the man in checks, squinting through -his glasses at the paper on which he was setting down the bids with -painstaking neatness. - -“Twenty-five hunderd dollars I’m offered!” shrilled the auctioneer. “Do -you raise it?” He turned to Whitcomb. - -“Twenty-six hundred!” cried the engineer excitedly. - -“Three thousand!” the hoarse voice of the shabby little stranger -interposed. - -“Three thousand, one hundred!” snapped Whitcomb. - -“Three thousand one hunderd! Who’ll make it four thousand?” The -old auctioneer’s voice trembled. He leaned far out over the table, -brandishing his mallet wildly. - -The man in the checked suit nodded. - -“Four thousand dollars I’m bid; who’ll raise it to five?” - -The young fellow who had tacitly acknowledged himself to be David -Whitcomb groaned aloud. - -“I can’t do it!” he said. - -There was a general stir and turning of heads as Peg Morrison forced -his way through the excited crowd. - -“Hold on thar!” he cried, in a loud, tremulous voice. “I’ve been up an’ -got my money an’ counted it. I’ll bid on Miss Barb’ry myself. She ain’t -a-goin’ t’ leave this ’ere farm t’ go with nobody, ’f I c’n help it! I -bid fifty-eight dollars an’ sixty-five cents on Miss Barb’ry, an’ it’s -all I’ve got in the world!” - -“Four thousand dollars I’m bid!” cried Mr. Bellows, his professional -tones easily dominating the babel of voices. “Four thousand dollars, -going! Four thousand dollars, going! Four thousand dollars, gone! And -sold to this ’ere gentleman. Your name, please!” - -The small man, in the checked clothes, cleared his throat weakly and -blinked, as he strapped the leathern memorandum book. - -“My name’s Smith,” he said, in an apologetic whisper. - -“Well, Mr. Smith, you c’n settle right here and now, an’ I’ll give you -a signed receipt.” - -“Hold on!” blustered Whitcomb, his face flushed to a wrathful crimson. -“Who is this fellow, and what does he mean to do with—Barbara?” The -last word was a groan of rage and disappointment. - -“Excuse me, sir; I’ve got a bad cold an’ can’t talk. I’ll explain to -Mr. Bellows here in private. Yes, sir; I’ve got the money all right.” - -The woman in the jetted turban and the tall lady in green advanced in -a determined way, backed up by three women of the village, burning -with neighborly zeal; the countenances of all five expressed blended -curiosity and disapproval. The small man in the checked suit endeavored -to shrink behind Mr. Bellows’ portly person, but the lady in the jetted -turban fixed him with her glittering eye. - -“I command you to tell me at once why you bid four thousand dollars -for the services of the young person in the other room,” said this -person in a militant voice. “I suspect your motives, sir! I doubt -your respectability.” She turned to the other women. “Tell me,” she -demanded, “does this man look honest?” - -Mr. Smith blinked weakly at his inquisitors. - -“I’m all right, ma’am,” he said hoarsely, “an’ puffec’ly honest. An’ I -ain’t biddin’ for myself, but for another party.” - -“Oh, indeed!” exclaimed the five women in unbelieving chorus. “Who is -your principal?” snapped the indignant lady in green. “Of course we -all know the girl can’t be worth eight hundred dollars a year, in any -respectable employment.” - -The little man coughed apologetically. - -“She’s wanted,” he said, “by a responsible party to look after a little -boy—a very nice, respectable little boy.” - -“Is he a widower?” shrieked the ladies in unison. - -“No, ma’am,” replied the little man, ducking his head fearfully and -edging away. “He ain’t old enough to be married yet.” - -“Not old enough to be married? Oh! you mean the boy?” - -“Come on, sir, an’ we’ll settle,” put in the auctioneer, taking Mr. -Smith by the arm, as if he feared he might be planning an escape. - -But Mr. Smith appeared entirely ready, even anxious, to settle. In the -privacy of the kitchen he counted off from a sizable roll four thousand -dollars in bills of large denominations, repeating in a painstaking -manner what he had already told the women. - -“Yes, sir; the young woman’s wanted to look after a child.” - -“Whereabouts?” inquired the auctioneer. - -“W’y, I don’t rightly know,” wheezed Mr. Smith. “M’ asthma’s terrible -bad this morning.” - -“So I see! so I see,” observed Mr. Bellows, rubbing his chin dubiously. -“An’ you can’t tell me——” - -“The young woman is to stay right here till she’s called for,” repeated -the gentleman in checks. “No, sir; I couldn’t say when that ’ll be. She -must be ready to start most any day. But she’s to stay right here till -called for. You tell her. Yes, sir. I’ve got references. Everythin’ -O.K. Tell her that, will you? An’, say, you’ll pass the money right -over to her, will you? To-day; yes.” - -“Less fi’ per cent,” said Mr. Bellows unctuously. “Pretty good mornin’s -work,” he added, rubbing his hands. “I never thought o’ such a thing’s -runnin’ her up to such a figure. An’ you’d ’a’ bid more, I take it, if -you’d had to? As ’twas, you was kind of reckless towards the last.” - -“Mebbe I did go a little higher’n I needed to,” acknowledged Mr. Smith -mildly. “But I thought I might as well.” He coughed and blinked weakly. -“It didn’t make no difference to me,” he said. “I wuz prepared to -secure the services of the young woman at any figure. Yes, sir.” - - - - -XII - - -“I CONGRATULATE ye, ma’am, on the success o’ your idee,” Thomas Bellows -said, when an hour later he handed to Barbara the roll of bills from -which he had complacently peeled off his own tidy commission. “This -’ere ’ll pay off the lien on your prop’ty, I take it, an’ leave you a -pretty good nest-egg besides.” - -“Who,” said Barbara, her face pale and troubled, “bought—me?” - -“W’y, as t’ that,” confessed the auctioneer, “I can’t tell you -exactly. I was asked to hand you this ’ere letter. It contains further -perticklers, I persoom.” - -He produced a thick square envelope bearing her name and address in -type-written characters. - -“You was to stay right here on call, I was asked t’ inform you. No, -ma’am; it wa’n’t any o’ them folks that wrote t’ you beforehand. A man, -name of Smith; said he was the agent of the party as bid you in. You’re -to stay right here till called for.” - -Barbara had opened the envelope and was scanning the few lines of -type-writing in the middle of the large square sheet. - - “Miss Barbara Preston [she read] will hold herself in readiness to - enter upon the term of her service, previously understood to be five - years. It is impossible, at the present instant, for the writer to - state when the call will come; but the term of service will be - reckoned from this eighteenth day of May, 19——. Miss Preston’s duties - will comprise the conduct of a home, and the care and guardianship of - a little child.” - -There was also enclosed a stamped and addressed envelope, containing a -paper drawn up in legal form, binding one Barbara Preston, spinster, -for and in consideration of the sum of four thousand dollars (herein -acknowledged), to a term of continuous service, beginning on the -eighteenth day of May, 19— and terminating on the same day of the month -in the year 19—. The document was duly witnessed and bore, in lieu of -signature, the imprint of a seal, with a device of crossed battle-axes -and the single word _Invictus_. - -“You’re t’ sign right here,” said Mr. Bellows, indicating with his -blunt forefinger the space below the seal. “Me an’ Peg Morrison ’ll -witness the signature. I told him to wait outside, in case the’ was -papers to sign. I’ll see to forwardin’ it for you. Le’ me see that -there envelope; likely it’ll shed a little light on th’ identity o’ the -party.” - -But the envelope bore merely the number of a post-office box, in a -distant city. - -Mr. Bellows scratched his head and squinted his eyes into puzzled slits -as he surveyed this unsatisfactory bit of evidence from every possible -angle. - -“Wall, I don’t know,” he burst out at length, “es I’d trust that -proposition teetotally, if it wasn’t fer the references. The man as -bid ye in satisfied me the party he was representin’ was O.K. es t’ -character an’ intentions.” - -He glanced shrewdly at the girl; but Barbara asked no questions. She -was beginning to realize that while the shackles which had bound her -to Jarvis were about to be loosed, this unknown master of her future -had forged a new and perhaps heavier fetter. But her composed features -betrayed nothing while she wrote her name clearly—Barbara Allen -Preston—below the red seal, with its short but significant motto. - -Thomas Bellows went away after a little, taking with him the contract, -duly signed, sealed, and ready to deliver, and Barbara, left quite -alone in the disordered house, quietly locked the money away in a -drawer of her desk. - -She turned to find Peg Morrison staring at her with eyes full of grief -and consternation. - -“Miss Barb’ry,” he began, “why in creation didn’t ye tell me what you -was goin’ t’ do? Sellin’ yourself—sellin’ your own flesh an’ blood, -like you was an Aferc’n slave! What d’you s’pose your folks ’d a -said t’ what took place in this ’ere house t’-day—huh? I’ll bet your -grandmother Preston ’d think you’d gone crazy. Where be you goin’? What -you goin’ t’ do with th’ Cap’n? Whar do I come in in this ’ere deal? -Them’s questions ’at I want answered right now. I’ve a notion,” he -added darkly, “that you be kind o’ cracked. ’N’ I don’t wonder at it -much.” - -Barbara was putting the furniture in place, straightening the rugs, -and otherwise restoring to its wonted order the scene of the recent -auction. Her cheeks and lips were bright with color; her eyes sparkled -as she faced the old man. - -“You are entirely mistaken, Peg,” she said impatiently. “Just listen, -will you? If I had waited a few days longer we should have been sold -out under the hammer—farm, house, furniture, stock. Now we shan’t be. -Do you understand? This very day I’m going to settle with the Honorable -Stephen Jarvis [her red lips curled a little over the words], and I’ll -pay Abe Hewett, too, and all the others. Oh! I’m glad I did it—glad! -Jimmy will have the farm, and there’ll be plenty left to fix the -fences, and buy the fertilizers we need and mend the broken roof and -maybe paint the house. Don’t you see, Peg, what a splendid thing it -will be?” - -“But where are you goin’, Miss Barb-ry?” The old man’s voice held the -sound of tears. “An’ who’s goin’ to take care o’ the Cap’n?” - -Barbara compressed her lips sternly. - -“I don’t know where I shall go,” she said, “but wherever I am I can -write to—to Jimmy; and Peg, I want you to stay, just as you have; only -I shall pay you good wages. I shall pay up all that I owe you, too, -and——” - -“Will I hev charge o’ the Cap’n?” inquired the old man anxiously. “Five -years is a long time, Miss Barb’ry, he’ll be—l’ me see. W’y, the Cap’n -’ll be ’leven years old time you’re at liberty.” - -Barbara drew her fine dark brows together. - -“I’ve engaged Martha Cottle to come here and keep house and take care -of Jimmy,” she said. “She’s coming this afternoon.” - -Mr. Morrison’s jaw dropped. - -“Marthy Cottle!” he ejaculated. “W’y, that female—she don’t know no -more ’bout little boys ’an—’an a Holstein steer. She’s an old maid -schoolmarm, cut an’ dried.” - -“She can help Jimmy with his lessons,” Barbara said doggedly. “She’s -good and honest, and she’ll do her best to——” - -“Gosh!” murmured the old man, shaking his head. “She’ll do her best, -mebbe, but—wall, I’ll do what I kin fer the Cap’n t’—keep him f’om -gittin’ too awful lonesome an’ discouraged. Marthy Cottle! Huh! We’ll -hev t’ make out the best we kin after you’re gone. Does—the Cap’n -know—hev you tol’ him you’re a-goin leave him?” - -“No,” said Barbara, in a harsh voice. “I haven’t, and I don’t intend -to, either. I—I’ll leave word. I—couldn’t, Peg.” - -Her young voice broke in an irrepressible sob. - -“Don’t you feel bad, Miss Barb’ry,” the old man essayed to comfort her. -“You meant it fer the best, I know you did, Miss Barb’ry. An’ mebbe -it’ll turn out all right. I wouldn’t cross no bridges till I got to -’em, ef I was you. I s’pose,” he went on, his shrewd eyes on her face, -“‘at you seen young Dave Whitcomb this mornin’—him ’at used to teach -school in th’ village?” - -Barbara’s face whitened. - -“You don’t mean——” she faltered. - -“Dave was here t’ the auction,” pursued Mr. Morrison. “I heerd him put -in two or three big bids on ye. He was ready to pass out his entire -pile t’—save ye f’om bein’ took away; I’ll say that much fer Dave.” - -He turned, with his hand on the door. - -“I didn’t hev nothin’ when it come t’ biddin’,” he groaned. “I might -’a’ saved m’ breath t’ cool m’ porridge. But I’d ’a’ give the best fi’ -years off’n m’ life t’ ’a’ kep’ ye right here at home, where ye b’long. -I swan I would, Miss Barb’ry.” - -“I know you would, Peg,” Barbara said gently. Her eyes, the beautiful -clear eyes of her father in his first unspoiled youth, were misty with -tears, but she smiled bravely. “Five years isn’t long,” she reminded -him. “It’ll soon be over. And you can raise five crops of those -wonderful onions while I’m gone.” - -Stephen Jarvis was at home and alone in his library that afternoon when -Barbara asked to see him. It might even have been inferred that he -expected her; but if he did, he made no sign. His manner was cool and -calm, quite in keeping with the business of the hour, as he took pains -to explain to her a number of details connected with the accumulated -interest upon interest, delinquent tax accounts, and other matters -pertaining to the estate which Barbara, in her poverty, had been forced -to ignore. - -“I can pay it all,” she said to him, the fruit of her triumph sweet -upon her lips. “That is why I am here—to pay—everything I owe.” - -He looked at her quietly. - -“You are doubtless to be congratulated upon the success of your -scheme,” he said. “I hear you realized quite a handsome sum on the sale -of——” he hesitated for the fraction of a minute—“your future.” - -“It will be only five years,” Barbara said defiantly. “I shall be glad -to work—hard, for Jimmy.” - -“When,” he asked, “do you expect to leave town?” - -“To-day, to-morrow—I cannot tell. I am ready to go now.” - -“To be gone five years,” he said thoughtfully. “Very well; we will -finish this business at once. Let me advise you to attend to your taxes -promptly hereafter; and if——” - -“Thank you,” interrupted Barbara haughtily. “I shall be able, I am -sure, to meet all obligations in the future. The farm may be worthless, -worn out, but it will pay for itself.” - -He did not appear to have heard her last words. He was busily arranging -various papers. And presently he handed her the cancelled bond and -mortgage, and the receipted tax bills, all neatly arranged. In return -she counted out to him, with fingers which trembled in spite of -herself, the crisp bills for which she had sold her youth. - -“There!” she said rather breathlessly. “Is that all?” - -“All,” he repeated quietly. “And it is all quite right. Thank you.” - -She looked at him uncertainly. His head was bent, his eyes fixed upon -the pile of rustling bank-notes which she had just pushed toward him. - -A sudden unreasoning sense of dismay fell upon the girl, shadowing the -triumph in her face. She made swift retreat toward the door, casting a -half-frightened backward look at the sombre figure behind the desk. - -He did not lift his eyes from their unseeing contemplation of the -money, even when the jarring sound of the hard-shut door told him she -was gone. - -Left quite alone Stephen Jarvis slowly folded the notes, sealed them -securely in a stout envelope and locked them in his safe. - - - - -XIII - - -YOUNG WHITCOMB sat quite at his ease in Donald Preston’s big arm-chair, -one leg flung carelessly over the other, his handsome head thrown back, -its riotous curls shining in the lamp-light. His blue eyes, full of -laughter, were set upon Barbara. - -“So you thought I was dead, did you?” he asked, in a bantering tone; -“but it didn’t appear to bother you much. You’re looking handsomer than -ever, Barbara. I had an idea I’d find you—changed.” - -He waited for some sort of reply; but Barbara was trying hard to -reconcile the ruddy, smiling man, who sat so unconcernedly in her dead -father’s place, with the pallid, serious, large-eyed phantom of her -dreams. She had been looking at him in puzzled silence, and now her -glance disengaged itself from his with an effort. - -“I’ll wager,” he said, “that you have been thinking of me with ’a crown -upon my forehead, a harp within my hand,’ the way we used to sing in -Sunday school when we were kids. Now own up! And you’re disappointed to -find that I’m such a commonplace, live-looking chap—eh, Barbara?” - -“I find you—changed,” she confessed, in a low voice, “greatly changed.” - -David Whitcomb laughed triumphantly. - -“Yes; I flatter myself that the pious pedagogue has been pretty well -knocked out of me in the last five years. Good Lord! what a solemn, -sentimental ass I must have been in those days. It was a lucky thing -for me that you sent me about my business. Still,—Barbara, I’d give a -gold nugget to know just what you thought when they told you I’d passed -in my checks. Did you picture poor David lying cold and pale under some -frozen cairn along the Yukon trail? That’s the way they dispose of -unlucky prospectors up north; just dig a hole in the snow and drop ’em -in; then pile stones on top to keep off the wolves. Ugh! I can hear ’em -howl, if I stop to to think, now. Did you drop a tear on that imaginary -grave of mine up in the Arctic; did you, Barbara?” - -Her eyes evaded his smiling blue gaze. - -“Why should you ask?” she hesitated. “It was a great surprise—a great -shock.” - -“You refer, of course, to the news of my death,” he said. “But you -survived the shock, as you call it, and—you are far more beautiful than -I remembered you.” - -He leaned forward and rested his head on his clasped hands, his eyes -searching her face with smiling boldness. - -“There are not many men,” he went on, “who come back from the grave the -way I did to find—everything so unchanged.” - -He sprang from his chair and paced the floor excitedly. - -“If I’d only come yesterday!” he cried. “I had saved enough—I could -have prevented that absurd fiasco.” - -He stopped in front of her. - -“Why didn’t you answer my letter, Barbara?” - -“I couldn’t read it,” she murmured, a sudden vivid color fluttering in -her cheeks. “Jimmy lost it on the way home from the office, and it lay -out in the rain a week. I knew, though, that you were not—dead.” - -“And that I had not forgotten you,” he urged. “You must have wondered, -though, why I had not written before. But I couldn’t. I swore when -I went away that I would get money—somehow. That I would get enough -to save you out of the slavery you were in then. I meant to hire a -caretaker for your father, a nurse for the boy. But I had the devil’s -own luck. Three times I won, only to lose. Then I made a little -pile—not enough; but still I thought—I hoped—— Do you want me to tell -you what I hoped, Barbara?” - -“No,” she said faintly. “I—can’t listen.” - -“Why?” he urged. “Do you—love someone else?” - -She looked at him imploringly. - -“You were here, and you know——” - -“Yes,” he said sharply. “I know what happened. You must have been out -of your mind with anxiety, Barbara, to have thought of such a thing. -Why did you do it?” - -“I wanted to save the farm—for Jimmy.” - -He shrugged his shoulders, with a muttered exclamation. - -“You got the money?” - -“Yes.” - -“And so you’re sold into slavery for five years?” - -She made no reply. - -“Now, see here, Barbara. I won’t stand for anything of the sort. It’s -an outrage. I haven’t enough—quite—to pay the other fellow out; but -I’ll arrange it with him—or her. Is it a man or a woman slave-holder, -Barbara?” - -She hesitated. - -“I—don’t know,” she said, “not yet.” - -“You don’t know?” he echoed. “Why, this is more preposterous than the -other. Of course you’ll have to know.” - -“It is quite true,” she said quietly. “I only know that I must be ready -to leave home at a minute’s notice.” - -He bent over her with sudden passion. - -“Marry me, Barbara,” he begged in a low, shaken voice. “If you only -will, I’ll manage it somehow.” - -“I—can’t,” she murmured. “I am in honor bound. Don’t you see? I’ve -accepted the money, and paid a part of it for debts.” - -He threw himself down in his chair and pulled it toward hers -impatiently. - -“Let me think,” he said quickly. “You’ve paid off your mortgage. How -much was it?” - -She told him, and he set down the figures rapidly. - -“Who held your mortgage?” he wanted to know. - -“Stephen Jarvis,” she said, with a singular reluctance at which she -wondered, even while she perceived it. - -“Miserly old crab; I remember him,” said David Whitcomb. - -His face brightened suddenly. - -“Hurrah!” he cried. “I have it! With what you’ve got left and my little -pile we’ve more than enough to buy you back. Don’t you see? Marry me, -dear, and we’ll call the sale off, pay back the money, and——” - -He stopped short at sight of her unresponsive face. - -“I’ve signed a contract,” she objected. - -“What if you have?” he urged. “The contract can be quashed. You’ll give -me the right to get you out of it, Barbara?” - -She hesitated, her eyes averted from his anxious face. - -“Do you mean that you don’t—that you can’t—? Barbara, do you prefer -slavery—to me?” - -“I mean,” she said slowly, “that I cannot—promise you anything until——” - -“But don’t you see, dear, that it would be better, safer that way? As -your husband—even as your promised husband—I could—Good Lord! what a -preposterous situation! You must give me the right to get you out of -it.” - -She shook her head. - -“I did it voluntarily,” she said, “and I must fulfil my agreement.” - -His face reddened with quick anger. - -“Then you will go peacefully away with this person—man or woman—and -stay five years, when the matter might easily be arranged by paying -back the money, and by proving a prior claim. My claim is prior, -Barbara. I loved you five years ago. I love you now. Give me the right -to break this absurd bond. Won’t you, Barbara?” - -His lips, his eyes, pleaded with his eloquent voice. He dropped to his -knees beside her chair; his arm stole about her waist. - -“Barbara!” he murmured, his face close to hers. - -She broke from him with a little shuddering cry. - -“What is it? What have I done?” - -“Do you know—did you hear how my father—died?” she asked, in a -frightened voice. - -He sprang to his feet, his face crimson with shame and fury. - -“I drank a glass of wine before I came here to-night—a single glass,” -he said. “Is it that you mean?” - -His eyes demanded instant answer. - -“If you had suffered what I suffered——” she began; then her voice -broke. “I couldn’t help it, David; I—remembered.” - -It was the first time she had called him by his name. He looked at her -in silence for a minute. - -“I understand,” he said gently. “I won’t offend again. I promise you.” - -“To-morrow,” she went on hurriedly, “I shall hear; someone will call -for me. I am all ready—to go. But I will—try, I will explain——” - -She put out her hand to forestall his quick protest. - -“No; please. I—cannot promise anything—yield anything, until I have -arranged the matter. If I succeed——” - -He waited for her to go on. - -“I must have time to think,” she murmured. “I—am not sure of myself.” - -He went away, bidding her a brief good-night, his eyes hurt and angry. - -Barbara watched his straight, lithe figure, as he strode away from the -little circle of her lamp-light into the dripping gloom of the spring -night. So had she sent him away from her long ago into the rain and the -darkness. Then, as now, she was in honor bound to a lonely task. - -She turned to find her newly engaged housekeeper standing behind her in -the semi-obscurity of the passage. Martha Cottle was a tall, angular -woman with a pallid, uncertain complexion, a long thin nose, and an air -of perpetual inquiry. - -“Was that the party you expect to work for?” she demanded. “I thought,” -she added, with a slightly offended air, “that you’d call me in and -introduce me. I was waiting in the dining-room.” - -Barbara wondered if the spinster’s large, flat ears had caught any of -the conversation, carried on unguardedly on the other side of the door. - -She shook her head. “That wasn’t the person,” she said. “Perhaps -to-morrow——” She hesitated. “Of course it will be soon.” - -Miss Cottle pushed authoritatively into the room where Barbara had been -sitting. - -“I haven’t had a real good opportunity to talk things over with you,” -she said. “If you’re expecting to be called away sudden, perhaps this -will be as good a time as any. I want to tell you what I think about -that child.” - -Barbara drew a deep breath. - -“Well?” she murmured interrogatively. - -“I see you’ve spoiled him pretty completely,” pursued Miss Cottle. “But -I’ll soon get him in hand.” - -She compressed her thin lips. - -“He got into a regular tantrum to-night because I took a book of his to -look at. ‘Vallable Inf’mation,’ he calls it. Nearly every word in it is -spelled wrong. I wonder at you for permitting anything of the sort. I -took the book away from him. Here it is.” - -Barbara looked at the woman in a sudden panic of apprehension. - -“Oh!” she protested, “you ought not to have done that. The book was a -birthday present. It is one of Jimmy’s dearest treasures.” - -“I believe you said you wanted I should look after James’s education,” -intoned the spinster. “If I am to stay here, I shall do it -con-sci-en-tiously.” - -She pronounced the last word with due regard to every syllable, it -being a favorite adverb modifying every possible activity. - -Barbara was turning over the pages of the book, several of which were -quite covered with Jimmy’s scrawling characters in red ink. - -“A Vallable Information ’bout getting mad [she read]. Dont get mad Ezy. -It dont Do enny Good, an sum the tim it gets a fello in Trubble. Peg -says this is portant.” - -Barbara smiled as she shut the covers gently together. - -“I shall give this book to Jimmy,” she said quietly, “and please, Miss -Cottle, don’t take it away from him again. Jimmy is such a little boy, -and I—he has always been loved. I hope you——” - -“I don’t believe in sozzling over a child,” interrupted the woman -severely. “I’ll see that the boy gets plenty of good bread and butter, -and that he goes to school and Sabbath services regularly. By the time -you get back I guess you’ll see quite a change in him. When do you -expect to start, to-morrow?” - -Miss Cottle’s tone expressed a growing impatience. - -“I supposed you’d get off this afternoon. I see your trunk is packed -and all. There’s no use of hanging back and procrastinating when -there’s work to do. That’s one thing I shall teach James.” - -She compressed her lips severely, as if anxious to begin. - -“I am ready to go,” Barbara told her, with lips which trembled in spite -of herself. “I hope you won’t be too severe with Jimmy—at first; he -isn’t used to it.” - -“Yes,” agreed Miss Cottle, with an acid smile, “it’s easy enough to see -that you’ve spoiled the child completely. But I’ll soon straighten him -out. My method with children has never been known to fail. Their wills -want breaking the first thing; after that they’ll mind, I can tell you.” - -“But I don’t want Jimmy’s will broken,” protested Barbara, “please -don’t try to do that.” - -Miss Cottle tossed her head majestically. - -“I shall use my own judgment,” she said firmly, “and I don’t expect no -interference; and that reminds me, I want to speak about that hired -man of yours. He’s brought more truck into that back bedroom, where -you said he was to sleep, than anybody could keep track of. I told him -I wouldn’t have it, and he answered back in a way I’m not accustomed -to hear. You’ll have to speak to him. Once you’re out the house, I’ll -try to get things regulated. But if I should be sick—and I may as well -tell you that I’m subject to bad spells of malaria—I shall have to send -for my sister from New Hampshire. She’s a widow with one daughter; -of course she’d have to bring Elvira along. I thought I’d tell you, -because once you’re gone you won’t be able to get back. I suppose your -idea is that I’ll do with everything the same as if it was my own for -the five years?” - -Miss Cottle’s voice held a rising inflection, and Barbara murmured -something vaguely acquiescent. - -“Of course I couldn’t do any other way,” pursued the spinster; “having -left my own nice home to come here and do for you. The butter and egg -money will be mine, I suppose, and the young chickens? I couldn’t think -of doing any other way than what I’ve been used to. There! I hear that -boy calling you. That sort of thing will have to be broken up, right -in the beginning—once you’re out of the house to stay. A great big boy -like that!” - -Barbara fled upstairs, the little red book in her hand, to find Jimmy, -in his white night-gown, standing at the top of the stairs. She caught -the child in her strong young arms, cuddling his cold little body -against her breast. - -“I wanted you,” grieved the child, half strangling her with his eager -kisses. “Why do we have that woman, Barb’ra? I don’t like her. She took -my Vallable Inf’mation book, ’n’—’n’—I scwatched her, ’n’ she slapped -me. Send her away, Barb’ra; we don’t want her; do we?” - -The girl wrapped a blanket warmly about the child and sat down with him -in a chair by the window. The iron of her new chain bade fair to eat -into her very soul as she soothed and rocked into forgetfulness of his -troubles the beloved little cause of all her perplexities. Why, after -all, had she done this thing? Was there not a heavier debt than could -be paid in money? And was she not bankrupt still in love and peace? - -In that hour of darkness all the terrifying consequences of her attempt -to break away from Jarvis crowded upon her mind. Unless the person -who had paid four thousand dollars for five years of her life could -be induced to release her, she must indeed pay heavily for Jimmy’s -inheritance. Her baffled thoughts hovered about the unknown personality -of this arbiter of her future. - -“To-morrow,” she thought aloud, “I shall know.” - - - - -XIV - - -THE blossoms had fallen in showers of fragrant pink and white petals -from the wide-spreading boughs of the Preston orchards and already -Peg Morrison’s dreams of a great harvest were beginning to show faint -promise of fulfilment in long lines of slender green onion shoots; yet -Barbara found herself still waiting the summons of her unknown master. -Her little trunk, locked and strapped, stood in the closet of her -chamber; her shabby travelling cloak, hat, and gloves lay ready for -instant use. Each morning she dressed Jimmy, brushed his yellow curls, -and saw him off to school with smiles and kisses, not knowing whether -he would find her upon his return; and each evening she lavished upon -the little boy the hungry affection hoarded for a lonelier night in -some distant city. - -“You love me more’n you used to, don’t you, Barb’ra?” the child asked, -puzzled by the look in her eyes. “You kiss me kind o’ hard.” - -“I always loved you with all my heart, Jimmy,” she answered. “I -couldn’t love you any more.” - -“An’ I love you, Barb’ra,” declared the little boy, “I love you more’n -anybody. But,” he added darkly, “I ’spise that Miss Cottle wiv all my -insides an’ all my outsides. Make her go ’way, Barb’ra.” - -“Miss Cottle is a good woman, Jimmy,” the girl told him seriously. “She -would take care of you if—I should be obliged to go away.” - -The child flung himself upon her with an inarticulate cry of protest. - -“You wouldn’t go away an’ leave me, would you, Barb’ra?” - -“I shouldn’t want to, precious; but—something—might—happen. You will be -a good boy, won’t you, Jimmy? I want you to try and—love Miss Cottle.” - -The child considered this difficult undertaking in grieved silence for -a minute. Then he manfully swallowed something that arose in his throat -and threatened to choke him. - -“I—guess I’ll be pretty good, Barb’ra,” he quavered, “if you want t’ -go off an’ take a trip. She said you wanted to take a trip; but I told -her you wouldn’t go anywhere an’ leave me. You wouldn’t, would you, -Barb’ra?” - -“Not unless I was forced to,” murmured Barbara, “for your sake, Jimmy; -for your sake!” - -She winked back the tears, smiling resolutely. - -“Anyway, we won’t cross any bridges till we get to them, precious.” - -“That’s in my book of Vallable Inf’mation,” Jimmy said proudly. “I -copied it out o’ Peg’s. You have to get to bridges b’fore you cross -’em; you can’t get over any other way. I told that to Peg, ’n’ he -said it was a Vallable Inf’mation, ’n’ he wrote it down in his book -in red ink. We tell each other things to write down. I like Peg, an’ -he likes me; but we don’t love Miss Cottle. Peg says, in his opinion, -she’s an ornary female, even if she can spell. Peg says spellin’ ain’t -everythin’.” - -As the days passed, this particular bridge of Barbara’s own building -loomed large in the landscape of her every day, always retreating -mirage-like into the misty horizon of her to-morrow. - -Martha Cottle was of the opinion that it was a mighty queer -performance; she discussed the subject with Barbara with ever-recurring -interest and poignancy in the intervals of her work. Miss Cottle was -a woman bent upon an excruciating cleanliness and order, and the -immaculate back steps and the painfully scoured kitchen floor uprose as -altars upon which she daily offered oblations and sacrifices of all the -gentler amenities of life. - -“That young one,” as she began to call Jimmy, together with Peg -Morrison, appeared to vie with one another in wanton profanation of -these hallowed precincts. - -“It’s enough,” the worthy spinster assured Barbara, her nose and eyes -reddened with animosity, “to make a saint mad clear through. Once -you’re out of the house for good I’ll see to it that they wipe their -feet _before they eat_.” - -The veiled threat in the last words was not lost on Mr. Morrison. “Me -an’ the Cap’n hes et our victuals together more’n once in the loft t’ -the barn,” he observed placidly. “‘N’ we kin do it ag’in on a pinch. I -kin cook ’s well ’s some others I c’d name, an’ I will, if necessary.” - -Barbara, with one foot on her bridge of passage, strove to reconcile -these opposing forces. - -“Miss Cottle,” she assured Peg, “is really a very conscientious woman. -She’ll keep everything clean and comfortable for you and Jimmy.” - -“You bet she’s conscientious, Miss Barb’ry,” acquiesced the old -man dryly. “So’s a skunk. Y’ reelly can’t beat them animals fer a -conscientious pufformance of their duty, es they see it. But it ain’t -what you’d call reelly pleasant fer the dog.” - -“But you’ll try, won’t you, Peg, to get along with Miss Cottle?” -implored Barbara. “If she should leave you after I’m gone, I can’t -think what Jimmy would do.” - -“Now, Miss Barb’ry, don’t you worry none. Me an’ the Cap’n an’ Marthy -Cottle ’ll git along like three kittens in a basket. You bet we will. -I’ll kind o’ humor her, come muddy weather; an’ I’ll see t’ it that -she don’t aggravate the Cap’n beyond what he can make out t’ bear. -Mebbe it’ll stren’then his char’cter t’ put up with her ways. Viewed in -th’ light of a Vallable Inf’mation I shouldn’t wonder if both me an’ -the Cap’n ’ud git consid’able profit out o’ the experience, even ef -we ain’t exac’ly hankerin’ fer it. Meanwhile the onions is comin’ on -famous, likewise the apples. I never see a finer crop o’ young fruit -set.” - -To await the slow unfoldment of events, cultivating the while the -cardinal virtues of tranquillity and faith is the task set before each -human being; but there are times when the lesson becomes poignantly -difficult. As one who awaits the coming of a delayed train endures the -unfruitful minutes with scant patience, so Barbara lingered on the -verge of her unknown experience, alternately dreading and longing for -the summons which would put an end to the painful suspense. She found -the days speeding by, gathering themselves into weeks, and the weeks, -in their turn, rolling themselves up into months. - -“I guess you’ve said to me about all there is to be said on the subject -of this house and the care of that child,” Miss Cottle observed in -tones of exasperation. “I’d never have come when I did if I hadn’t -supposed you were going right off. I didn’t bargain to be your hired -girl.” - -And David Whitcomb, who had taken up his quarters in the village inn -with the avowed intention of “having it out” with the owner and arbiter -of Barbara’s future, expressed himself with still greater frankness on -the subject. - -“Has it occurred to you,” he asked Barbara, “that perhaps you’ll not be -sent for at all?” - -The two were sitting in the long, sweet twilight of a June evening, -on the narrow, old-fashioned porch. The giant locusts in front of the -house were in full bloom and the clouds of fragrance from their pendant -white clusters mingled with the odorous breath of the honeysuckles. -There was a whir of humming-bird moths among the vines, and a -song-sparrow intent upon feeding her young ones while the daylight -lasted darted in and out with anxious glances of her bright eyes. - -“Hush!” warned Barbara, wincing. “Don’t let Jimmy hear you speak of my -going.” - -“Pooh!” said David; “the little beggar knows all about it. Did you -suppose he didn’t?” - -Barbara looked at him indignantly. - -“Did you tell him?” - -“No; but I daresay the Cottle person has. Besides, the auction is town -talk. Everybody is wondering, and some are saying—— Do you want me to -tell you what old Hewett asked me to-night?” - -Barbara’s face, burning with shamed crimson, was turned away from his. - -“No,” she said frigidly. “I don’t want to hear it.” - -David passed his fingers through his thick, curling hair, with an -impatient gesture. - -“I am sorry I spoke of it, Barbara,” he said seriously; “but the fact -is, whether you know it or not, you’ve been placed in a very unpleasant -position.” - -He waited for her to speak; but she was obstinately silent, her eyes -fixed on Jimmy, who was helping Peg load a wheelbarrow with the dried -grass left in the wake of the lawnmower. - -“You are,”—pursued David, “—or think you are—unable to move hand or -foot for five years. Meanwhile you are waiting, waiting for a summons -which may never come. Barbara, is there anyone you know who would be -likely to—who might wish to help you, and who has taken this singular -way to do it?” - -She flashed a look of startled inquiry at him. - -“The idea of the auction was your own—though how you came by it, I -can’t understand—and it succeeded perfectly, as far as the price paid -in money was concerned; but you’re likely to pay it out in something -more valuable than money. You’ve grown thin and pale, Barbara; you’re -being worn out with this infernal suspense. Now, I think it’s time we -tracked your purchaser to earth; or else—look at me, Barbara! Why not -marry me, and defy the fellow, whoever he is?” - -“It wouldn’t be honorable,” she objected. “I’ve accepted the money.” - -“But if we paid it back?” he urged. - -“How can I pay it back, if—I don’t know who it is?” - -David tipped his chair against the house with an impatient thud. - -“See here,” he said strongly, “I’m going to find out who the person is, -either with or without your permission. You’d like to know, I suppose?” - -She hesitated, evading his eyes. - -“I think I’d rather wait,” she said reluctantly. “Besides, you couldn’t -find out.” - -He watched her steadily for a minute, while she set half a dozen hasty -stitches in the long ruffle she was hemming. Then he deliberately put -his hand over hers. - -“It’s too dark to sew,” he objected, “and I can’t talk to you when your -eyes are glued to that piece of cloth.” - -Barbara folded up her work with quick motions of her slim brown -fingers. Then she raised her eyes to his. - -“Well?” she said interrogatively. - -“It isn’t anything new, Barbara,” he said. “Just the same old request. -When will you marry me, dear?” - -“I’ve told you, David, over and over. I can’t make any promises -till—till——” - -He frowned and shrugged his shoulders impatiently. - -“I know,” he interrupted quickly. “But why object on the score of that -absurd contract? Why, Barbara, I’ll go with you and work for nothing. -Two slaves will be better than one. I’m a husky chap, capable of -trundling the lawnmower, shaking down the furnace, shovelling snow, -or any little job of the sort. Don’t you think your widower would -appreciate my free services?” - -Barbara refused to smile. - -“Why,” she asked, “should you suppose it is a man?” - -“A sad mixture of pronouns,” he objected. “‘It’ might, as you suggest, -as well be a widow or an old maid. But why ’its’ waste of money and -valuable service? That is what I shall set myself to find out. But -we’ll be married first, and then I’ll be in a position to defy him, -her, or it, as the case may be. And if no one ever shows up, as I half -believe—— Barbara, look at me!” - -She obeyed, a mutinous pucker between her fine dark brows. - -“There is no use,” she murmured, “of your talking that way. I consider -myself bound; and I cannot——” - -His face softened as he looked at her. - -“Poor little girl,” he murmured, “it’s pretty rough sledding for you, -and has been all along. But I’d like to ask you one thing. Has any -other man asked you to marry him since I went away?” - -Her eyes fled into the distance. - -“Will you tell me who it was?” - -Still she was dumb, struggling to escape the sudden turmoil of her -thoughts. - -“Why,” she stammered at last, “should you ask?” - -“Is it a case of ’how happy could I be with either, were the other fair -charmer away?’” he demanded, a wrathful crimson rising to his bronzed -cheeks. “You’ve played fast and loose with me always, Barbara, first it -was the brat and——” - -He checked himself with an effort. - -“Then you won’t tell me?” he said sulkily. - -“It—was nothing,” she stammered. “I didn’t——” - -“You didn’t accept him,” he finished for her. “That’s evident. Well, -we’ll call it square if you’ll say to me, ‘David, I love you, and I’ll -marry you as soon as we can straighten out this—what shall we call -it?—this previous engagement.’ Will you say that, Barbara? Will you?” - -She trembled, shrinking into herself under the fire of his gaze. - -“I haven’t told you yet—what you asked.” - -“Never mind that. Come, don’t put me off again!” - -She looked at him, her eyes clouded with doubt and pain. - -“You don’t trust me, Barbara. I see that,” he said bitterly. - -“You—must make me—trust you,” she murmured, after a difficult silence. -“I don’t know why—I can’t say—yes. But—I can’t—yet.” - -“I know,” he said roughly. “You’re half in love with the other man. -Damn him!” - -He sprang to his feet, upsetting his chair. - -“No—no!” she denied breathlessly. “It isn’t that. I refused him -because”—her voice trailed off in a whisper—“I remembered you, David.” - -He caught her in his arms with a triumphant laugh. - -“You can’t escape me now, after that admission,” he told her. “You -shall marry me, sweetheart; no one shall prevent it.” - -She yielded to his eyes, his arms, his eager lips with a sense of -mingled relief and terror. - -“We must not speak of it, David,” she warned him, “nor—take too much -for granted, till after we have found out about the contract. We may -have to wait till——” - -“Oh, damn the contract!” cried David exuberantly. “I’ll find that -fellow Smith and make him tell me all he knows. I’ll fix it up, -sweetheart; you’ll see!” - -Jimmy’s rollicking laugh floated across the lawn. Peg Morrison had -stacked the last wheelbarrow with the sweet lawn grass, topped it with -the little boy, and was trundling his load toward the house with great -pretence of exhaustion. - -“Now’t I’ve got you aboard, Cap’n,” Barbara heard him saying, “it’s all -I c’n make out. You’re turrible big an’ hefty.” - -“You won’t ask me to leave him, David?” murmured Barbara. “I couldn’t -do that; unless—” she added with quick remembrance—“I am forced to.” - -“Little beggar!” quoth David good-humoredly; “he’s always been a -dangerous rival of mine. But I’ll take him for a side partner this -time, Barbara. How’ll that suit you?” - -He turned and crushed her roughly in his arms. - -“I’ve waited long enough,” he said, “now let everybody and everything -get out of my way; I’m going to marry you within the month,” and -stopped the words of protest on her lips with his kisses. - -That same evening Martha Cottle wandered forth under the soft light -of the rosy evening. She was dressed in a full-skirted gown of lilac -calico, sprigged with white, and starched to rustling stiffness; over -it flowed the wide expanse of a freshly ironed white apron. The labors -of the day were concluded and Miss Cottle felt herself attuned to the -soft influences of the hour. So when she chanced to come upon Peleg -Morrison reposing himself in a battered wooden chair tipped against the -barn door, she addressed him in terms of surprising amity. - -“It’s a real pleasant evening,” observed Miss Cottle, with an agreeable -smile. - -“Yes, ma’am, it sure is,” replied Peg, in kind. In deference to the -lady he shook the ashes out of his pipe, and rose from his chair. - -“I suppose you and I’ll soon be left in charge here,” continued Miss -Cottle, sighing. “For my part, I dr-read the responsibility.” - -“Hes—Miss Barb’ry heard f’om——” - -“No; not that I know of. And I call it strange—very str-range. Don’t -you, Mr. Morrison?” - -Peg removed his hat and thoughtfully fumbled the scanty locks behind -his ears. - -“‘Tis kind o’ queer; that’s so,” he agreed. - -Miss Cottle bent forward, her lean features quivering with emotion. - -“And to cap the climax,” she said, “the girl’s gone and engaged herself -to be married.” - -“Who? Not Miss Barb’ry?” - -Miss Cottle nodded confirmation. - -“To that young Whitcomb fellow,” she concluded acidly. - -Mr. Morrison resumed his hat, pulling it low over his eyes. From this -familiar shelter he viewed his informant cautiously. - -“Did she—did Miss Barb’ry tell you? Mebbe she wouldn’t care to hev me -know.” - -“She didn’t choose to make a confidant of me,” the spinster said, -tossing her head. “I chanced to be passing through the hall, and -I—overheard ’em—spooning.” - -Mr. Morrison coughed deprecatingly. - -“It’s a vallable idee,” he said slowly, “not t’ hear what you ain’t -meant t’ hear. Young Whitcomb—huh? Wall! Wall!” - - - - -XV - - -DAVID WHITCOMB sat in the dining-room of the Barford Eagle. It was -fifteen minutes of eleven by the loud-ticking clock, with a calendar -attachment proclaiming a new day, which hung against the wall in -full view of the breakfaster, yet he appeared quite unabashed by the -lateness of the hour as he attacked the platter of fried ham and eggs -which the pink-cheeked waitress set before him. She was a pretty girl -with curly light hair and wide open eyes of an innocent babyish blue. - -“Here’s your toast, Mr. Whitcomb, nice an’ hot—jus’ as you like it,” -she said, reaching over his shoulder to set a covered plate before him. -“An’ I tried the coffee m’self this morning. That ol’ cook, she makes -me good and tired! _She_ don’t care whether you like things or not.” - -David flashed a brilliant smile at the waitress. - -“You’re a nice little girl, Jennie,” he said, and tasted the steaming -cup which she handed him. Then he made a wry face. - -“Isn’t it good?” asked the girl, with a grieved droop of her full red -lips. “I made it jus’s you said, with the egg an’ all, an’ it jus’ -boiled up good once. I stood right over it for all o’ that nasty -Sarah. She swatted me with her dish-towel, ’cause I wouldn’t——” - -“It’s made well enough,” interrupted David; “but it’s a cheap brand of -coffee, and—bring the coffee-pot here; will you?” - -“The coffee-pot?” - -“Yes. Bring it here; the one you make my coffee in.” - -The girl disappeared kitchenward with a hasty rustling of her crisp -blue gingham skirts. David leaned back in his chair and thrust both -hands in his trousers pockets while he eyed the table service of coarse -crockery and cheap glass with a cynical smile. Three or four flies -hovered aimlessly about the plate of buttered toast, and one crawled -into the half-filled cream jug where it buzzed helplessly, its wings -spattered with the liquid. - -“Damn!” muttered David, pushing back his chair and yawning. There were -shrill voices in loud altercation in the not distant kitchen, the sound -of a hard-shut door, and the waitress reappeared, red-cheeked and -breathless, bearing a large black coffee-pot in her two hands held far -in front of her. - -“Here it is, Mr. Whitcomb,” she said. “That nasty ol’ cook was bound I -shouldn’t bring it in ’ere. She threw dish-water on my clean apron. I -could ’a’ killed her!” - -She held the coffee-pot for his inspection and David lifted the lid, -peered in, and sniffed disgustedly. - -“Ugh!” he said. “I thought so. Now I like decent coffee, and I’ll buy -a coffee-pot just to make my coffee in. Do you suppose you could keep -it, so that termagant in the kitchen wouldn’t annex it?” - -“You bet I can,” giggled the girl delightedly, “an’ I’ll do it, too, -jus’ to spite Sarah. An’ I’ll make your coffee every morning. I’d love -to, Mr. Whitcomb.” - -“Good girl,” drawled David. He waved his hand toward the table. “You -may as well take these things away,” he said. “I’m—er—not hungry this -morning.” - -The girl’s face fell; her full lips quivered and pouted like a child’s -on the verge of sobbing. - -“I made the toast,” she said. “I made it jus’ like you said. It—it’s -good.” - -David uncovered the plate hastily. - -“It looks fine, Jennie; but you see it’s so near dinner-time—see here, -my girl, you buy the coffee-pot for me; will you?—just a plain tin one, -mind. And—er—keep the change.” - -He threw a crisp bill on the table. - -The girl took up the money and folded it together carefully. When she -raised her blue eyes they were swimming in tears. - -“I—I’ll do anythin’ you say,” she whimpered, “anythin’ you want me to.” - -By way of answer, perhaps, David pushed back his chair with a harsh, -scraping sound that echoed dismally through the empty room. Then he -rose, clapped his straw hat on the back of his curly head, searched -for his cigarette case and matches and stalked out to the piazza by -way of the passage which, in country fashion, afforded an easy mode of -transit between the bar and the dining-room. At one side of the passage -was set a high, ink-spattered desk, and behind it a long-legged stool, -upon which perched a fattish, elderly man intent upon a ledger. This -individual appeared to feel the heat of the June morning exceedingly, -for he mopped his face from time to time with a large handkerchief, in -the intervals of setting down laborious lines of figures. He looked up -as David Whitcomb approached, and his large face creased itself into a -dubious smile. - -“Good-morning, Sutton,” remarked David blandly. “Finding out how much -the public owes you for your astonishing good cheer—eh?” - -“Mornin’, Mr. Whitcomb,” mumbled the Boniface. “Um—yes; I was sort of -goin’ over m’ books. Warm mornin’, ain’t it?” - -He eyed David closely, taking note apparently of the heavy ring of -virgin gold on the third finger of his left hand and descending slyly -to the polished toes of his tan Oxfords. - -“How much do I owe you?” asked the young man nonchalantly, allowing a -thin wreath of smoke to escape from his lips. - -“‘Twon’t break ye, I guess,” hazarded Mr. Sutton, pushing a slip of -pink paper across the desk with alacrity. “The’s a few extrys on this -week’s bill,” he added, breathing heavily as he indicated with the -handle of his pen various items annotated on the account. - -David flung his half-smoked cigarette out of the open window and -produced a roll of bills from his pocket, from which he detached one. - -“Take it out of that,” he said carelessly. “I need some change.” - -“Yes, sir; all right, sir. Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Sutton effusively. - -He sucked in his lips in a windy whisper as he counted out the change -in bills of smaller denominations and topped them with a little pile of -silver. - -“Hope you find everythin’ t’ your likin’ at the Eagle.” - -David shrugged his shoulders. - -“Oh, it’s all right,” he said. “I’m used to roughing it.” - -The hotel-keeper signed his name to the receipted bill with a heavy -flourish. - -“Heh?” he ejaculated. - -Then he climbed hastily down from his perch. - -“Come across,” he said hospitably, “an’ have one on me. Anythin’ you -say, Mr. Whitcomb.” - -“Something cold, if you have it,” David directed the bartender”—and -bitter. No, no! not too much of that. Fill it up with water.” - -He drank thirstily and set down the glass, lifting his eyes to look out -of the window at a passing vehicle. - -“That’s the Hon’rable S. Jarvis, _Es_quire,” pronounced his host, -sucking his lips over the contents of his own glass. “Warm man, Jarvis.” - -“By that you mean?” queried David, strolling toward the door. - -“He’s got the rocks, Jarvis has; but my! ain’t he the screechin’ limit? -I’ll bet you——” - -Mr. Sutton waddled heavily after David, and seated himself comfortably -in one of the big splint-bottomed chairs ranged along the piazza for -the convenience of patrons. - -“I’ll bet you,” he concluded, “he’s got half a million salted down, if -he’s got a penny.” - -“Is there a decent horse in the stable?” inquired David, after a -silence, which Mr. Sutton filled in with various animal-like noises, -expressive of his entire physical comfort. - -“No; but I c’n git y’ one over to the livery stable. I’ll send over for -it, if you say so,” Mr. Sutton responded. - -“I want to find Bellows,” David said. - -“Who? The auctioneer? Wall, y’ don’t need no livery hoss t’ locate -Thomas. He’s over t’ Henry Maclin’s this mornin’, sellin’ out the -stock. Hank’s concluded to go west. Thinks there’s more doin’ out -there. But I dunno ’bout that. You mus’ know somethin’ ’bout the West?” - -David was smoking a second cigarette with short, impatient puffs. - -“I’ve been there,” he admitted, with a transient scowl. - -“How’d you like it?” asked Mr. Sutton, folding his pudgy hands across -his protuberant front. “What sort of a place is it? Gamblers—heh? -Cowboys, shootin’ parties, sage brush, prairie fires, etcetery—heh?” - -“You’ve named the principal features of the great West,” drawled David. -“It’s all there, more particularly the et cetera. There’s lots of that -roaming about.” - -He pulled his hat over his eyes and stepped down from the veranda. - -“I may not be back to dinner,” he said, “but I’d like a decent steak -for supper, if you can get it in this centre of civilization.” - -Mr. Sutton watched the young man’s muscular figure in its leisurely -progress down the street. Then he went back to the barroom, where his -underling, a slim, sallow young man, with oily black hair parted very -particularly in the middle of his narrow head, was languidly arranging -clean glasses on a tray. - -“He’s hot stuff, ain’t he?” observed the bartender. - -“Who?—Whitcomb?” - -“Thinks he’s the whole thing, don’t he?” - -Mr. Sutton frowned. “I ain’t made up my mind ’bout that young feller,” -he said ponderously. “But I’m kind of watchin’ him. It strikes me he’ll -bear—watchin’.” - -David Whitcomb, walking slowly down the village street under the shade -of the spreading maples, was experiencing that vague dissatisfaction -which in individuals of his temperament is apt to follow the attainment -of some hotly pursued desire. Barbara had long represented to his -imagination the distant, unsealed peak, the untrodden wild, the -unstaked, unexplored claim. He had come back from the West with no very -fixed intention of marrying her; but with something of the languid -curiosity the traveller feels regarding scenes long unvisited. - -He had not felt at all sure that he would find Barbara the lovely -vision that he had pictured her, in the infrequent intervals given -to a vague remembrance of past days. But he had lost sight of his -indifference in the excitement of the auction and his subsequent -impulsive endeavors to break down the girl’s scruples. Now he had won -her, fairly or unfairly, and he was thinking with some irritation of -the future to which he had committed himself. The dull vista of a -married life, spent in hard work on a farm, which in the end could not -belong to him, appeared more and more intolerable the longer he dwelt -upon it. He was in a thoroughly bad humor by the time he had reached -the scene of Thomas Bellows’ latest activities. - -Henry Maclin’s hardware, flour, and feed store was situated on the -outskirts of the village. As David approached it he could hear the -loud voice of the auctioneer upraised in the raucous monotone of his -calling, and the dull thud of his hammer, as he proclaimed the sale of -the various articles an assistant was rapidly passing up to him. - -David sauntered up to the edge of the crowd and stood there, gloomily -reviewing the events of the previous month. He glanced up suddenly to -find a keen pair of eyes riveted upon him. - -“Mornin’, Mr. Whitcomb,” called Peg Morrison, as if he feared the -young man might attempt to avoid him. “Thinkin’ o’ biddin’ in any o’ -the stuff? The best of it’s gone b’ now. I got a good cross-cut saw, -though. B’en wantin’ one fer quite a spell. The’s quite a lot o’ dead -timber standin’ on th’ farm in diff’rent places ’at ought t’ come down.” - -David was plainly indifferent, and after cautiously studying his -unresponsive face Mr. Morrison went on. - -“Miss Barb’ry, she leaves mos’ everythin’ t’ me; but the’s times when -I feel as ’o I’d like a man t’ go over the place with me. Course she’s -got her idees, an’ some o’ ’em’s all right; but I d’clar’ I hate t’ -see her botherin’ with outdoor work. Females had ought to keep house -an’ sew an’ look after the cookin’, an’ not be tryin’ t’ do men’s work -b’sides. That’s what I tell her, an’ I been thinkin’ ’at some day you’d -go ’round with me, since you’re such a good friend o’ Miss Barb’ry’s.” - -David frowned in an irritated fashion. - -“I don’t understand farming, my good fellow,” he said coldly. “So I’m -afraid my advice wouldn’t prove very valuable.” - -“That’s jus’ what I was thinkin’,” was Peg’s incautious comment. “An’ -mebbe fer that very reason, you’d better——” - -He hesitated and stopped short under the steady stare of Whitcomb’s -blue eyes. - -“Y’—see,” he blundered on, “ef Miss Barb’ry hes to go ’way fer five -years, I was thinkin’——” - -“She won’t go away for five years, if I can help it,” said David. “I’m -going to try and get her out of the mess she’s made of things.” - -His eyes wrinkled at the corners and he laughed outright at the strange -working of Peg’s untutored features. - -“Don’t you bother your old head about Miss Barbara’s affairs,” he said -carelessly, “nor”—his keen look threatened serious displeasure—“mine.” - -He turned decidedly and made his way towards Bellows, who had just -disposed of the last lot of merchandise and stepped down from his perch -among the rapidly dispersing crowd. - -But the auctioneer could not, when questioned, furnish the address of -the small man in checked clothes, who had paid four thousand dollars -for a hypothetical term of Barbara’s service. He shook his head -vigorously when urged to a further explanation of what had immediately -followed the event at the Preston farm. - -“Nope,” he persisted. “I can’t help you none. I done all I was paid t’ -do an’——” - -David whipped out a yellow-backed bill from his vest-pocket. - -“You had references,” he said in a cautious tone, “for I heard you say -so. Who figured as referee?” - -Mr. Bellows waved David’s hand aside. - -“It’d cost me more’n you’ve got t’ tell you,” he said. “Nope. I ain’t -a-goin’ t’ say nothin’ more. Anyway, what business is it of yours?” - -David did not choose to acquaint the auctioneer with the reasons for -his anxiety, and presently he found himself walking swiftly along the -road leading to the Preston farm. He was uncomfortably hungry by this -time, but with the unreason of the average man attributed his gloomy -feelings to a higher source than his clamorous stomach. - -Barbara met him at the door with an agitated face. - -“I have heard from—the person who—— Oh, I was hoping you would come!” - -“Do you mean the fellow who bought you?” he demanded sharply. Her -apparent faith in himself he passed over without notice. “Has he been -here?” - -“No-o,” murmured Barbara. “But I had a letter.” - -She put it into his hand, and watched him eagerly, timidly, while he -read it. She had lain awake half the night, thinking of David, of his -eyes, of the strong pressure of his arms, of the touch of his lips upon -hers. Love had drawn near at last, and she bent her head meekly to his -accolade, almost forgetting her chain in the rapture of the moment. -But with the morning had come the painful recurrence of all her doubts -and fears; and later, as if in answer to her agitated questionings, the -letter. - -David read it with frowning brows. - -“There’s nothing in this,” he said impatiently, “to show you who the -person is, nor when you’ll be called for.” - -“No,” Barbara agreed faintly. “But you see——” - -“It’s some mean dog-in-the-manger, who is watching you in secret, and——” - -He stopped short. - -“The boy is coming,” he said, and got to his feet. - -“You’ll stay to dinner?” she begged him timidly. “I made cherry pies -this morning. I think”—humbly—“that they’re that they’re very good.” - -David put his arm around her, with a sudden untraced impulse of -tenderness. - -“Don’t worry about the letter,” he said magnificently. “I’ll—think it -over.” - -It was a very happy meal they ate together, in spite of the prying -presence of Miss Cottle, who had assumed control of the teapot. There -was stewed chicken, an abundance of fresh vegetables, strawberries and -yellow cream, and, to top off with, the cherry pie of such unexampled -excellence that David forgot the unpleasant doubts which had assailed -him in the morning. As he sat, smoking a cigarette, on the shaded porch -at the conclusion of the meal, it occurred to him that the farm was -not, after all, so bad a place to live. His eyes wandered dreamily -across the broad fields to the blue distance, and lingered there -unseeingly. - -Barbara came out presently and sat down at his side. - -“I should be so happy,” she sighed, “if——” - -“Eh—what?” he roused himself to say. He reached out and patted her -hand. “Why be unhappy about anything—just now?” he murmured. He smiled -dreamily into her eyes. “The dinner was perfect, sweetheart; as for -the reminder from your unknown, why not be thankful that ’it’ contents -itself with correspondence?” - -Barbara turned her eyes away. An aching lump arose in her throat as if -to choke her. When she finally answered him it was in a low, controlled -voice. - -“There will be other letters—other reminders; you saw that.” - -David was at the moment languidly optimistic. It occurred to him -to silence her grieving lips with a kiss; but he was too drowsily -comfortable to move. He contented himself by again caressing her -fingertips. - -“Don’t poison our happiness by perpetual references to something -neither of us can possibly help,” he murmured. - - - - -XVI - - -THERE is that which works secretly (call it what you will), everywhere -transmuting the ugly into the beautiful, the seeming evil into -acknowledged good, the mean and worthless into the rare and precious; -moving upon the face of vasty deeps, upon inchoate planets; toiling -in unknowable abysses, whirling in star-dust and nebulæ, and no less -in the veiled darkness of the holiest place—the soul of man. And -here, indeed, this pervasive life principle, this informing Mind, -this toiling servant of universes and men (call it what you will), -seeks chiefly to manifest its supernal powers. Give it entrance in any -fashion; open to it the smallest crevice; entertain its mysterious -presence ever so briefly, and in that lodgment it begins at once its -wonder-working transmutations. For observe: this unseen, and often -unsuspected, worker takes of the common things of life, of its base -and ignoble things and turns them into shapes of imperishable beauty. -And observe, also: this is accomplished without tumult of manufacture; -neither smoke of his burning furnace, nor clang of hammer, nor noise -of breaking stone is heard, though one listen with the fine ear of -the magician in the fable. And observe for a third time (for all of -this has to do with the tale that is told): that the blind desire of -the one who is thus wrought upon in some mysterious fashion relates -itself to the will of Him who works, so that they are in a way one and -indissoluble. For such is the law of growth in all the universe, and -such will it ever be. - -To Stephen Jarvis, pursuing to all outward appearance the even tenor -of a way long trodden, came slight intimation of the changes in -himself—the self deep submerged beneath the surface of everyday life. -He still loaned money on bond and mortgage, exacting, as was his -custom, the highest legal rate of interest. As in the past, he looked -sharply after his investments, foreclosing when foreclosure had become -due and inevitable, and manipulating such conservative purchases of -stocks and bonds as his accumulating capital appeared to require. He -was conscious of but one thing, and that was that these procedures -no longer afforded him pleasure. They were, on the contrary, in the -nature of labor. After a little, the labor became grinding in its -demands upon him. Gradually, too, he found that the heavy looks and -sad faces of certain of his debtors had the power to hurt him. One day -he actually yielded to the importunities of a poor widow, not openly, -indeed, but through a trusted agent of his, restoring to her the home -she had lost. Once indulged, this folly (as he called it), grew upon -him stealthily. More and more frequently he found himself giving; still -secretly, because in his mind giving still appeared to him a despicable -weakness. Yet he continued to impart (where he must) with that keen -discrimination and sound judgment which had always distinguished his -operations in finance. As yet no one suspected him. To have incurred -a suspicion of benevolence would have shamed him little less than a -well-founded conjecture of crime on the part of those who had always -known him. - -Nevertheless, he who runs may read the legible handwriting of God -on the faces of men. The cold, immobile features of the grasping -money-getter changed subtly, as was indeed inevitable, into something -more human; his eyes looked out from beneath his sternly modelled brows -as keenly as ever, yet in their very penetration there was a veiled -light not visible before. - -Perhaps the creature who might have told the most unbelievable story -of the change in Stephen Jarvis was his horse. He no longer drove -under the lash and with the cowardly curb-bit. He simply did not care -any longer for the sensation afforded by beating down an inferior -intelligence with his own brute force. No other reason for this -particular change in his habits had as yet occurred to him. He still -used fast horses; but he ceased to abuse them. - -Nearly two months had elapsed since his last visit to the Preston farm. -On that occasion he had entreated Barbara not to shame him before the -crowd assembled for the auction; and she had refused to listen. Then he -had gone away. Something of what followed had been repeated to him. And -since he had learned of the return of David Whitcomb from the West; of -his spectacular part in the bidding, and of his subsequent visits to -the farm. - -It was of David he was thinking as he drove along the country roads on -a day in early August. The fields were yellowing to the harvest and a -great peace lay upon the face of Nature, veiled lightly with the long -continued heat. When, therefore, he overtook the object of his thoughts -walking along the dusty road with every appearance of discomfort, he -drew up his horse and spoke to him. - -“I haven’t seen you to speak with you, since your return, Mr. -Whitcomb,” he said civilly. “Won’t you get in and ride with me? I shall -be glad to—talk with you.” - -David stared with undisguised astonishment; then a derisive gleam shone -in his blue eyes. - -“Why—er—certainly, Mr. Jarvis,” he said, and sprang in and seated -himself with cool assurance. “It wouldn’t have occurred to me to ask -you for a ride,” he went on, “but I’m not sorry you offered to give me -a lift. It’s deucedly unpleasant walking.” - -Jarvis met his inquiring look gravely. - -“You are making quite a stay in the East,” he said. “Do you mean to -settle here?” - -The quick blood rose in David’s face. - -“I haven’t made up my mind,” he said. “I’m—er—just looking around a -bit.” - -Jarvis was silent, casting about in his mind for a suitable opening for -what he wished to say. - -David spared him the trouble. With his usual sensitiveness to the moods -of his companions—a sensitiveness which at times amounted almost to -divination—he looked sidewise at Jarvis, a smile wrinkling the corners -of his eyes. - -“I’ve been to see Miss Preston,” he said confidentially, “at the farm.” - -“Yes?” Jarvis observed non-committally. - -“You know Miss Preston, I believe?” said David. - -Jarvis hesitated. - -“I have had business relations with Miss Preston,” he said coolly. He -was beginning to feel an exceeding dislike of the well-dressed, smiling -young man at his side. - -“Yes,” agreed David, shrugging his shoulders. “she’s mentioned the fact -to me.” - -Jarvis tightened his grasp on the reins after his old choleric fashion, -and the mare leaped forward as if expecting the cut of the ready lash. - -“I understand Miss Preston has been relieved of—her anxieties -somewhat,” he said evenly. “I—was glad to know it.” - -David’s lip curled. - -“Indeed!” he syllabled with a touch of insolence. “Well, I’ve no doubt -Barbara—Miss Preston—will be duly grateful, when—er—I mention the fact -of your interest in her affairs.” - -“You’ll not mention it, I hope,” Jarvis said. After a brief silence he -added, “You understand me, of course.” - -“Well, no,” drawled David. “I don’t believe I do.” - -He looked whimsically at Jarvis, as if expecting further elucidation. - -But the older man was paying strict attention to his horse, his lips -set in forbidding lines. - -David yielded to one of his sudden impulses. - -“Of course,” he burst out; “you won’t care; you’ve got your money out -of it; but Barbara is deucedly unhappy.” - -“Ah?” - -Jarvis’s note of interrogation was barely audible. - -“You know, I suppose, for it’s become town-talk long ago, that somebody -bid her in—a thundering shame I call it—and then failed to show up. -She considers herself bound, since she used the money—or part of it. -I’d like mighty well to get hold of the person, male or female, who’s -skulking behind the contract—as she persists in regarding it.” - -“Why? What’s wrong with the transaction?” - -Jarvis’s tone asked for information merely, but David flashed a -suspicious look at him. - -“Do you know anything about it?” he demanded. - -“Do I—know anything about Miss Preston’s affairs?” echoed Jarvis. -“Isn’t that a singular question for you to put to me?” - -“It would be, if I hadn’t run every possible scent to earth already. I -want to find the fellow.” - -“For what purpose?” queried Jarvis, leaning forward to watch the even -play of his mare’s hoofs. - -“I want to pay him back and free the girl. It’s a damned outrage to -hold a woman bound in this sneaking, secret fashion. It doesn’t give -either of us any show.” - -Jarvis appeared to ponder this statement in silence for a while. - -“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, at last. - -“There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it,” said David excitedly. “Of course -I’m right! Here I’ve been hanging about for months, waiting for the -person—whoever it is—to show up. I’m ready to settle the business by -paying back the money.” - -He met the other’s sharply inquiring look with a boastful grimace. - -“I can do it; don’t make any mistake on that score!” - -“And after you’ve made the transfer; what then?” - -Jarvis’s tone was icy; his eyes searched the handsome, flushed face at -his side mercilessly. - -David met his gaze readily enough. - -“Why,” he blustered, “you may as well know: I intend to marry Barbara. -I’d do it, anyway; contract or no contract, and let that damned dog -in the manger gnaw his bone till he’s tired of it; only Barbara—Miss -Preston—objects. She’s like all women—sticks at a trifle, and yet is -ready to swallow the earth, if you give ’em a chance.” - -“Miss Preston doubtless supposes that her honor is involved. I can -conceive that she might do so. A trifle, I believe you called it. And -if you——” - -“Oh, come; what’s the use of talking like that!” David interrupted -impatiently. “I’m sick of all that sort of nonsense.” He pulled his hat -over his eyes and stared morosely at the landscape. “If I didn’t care -as much about the girl as I do, I’d cut the whole thing and go west -again. This is no place for a man like me.” - -“I’m disposed to agree with you,” observed Jarvis calmly. “Shall I set -you down here?” - -David recognized his surroundings with a start. They had reached the -outskirts of the village, and Jarvis had stopped his horse in front of -his own house. - -“Oh, I may as well get out here, I suppose,” he said sullenly. - -He turned and lifted his hat to Jarvis, with a sweeping bow. - -“Much obliged for the delightful ride,” he said, with a sneering upward -quirk of the mouth. - -Jarvis sat motionless in his carriage watching the easy swing of the -arrogantly youthful figure, as it passed down the street. He saw David -go in at the front entrance of the Barford Eagle, yet still he sat -silent, his brows drawn over brooding eyes. - -His man, lounging in front of the stables, caught sight of the waiting -equipage, and hurried down the driveway. - -“Any orders, sir?” he asked. “Shall I take the horse, sir?” - -Jarvis glanced at the man, something of his old irritability flaring up -in his look. - -“No,” he said shortly. “I’m not coming in now.” - -He spoke sharply to his horse, turned abruptly, and drove rapidly away, -past the pollarded willows, over the echoing bridge, and on into the -country road beyond, muffled with the accumulated dust of a rainless -midsummer. Presently he reached and passed the stone gateway of the -Preston farm, and its orchards laden with unripe fruit. He looked at -both with the sombre, unseeing intentness of a man who is at war with -his deeper instincts. - -He had been prepared, he supposed, to judge Whitcomb fairly; but -his late brief interview with his successful rival had left him -bitterly antagonistic to the younger man. David’s very physical beauty -infuriated him. He recalled the level glances of his blue eyes, -the curve of his lips, the carriage of his handsome head upon his -broad shoulders, with a sense of blind, barbaric anger. His frequent -references to Barbara, his cool assumption of triumph, his braggart -self-assertion, his open disdain of concealment—all were abhorrent, -intolerable to Jarvis. But none the less, he fought with and subdued -himself. - -“I am unjust,” he told himself flatly, “because I am jealous.” - -And he despised himself the more, because recognizing the patent fact -he still hated David; still longed to fling him out of his path as -he had flung many a stronger man in the past. For the first time in -all the years of his life he had become dimly aware of the beauty of -self-sacrifice, and of its relations to a pure and true affection. Even -while the primal man within foamed under his iron grip, he compelled -himself to think tenderly of Barbara, of her loveless youth, of her -loneliness, of her heroism. Then he remembered with shame his own -persecutions of her woman’s weakness; for so it had come to look to him -now. He recalled his brutal insistence, his threats, his unrelenting -hardness, sparing himself in nothing, compelling his memory to flash -before him every picture which contained them both. - -He had travelled many miles before he roused to a realization of the -lateness of the hour. The long summer twilight had fallen, like a -roseate veil, over the rich landscape; the shadows had disappeared with -the sun, and the great disk of a silver moon swam in the rosy light -reflected from the sunset, which by now burned in crimson and amber -splendors behind the misty purple of the hills. - -His horse appeared jaded and weary, and Jarvis recalled vaguely that -he had been driving at his old furious rate of speed. He leaned back -against the cushions with a sigh, conscious of his own exceeding -weariness, and allowed the mare to take her own gait. Out of the -seething alembic of his thoughts had crystallized a single definite -resolution. He would deal with Whitcomb as that son of God who was -called Satan was permitted to deal with Job, and later with the -recalcitrant apostle. He would sift David as wheat in the close-meshed -sieve of his own love for Barbara. He would scrutinize his past, he -would examine his present; he would hold him under the lens of purity, -of probity, of honor. If Whitcomb stood the test, Jarvis swore by all -that he held holy that he would stand back and allow him to marry the -woman both loved. If not,—his strong fingers unconsciously tightened on -the reins, and the obedient mare quickened her pace. - -There was a light twinkling among the dark trees when at last Jarvis -again passed the big apple-farm. He got down from his buggy, fastened -the horse to a tree, and walked quietly toward the house. The long -French windows stood open to the breeze, and within the lamp-lighted -room Jarvis caught sight of Barbara. She was sitting close to the table -reading aloud; at her side, leaning his yellow head against her knee, -sat Jimmy, serious and intent. Barbara’s pleasant voice rang out in the -stillness: - - “Through all the pleasant meadow-side - The grass grew shoulder high, - Till the shining scythes went far and wide - And cut it down to dry.” - -“That’s haying,” observed Jimmy, with satisfaction. “Ours is all in the -barn now.” - -“Yes,” said Barbara, “listen: - - “Those green and sweetly smelling crops - They led in wagons home; - And they piled them here in mountain tops - For mountaineers to roam. - O, what a joy to clamber there, - O, what a place for play, - With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air, - The happy hills of hay!” - -Jarvis stepped boldly to the piazza, and tapped on the open sash. - -“I guess it’s David!” he heard the child say joyously. And saw the -quick blush that rose to Barbara’s cheek. - -The blood sprang to his own temples and hammered furiously there for -an instant as he looked at her in her diaphanous white dress. Then he -entered at her quiet bidding. - -“I was passing, and it occurred to me to stop, and—see you,” he said -awkwardly. - -Jimmy had retreated behind his sister’s chair and was gazing at him -with frowning intentness. Manifestly the child was disappointed. -Whitcomb would fit into the scene far better than himself, Jarvis was -forced to acknowledge. He saw the wonderment in Barbara’s eyes, and -mingled with it he fancied he could detect cold dislike and fear. - -“You were reading,” he said, his eyes lingering on the hands which held -the thin blue volume. “Won’t you——” He hesitated; then went on boldly: -“Don’t stop because I am here.” - -She would have turned over the leaves and read other pretty trifles if -it had been David instead of himself, he thought bitterly. He waited -for a cold refusal. - -“You wouldn’t like ‘A Child’s Garden of Verses,’” Jimmy said -unexpectedly. He had not removed his inquiring brown eyes from Jarvis’s -face. Something that he saw there emboldened him. “It’s for little -boys, littler than I am; but I like it.” - -Jarvis smiled, the singular smile new to his lips and of which he was -not at all aware, any more than of the elemental changes in himself. - -“Perhaps I’d like it, too,” he said. “Nobody ever reads out loud to me.” - -“Read the one about the wind, Barb’ra,” urged Jimmy. “The wind and the -kites. I like that.” - -Barbara turned over the pages slowly. - -“Shall I?” she asked Jarvis. - -Her eyes lingered irresolutely on his face for an instant. It was -evident that she was wondering at the sight of him there, pale and -grave, but with an unfamiliar gentleness in his eyes and about his -unsmiling lips. - -“If you will,” he said. - -Read Barbara: - - “I saw you toss the kites on high - And blow the birds about the sky - And all around I heard you pass, - Like ladies’ skirts across the grass— - O wind, a-blowing all day long, - O wind, that sings so loud a song! - I saw the different things you did, - But always you yourself you hid, - I felt you push, I heard you call, - I could not see yourself at all— - O wind, a-blowing all day long, - O wind, that sings so loud a song!” - -Her voice, flowing on like a brook over pebbles, fell to a sudden -silence, as the wind of which she had been reading entered with a -sudden rush, veering the yellow flame of the lamp to one side. - -Jimmy laughed joyously. - -“It’s come in here,” he said, turning a sleepily roguish face upon -Jarvis, “to hear what you’re saying, Barb’ra.” - -She closed the book and laid it quietly upon the table. - -“You must go to bed now, Jimmy,” she said. - -The little boy whispered in her ear, his hands clasped about her -neck. Her arm stole about his small body as she bent her head to -listen. Jarvis watched the two hungrily—the child and the woman, and -the eternal, unfading beauty of the picture smote him with almost -intolerable poignancy. All that was best in life he had missed, -blunderingly, blindly, and for what? - -“I go to bed all by myself now,” the little boy said proudly. - -He walked toward the door; then turned, hesitated, and flung himself -upon Barbara. - -“I guess I’d better kiss you good-night, Barb’ra,” he cried. “Just -think, I pretty near forgot!” - -He beamed shyly upon Jarvis. - -“Shall I shake hands with you?” he inquired, with a friendly little -smile. “I b’lieve I’d like to.” - -Jarvis held out his hand and Jimmy laid his own in it gravely. Barbara -stirred uneasily in her chair. - -“Jimmy, dear!” she murmured softly, deprecatingly. - -“I never s’posed I’d be shakin’ hands wiv you,” the child went on -calmly. “Did you drive that short-tailed horse?” - -“Yes,” said Jarvis, something swelling strangely within him as he -looked down into the upturned face of the child, with its candid brown -eyes. - -“What made you cut his tail off?” demanded Jimmy. “Peg says it’s a mean -trick to cut off horses’ tails, ’cause they need their tails to brush -off the flies.” - -“Jimmy!” called Barbara again, her face crimsoning. - -“I didn’t cut it off,” Jarvis replied, with every evidence of -sincerity. “I bought the horse just that way. I don’t like it myself.” - -He glanced at Barbara with a quiet smile. - -“I’m afraid I’m very much in the way,” he said. “But I wanted to talk -with you—on a matter of some importance.” - - - - -XVII - - -A SILENCE, difficult to break, settled upon the man and the maid, as -Jimmy’s plodding feet toiled up the stairs. - -“Good-night, Barb’ra,” his wistful little voice called from the top of -the stairs. - -“Good-night, Jimmy dear,” she answered. - -Her eyes, clouded with pain, sought Jarvis’s face. She had suddenly -leaped to the conclusion that he had come to tell her something -concerning the contract; perhaps to inform her that her prolonged -furlough was at an end. - -His next words confirmed this. - -“I believe,” he said slowly, “that you are under bonds to leave your -home for a considerable period. Five years, or thereabouts, to be -exact. Am I right?” - -“Yes,” faltered Barbara. She had grown very pale. “That is why,” she -said bravely, “I have taught Jimmy to go upstairs alone. But he doesn’t -like it—yet.” - -Her eager eyes were fastened upon his face. - -“Did you come—to—tell me? Must I go—now?” she asked. - -He waved his hand deprecatingly. - -“Oh, no,” he said. “It isn’t that—exactly. In fact, I have nothing to -do with the matter; only——” - -He paused, as if to choose his words with care. - -“I happen to know the person concerned in the transaction, and——” - -“You know him?” breathed Barbara. She leaned toward him eagerly, the -color coming back to her face in a swift flood. “Then won’t you tell -me——” - -He shook his head. - -“I’m under bonds to preserve my client’s incognito,” he said. “But——” - -He looked at her compassionately. - -“Are you finding the delay very hard to bear?” he asked. “Is there——” -Again he hesitated. “Is there any particular reason why you should -wish to know more about the matter?—any reason why you cannot wait my -client’s pleasure?” - -She was silent. - -“It is that I should like you to tell me,” he went on deliberately. “I -am instructed, by my client—to find out—to—er—ascertain, in short, if -you are in any way dissatisfied with the present status of the affair. -If you will be quite frank with me I shall greatly appreciate your -confidence, and so will—the person I have the honor to represent. Of -this I can speak very positively.” - -“Why,” asked Barbara, her words coming with a rush, “do I wait at all? -If my time is worth—all the money your client paid for it—why am I not -working? That is one thing I want to know.” - -“As to that,” Jarvis said quietly, “I can assure you that your time is -worth all and more than you receive for it. But——” - -He looked down and fingered his driving gloves absent-mindedly. - -“There have been certain events, transpiring since the date of your -engagement—your agreement, I should say better—with the person of whom -we are speaking, which would seem to indicate that possibly—mind I say -possibly, I cannot speak certainly as yet—but possibly your services -may not be required at all.” - -“What must I do? Of course the money——” - -“Naturally, a part of it will be forfeited to you,” said Jarvis coolly. - -To all outward appearance he was the hard-headed man of affairs -discussing a disputed contract. - -“I attended to that for you,” he went on. “It is nothing more than -fair, since you still hold yourself in readiness to fill your part of -the contract.” - -Barbara was gazing at him with parted lips. - -“I chanced to meet an acquaintance of yours this afternoon,” Jarvis -went on, his observant eyes on her face. “A—er—Mr. Whitcomb.” - -Her look puzzled him. - -“He informed me that he wished to marry you.” - -The girl’s eyes sank in shamed confusion. - -“I—said I could not promise until—unless——” she faltered. - -He arose, gripping his chair-back with tense fingers. - -“It will be impossible to learn the ultimate intentions of my client at -present,” he said. - -He continued to look at her as she sat in the soft radiance of the -lamp-light, her head bowed, her slender hands, browned and roughened -by the labors of sorrowful years, tightly clasped in her lap; and a -great compassion for her friendless youth, her woman’s tenderness and -weakness, swept over him like a flood. He longed to take her in his -arms, to comfort her unforgotten griefs and forever to shield her from -the coldness of an unfriendly world. She seemed so slight, so fragile -a creature in her thin dress of faded muslin, with the heavy masses of -her hair knotted low against her slender neck. - -“You say you cannot tell me who it is?” she murmured. “It is so strange -not to know—to wait, being afraid every day. Why, any time Jimmy might -come home and find me gone.” - -Her voice trembled into silence. - -He bent toward her, his face transfigured with love and pity. - -“Barbara!” he cried, in a low voice of yearning. - -She looked up at him, startled, afraid. He perceived this, and the next -instant his features had resumed their expression of cold serenity. - -“I was about to tell you that any excessive anxiety on your part is -wholly unnecessary,” he said. “You will certainly be notified at least -a week in advance. And—as my client is situated at present—I think -I may predict with tolerable certainty that the call will not come -before—autumn.” - -Her face brightened. - -“In October,” she said, “we shall harvest the orchards. Then I could -pay back the money.” - -A swift shadow crossed his face. - -“Money; is it of that you must always be thinking?” he asked. - -“You know that I must,” she said proudly. “I could not rest under so -heavy an obligation to—anyone.” - -“No,” he agreed. “I see that—I understand.” - -A melancholy smile touched his lips. - -“Do not be alarmed as to the obligation,” he said quietly. “My client -is a man who is accustomed, like Shylock, to exact the last penny—even -to the pound of flesh. He will not let you off easily.” - -Barbara drew a quick breath. - -“It is a man, then?” she asked. “I—hoped——” - -“You were hoping it was a woman,” he said dryly. “I have committed an -indiscretion in telling you so much. But—conceive, if you will, a man, -well along in years, the—guardian of a child, who requires——” - -“Is the child,” asked Barbara, “a boy or girl?” - -He hesitated. - -“Er—I cannot tell you as to that. Let us suppose for the moment that it -is a boy.” - -“Have you seen the child?” - -He looked at her with what she would have called in another a -bantering tenderness in his deep-set eyes. In connection with Stephen -Jarvis the suggestion was untenable—absurd. - -“Do you know you are cross-examining me with considerable adroitness?” -he said. “I must be on my guard, or you will force me to tell you the -truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” - -“And why should you not tell me the truth?” she urged. “I think I have -the right to know it.” - -“Not at present,” he said coolly. “I am in honor bound to my client, -you should remember. I may lose my—er—commission, if I am not careful.” - -“I should be glad to know that the child is—that he is not an imbecile.” - -She answered his amazed look with swift explanation. - -“A woman who saw my advertisement wanted me to take charge of an -imbecile child; that is why——” - -“And you would have done it, Barbara? You were ready to commit yourself -to such a future, just because I——” - -He stopped short with a visible effort. - -“No; the child is—— He is a very dear and lovable little fellow, I -should say. And he needs—you. He is—quite alone in the world.” - -“So,” she murmured, “is Jimmy. And when I am gone there will be no -one——” - -“You will not be obliged to leave your brother right away, you know,” -he suggested. “And—possibly not at all.” - -Her face became illuminated with a sudden inspiration. - -“Why shouldn’t the man—this client of yours—bring the child here for me -to take care of? I should be so glad to have him right away. This is a -healthy spot. I could make him very comfortable.” - -Jarvis shook his head. - -“I shouldn’t like to suggest such a thing,” he said slowly. “It might -savor of impertinence——” - -Her face crimsoned with mortification. - -“I didn’t mean——” she stammered. - -“Not on your part,” he amended hastily; “understand me, please. Your -idea is—quite like you; quite what I should expect, knowing you as I -do. But—I fear it wouldn’t do. My client——” - -“He must be a peculiar sort of person,” hazarded Barbara. - -“He is,” agreed Jarvis. “So much so that—I feel I ought to warn you in -one particular.” - -Barbara waited in expectant silence. - -Jarvis hesitated, studying her downcast face. - -“I want you to promise me,” he said slowly, “that you will not yield to -the importunities of—of Whitcomb. No; don’t interrupt me. Hear me out. -He will urge you to marry him—soon. He will tell you—— But you must not -listen—yet. Do you hear me? You must—put him off. You must wait—till——” - -“I shall wait,” she said coldly, “till the man—your client—is -satisfied, or paid, in full.” - -“Will you promise me this?” - -She looked him full in the eyes. - -“Why should I promise you?” she demanded haughtily. “I have signed -a contract. I am in honor bound to stand by it. I shall keep my -word—fulfil the letter of my bond; but not because you have asked me to -do it.” - -He turned abruptly and took up his hat. - -“That is all I have to say to you,” he said in a business-like tone. - -He stopped, hesitated. - -“If I do not see you again——” - -“But you will be obliged to see me,” she objected, “—to tell me.” - -“No,” he said, and smiled slightly. “I shall not need to see you again; -and—I may not——” - -He held out his hand. - -“Will you forgive me, Barbara?” he asked humbly. - -“Forgive you?” she echoed. - -“God knows I have need of your forgiveness. If I do not see you -again—and it is quite possible that I may not. I am thinking of going -away, of closing my house here. I may never return. But I want—I need -to carry with me the certainty that you will sometimes think kindly of -me. Not that I deserve it, but——” - -His eyes, dark with pain, searched her face. - -“I cannot bear to remember all that has passed between us. I know now -that I was less than a man to threaten you—browbeat you, as I did. I -hope you will believe me when I tell you I am hoping for your best—your -truest, and most lasting happiness.” - -His voice, shaken with the solemn passion of renunciation, died into -silence. - -She put her hand into his. - -“I—am sorry,” she faltered. - -“For what, Barbara?” he asked. - -She drew a deep sigh that was half a sob. - -“For—everything,” she said. - -Her mouth quivered like a grieving child’s. - -“And you do forgive me, Barbara?” - -“Yes.” - -He raised her fingers to his lips. - -“Good-bye,” he said. - -She heard his rapid step on the gravel without, and later the whir of -wheels, faint and fainter in the distance. - - * * * * * - -Barbara did not tell David all that had passed between Jarvis and -herself, when on the following day he unburdened himself of the -multiplied conjecture and complaints which had occurred to him -since his briefly renewed acquaintance with the lawyer. In some -uncomprehended way their past had acquired a new significance in -Barbara’s eyes, almost sacred in the light of Jarvis’s difficult -confession. As she had, through some deep, delicate instinct, hidden -her early romance from Jarvis, she now shielded from David’s scrutiny -his rival’s unavailing passion and pain. David would not understand, -she knew; he would laugh and toss his handsome head, secure in his own -easily won triumph. - -“I suspected the old fox knew more than he owned up to me, though when -I taxed him with it he was ready to lie out of it,” David said. - -He drew Barbara to him and kissed her carelessly full on the mouth. -Then when she would have withdrawn herself from his arms, he laughed, -and held her strongly to him, looking deep into her eyes. - -“You don’t want to get away from me,” he said. “You are mine; didn’t -you know that?” - -He kissed her a dozen times, hotly, eagerly, holding her breathless, -crushed against his breast, releasing her at last, flushed and -tremulous, her heavy hair loosened on her neck. - -David watched her with amused eyes, as she restored the hairpins to -place, following the curving lines of her young figure appreciatively. - -“You need some handsome gowns, Barbara, to set off your good looks,” he -said. “You’ll have them, too, when you’re my wife.” - -He took her hand. - -“I’ll wager you’ve been wondering why I didn’t bring you a ring,” he -went on exuberantly. “Girls always like rings, and I see you don’t wear -anything but that plain one. Here, I’ll——” - -“Don’t take it off,” implored Barbara. “It was my mother’s. It was her -wedding ring.” - -“That’s all right, dear. But you must take it off, just the same. You -can wear it on the other hand, if you like—or put it away; a keepsake -like that is best locked up in some box. I’ll give you all the rings -you’ll need to wear from now on.” - -He snapped open a tiny case of white velvet and flashed its imbedded -jewel in her averted eyes. - -“Do you like it, dear? Do you think it’s pretty? I couldn’t get -anything decent in this hole, of course, so I sent to the city for it. -It just came by express, last night. I found it when I got back from my -delightful ride with that old crab, Jarvis.” - -“It—it’s beautiful, David, but——” - -“I hope it’ll fit; let me put it on, dearest.” - -“David—I—can’t; don’t you see—I am not free to—to——” - -“What in Heaven’s name are you talking about? Aren’t we engaged?” - -“I—don’t know,” the girl said slowly. “No,—not till fall. You mustn’t——” - -“Damn old Jarvis, if he’s been putting any such notions into your -head!” cried David. “Why, Barbara, you’re talking nonsense. Didn’t -he tell you you could get a release? I’ll buy the fellow off. I told -Jarvis I would.” - -“You told him?” - -“Why, of course, I did. And I mean to. We’ll be married by that time. -Now, don’t say _no_. Just give me a show to prove what ought to need -no urging on my part to make you see. If we are married hard and fast -there’ll be no back talk coming from Jarvis or anybody else. Can’t you -see that, dear? I dare say the fellow is only waiting for a good excuse -to demand his money back, and we’ll give it to him. Come, sweetheart, -let me put this ring on your dear little finger, and next month I’ll -add another of a different sort. Then I’ll be in a position to talk -business with old Jarvis, or his client, whoever he is. I’ll say, -‘Here’s your money, sir,’ short and sharp; ‘take it or leave it, as -suits you best. My wife doesn’t go out to service with any man.’ That’s -my sensible girl!” - -He would have drawn her again into his arms. But she resisted him -tensely. - -“You don’t understand, David, and you must understand,” she said -slowly. “I—promised I wouldn’t—till——” - -“You promised! Who in the devil did you promise? You promised me, and -I’m going to hold you to it.” - -“No; not till after I was bound, and I—only promised you conditionally. -Don’t you remember, David?” - -“I only remember what I choose to remember,” he said superciliously. -“And all I know, or care to know, at the present moment, is that you’re -mine—mine, Barbara! Haven’t I waited for years and suffered—Barbara!” - -His voice vibrated with passion; he reached out for her hungrily, -irresistibly, and held her fast in the clasp of one powerful arm, -while with the other he sought for her elusive hand. - -“One finger is just as good as another for me,” he laughed as he -slipped the ring into place. “There! Isn’t that handsome?” - -But she hid her troubled eyes against his shoulder. - -“Not on my ugly brown hand, David,” she murmured. “And I cannot wear -it—yet. I promised.” - -“That’s twice you’ve mentioned the fact that you promised,” he said, -scowling. “Did Jarvis have the brazen nerve to come between you and me -with any of his cut and dried legal business?” - -“He—reminded me of my contract. He said——” - -“Well, I’ll fix that up with Jarvis. Say, do you know he makes me -tired? I told him we were engaged, and if he had any such line of -talk to pass out he might have come to me. I’m the one for him to do -business with from now on, and I’ll let him know it, too.” - -He released her, suddenly. - -“You can do as you like about the ring,” he said in an offended tone. -“Most girls would jump at the chance to wear a two-hundred-dollar -diamond. I’ll chuck it into the waste-basket, if you say so.” - -“Oh, David!” breathed Barbara, “did you spend all that money—just for -me?” - -“Yes, I did; and I supposed you’d be pleased. I never dreamed you’d -refuse to wear it.” - -“But—it isn’t that I don’t love you,” she faltered. “Indeed I——” - -“Well, if you love me, you’ll do as I say,” interrupted David, with an -arrogant toss of his handsome head. “Will you, Barbara?” - -“I will in everything but—you know, dear, I—I can’t.” - -He stared at her in angry silence. - -“You appear a soft enough little thing,” he said at last, “but you’re -as infernally obstinate as—— Here, give me the ring. I’ll not force it -on you.” - -She slipped it from her finger in silence, and he took it, restored it -to its velvet nest, and dropped the case in his pocket. - -“The next time I ask you to wear that ring,” he said, “you’ll either do -it, or——” - -“David!” cried Barbara faintly. “Please—please don’t be angry. Try -to—understand.” - -“Try to understand—eh? Well, I’m not so dull as some; but you’ve got me -stumped all right. Maybe that’s what you’re trying to do.” - -She put out her hands to him pleadingly. But he did not choose to see -them. - -“I’ll talk with Jarvis,” he said roughly. “And in the meantime you keep -away from him. Just let me manage for a while. A woman isn’t up to -business, anyway. Why, it makes me hot to think of his coming here and -talking you to a finish the way he did. I wish I’d caught him at it, -that’s all.” - -“David!” Barbara’s voice was low and urgent. “I wish you wouldn’t——” - -“Wouldn’t what?” - -She clung to his arm; but his look did not soften. - -“Please don’t—say anything to Mr. Jarvis. He—meant to be kind. He——” - -David turned suddenly and caught her by the shoulders. - -“See here,” he said. “I’m beginning to see a glimmer of light through -this particular millstone. Is _Jarvis_ the man who tried to get you to -marry him while I was away? Answer me!” - -“He asked—me—to marry him, and I——” - -David burst into a great laugh. - -“Well, well!” he cried, “that was a conquest. Old Jarvis, of all men! -Why, Barb, you’re a wonder. Ha, ha!” - -She trembled before his loud laughter as she had not beneath the weight -of his displeasure. - -David suddenly became grave, his brows drawn in thought. - -“That puts a different face on things,” he said. - - - - -XVIII - - -HEWETT’S general store, with its official annex, the post-office, -occupied a prominent place in the social as well as the economic system -of Barford. Not even the aisles, sheds, and steps of the Presbyterian -church afforded so convenient and popular an arena for the interchange -of items of general interest as did “Hewett’s.” There appeared to be -something suggestively cheerful and enlivening in the sagging piles of -fruit and vegetables, something friendly and hospitable in the boxes, -barrels, and kegs open to public inspection and exploring fingers. -Even the curious and all-pervasive odor compounded of prunes, pickles, -yellow soap, and tobacco, with an occasional aromatic whiff of freshly -ground coffee, seemed to lend itself to a pleasantly open frame of -mind, conducive to an unreserved expression of opinion concerning the -church, the state, and the social whirl, as evidenced in the varying -currents and eddies of village life. - -As in other similar emporiums devoted to the display and sale of such -commodities as were in general demand “the store cat” might be seen -guarding inconspicuous rat-holes, or curled up in peaceful slumber in -the cracker barrel, or in close proximity to the whity-brown loaves -of bread destined for private consumption and handled with easy -familiarity and a total lack of ceremonial cleanliness by the driver of -the baker’s cart, the Hewetts, father and son, and by such tentative -customers as elected to test the freshness of the product with doubtful -thumb and finger. - -It was at Hewett’s, as might have been expected, that the singular -event of the auction at the Preston farm had been discussed in all its -different aspects. The amount of the mortgage held by Stephen Jarvis, -the various expedients resorted to by the daughter of Donald Preston, -and the events leading up to her desperate and successful coup had all -been reviewed circumstantially and in order. The continued presence -of David Whitcomb in the community furnished a welcome variation to -the subject; and inasmuch as David was found not averse to talking of -himself, there was little mystery about his return to Barford and its -object. - -Opinions as to the personal appearance, probable resources, and moral -character of the ex-schoolmaster were found to be as varied as the new -and somewhat showy raiment in which he appeared from day to day. - -“Thinks he’s too good to walk now ’t he’s got them shiny pointed -shoes,” observed Hank Smith, whose footgear was of the square-toed -variety, presumably inherited from a deceased relative. “I seen him -drivin’ a rig out t’ Preston’s to-day.” - -“Yas,” corroborated the local liveryman. “He’s took it b’ the week. -Says he’s thinkin’ of buyin’ a good horse.” - -“Huh! you don’t say,” drawled a farmer from the hills, who had dropped -in for his week’s supply of groceries and his mail. “I s’pose he done -pretty well out west? Mebbe I c’d sell him that bay mare o’ mine.” - -“He spen’s lots of money; I don’t know how much he’s got,” was the -unchallenged opinion put forth by another. - -There followed a general oscillation of heads about the empty stove, a -round-bellied affair, capable of fierce white heats in the winter time, -but abandoned to rust in summer and habitually diffusing a clammy scent -of chimney soot and damp ashes. - -“I guess the’ don’t anybody know ’s t’ that; I heard him speak o’ -minin’ prop’ties kind o’ careless like. He sure does carry a big wad.” - -“The table board over t’ the Eagle’s called pretty fair; but ’tain’t -good enough fer Whitcomb. He pays extry fer dinner at night.” - -“Jus’ so; an’ Sutton’s cook left after he’d been thar a couple o’ -weeks. She said she wa’n’t a-goin’ t’ put up with Whitcomb.” - -“Wall, I’ll give that young feller about four months t’ run through -what he’s got,” the elder Hewett observed, in the intervals of passing -various purchases of coffee through his grinder. “I’ll bet I c’d carry -all the minin’ prop’ty he owns in m’ vest pocket, an’ hev room fer m’ -han’kerchief.” - -“‘Twon’t take him that long if he keeps on as he’s goin’ now. I -heerd”—and the speaker leaned forward, bringing the legs of his chair -to the floor with a thump—“‘at he’s pretty fast; drinks consid’ble an’ -plays cards fer money. Wonder if she knows?” - -“Barb’ry’d ought t’ look out, if he’s that kind,” observed another, -wagging his pendulous chin-whiskers. “Her pa’d ought t’ be a serious -warnin’ t’ her.” - -“Shaw! ’tain’t so,” put in a third. “Dave’s all right. He ain’t so -slow’s to be actually mossy; but he’s all right. I’ll bet you——” - -What the speaker was about to wager on his charitable opinion was lost -to the public as Peg Morrison stubbed noisily up the steps, and entered -the door, swung hospitably wide to dust, flies, and the travelling -public. - -“Hello, Peg; how’s your folks?” drawled Al Hewett, presenting his -round, solemn face at the square aperture devoted to the delivery of -mail. “Le’ me see; here’s a paper fer you, an’ a circ’lar,—one o’ -them phosphate ads you’ve been gettin’ lately. An’ a letter fer Miss -Barb’ra. Do you want I should forward it—eh?” - -“Forward it—no; give it t’ me.” - -Mr. Morrison’s voice held an exasperated note discouraging to those in -quest of information. - -“Then she ain’t left yet?” queried an individual, comfortably seated -over the cool recesses of the pickle barrel. “Somebody was sayin’——” - -“No, sir,” said Peg, facing about and addressing the inquiring circle -of eyes as one man. “No, sir; Miss Barb’ry ain’t gone, an’ as fer ’s I -know, she’ll be home, anyhow, till after the apples is picked.” - -Mr. Morrison would have warmly disclaimed any intention of discussing -his mistress’s business with outsiders; but he felt it incumbent upon -himself, as the surviving feudal representative, as it were, of the -Preston family, to correct erroneous public opinion. - -“Goin’ t’ gether a pretty fair crop this year, I see,” observed the -village veterinary, who combined the business of livery and sale stable -with his more learned profession. - -“You bet,” chuckled Peg. “W’y, them apples ’ll beat anythin’ in the -county. We’re goin’ t’ exhibit at th’ fair, same ’s we ust to.” - -“Apples is goin’ t’ be so cheap y’ can’t git nothin’ fer ’em,” said -a farmer pessimistically. “Ef they don’t all drop off the trees come -September, it’s bein’ s’ dry.” - -“Our apples won’t drop, I’ll bet you,” bragged Peg. “We’ve kep’ th’ -ground in our orchards ploughed an’ cultivated all summer. Miss -Barb’ry, she kind o’ got that notion las’ spring f’om readin’ some -gov’ment report, an’ jus’ to humor her I done ’s she said.” - -“‘Tain’t no way to do,” put in another. “The grass prevents th’ roots -f’om heavin’; keeps ’em cool in summer an’ warm in winter. Y’ don’t -ketch me payin’ any ’tention to them blamed gov’ment reports. Now the -Republicans is in, y’ can’t b’lieve a word ’at comes f’om Washin’ton.” - -No one being immediately minded to disprove this sweeping statement, -there was brief silence for a space. Then a new topic was introduced. - -“Say, Peleg, when’s the weddin’ comin’ off to your place?” - -“The weddin’? what weddin’?” parried Peg cautiously. “I ain’t heerd o’ -no weddin’.” - -“You hain’t—heh? Well, you’re kind o’ behind the times.” - -“I heerd the’ was to be two weddin’s out your way come fall,” cackled -the horse doctor. “How ’bout Marthy an’ th’ onions?” - -Peg turned an angrily bewildered face upon the speaker. - -“Th’ onions,” he said, “is O. K.; but I dunno what you’re drivin’ at.” - -“Well, I’ll tell ye; Marthy Cottle told Elviry Scott, an’ she tol’ my -wife’s sister that you was payin’ her marked attention. She said she -hadn’t made up her mind whether t’ marry ye or not. But she thought -mebbe she might, ef the onion crop turned out all right. I sez t’ m’ -wife——” - -A roar of laughter drowned the end of the sentence and Peg’s indignant -denial. - -“I ain’t done no more,” he averred, “than t’ wipe m’ feet careful on -th’ door-mat on the kitchen-stoop when the’s mud on the groun’. An’ I -only done that t’ keep th’ peace.” - -“Wall, Peleg, ef you c’n make out t’ keep th’ peace with Marthy Cottle, -I reckon you’re the man fer Marthy,” was the opinion of the senior -Hewett, delivered over the top of a tall bag of sugar which he was -weighing. - -A chorus of loud laughter greeted this sally; when it had died away a -late comer announced impersonally that the county fair was going to be -the finest in years. - -“That’s so,” confirmed a visitor from the county seat, distant some -five miles. “The’ll be horses f’om all over the state, ’n a b’lloon -ascension, b’sides the usual features.” - -“Any races?” inquired the farmer from the upper hill road. “‘Cause -I’ve got a colt, Black Hawk blood, ’t c’n run like a streak o’ greased -lightnin’.” - -“Races? Well, natu’ally. The’ll be races every day after the fust, an’ -on Sat’day, the closin’ day, the stakes ’ll be a hunderd dollars fer -two-year-olds, an’ up fer hosses o’ all ages. I wouldn’t miss it fer -more’n I gen’ally carry in loose change. The’ll be some tall bettin’, I -persoom.” - -“They say that young Whitcomb feller’s quite a sport when ’t comes t’ -puttin’ money on any ol’ thing,” drawled young Hewett, who had laid -aside his official gravity as he emerged from behind the post-office. - -Mr. Morrison looked troubled. - -“I guess I’ll be goin’ ’long,” he said, and cast a defiant look around -the circle. “Ef I was you,” he said, “I’d keep my mouth shet ’bout -things I didn’t know anythin’ ’bout.” - -No one answered; but there was a general laugh as his heavy boots were -heard to strike the sidewalk. - -“Poor old Peleg!” said one. “Them Prestons has kep’ him pretty busy -cookin’ up excuses. An’ ef she marries Whitcomb I guess Peleg ’ll be up -against it a while longer.” - -“‘Twon’t be any time b’fore Jarvis gits another mortgage; mebbe he’ll -fetch it this time. ’Tain’t often the ’onor’ble gent gits left. I hed -t’ laugh when I heerd she’d paid him off.” - -“The’s somethin’ mighty queer ’bout that business, anyhow. Who d’ye -suppose anted up with the money?” - -“Some fool, like ’s not. A fool an’ his money’s soon parted. Now like’s -not it was Dave Whitcomb. Mebbe he——” - -“Get out, man! What’d be the use o’ that, if he’s goin’ t’ marry her?” - -“He wa’n’t engaged to her when he fust come back; mebbe he thought——” - -“Thought nothin’! Dave wouldn’t pass over no four thousand dollars -b’fore he knew she’d have him, would he? He’d be a bigger fool ’n he -looks to do that.” - -“Say, Hank,” drawled young Hewett, “which ’d you druther be, a bigger -fool ’n you look? or look a bigger fool ’n you be?” - -“I dunno,” said Hank, thoughtfully expectorating in the general -direction of the rusty stove. “Guess on the hull, I’d ruther look a -bigger fool ’n I be, b’cause——” - -“That’s impossible!” quoth the genial Al, with a snigger of amusement. - -“Pooh! that’s a dried-up chestnut, Hank,” interposed the liveryman, -“f’om five years b’fore last; don’t you let Al get a rise out o’ you -that easy. He’d ’a’ said the same thing whichever way you’d answered.” - -“Darn!” vociferated Hank. Then he joined in the general laugh. - -In the silence that followed the subsidence of mirth a small, spare -individual, wearing a gray linen duster, buttoned to the throat, and -carrying a suit-case and tightly strapped umbrella, entered the store. -He gazed inquiringly at the assembled circle, his eyes wrinkling -pleasantly at the corners. - -“I just blew in,” he observed to nobody in particular, “and I’m going -to hang out for a few days at the best hotel in town.” - -“The’ ain’t but one,” volunteered the voluble Smith, stealthily moving -his chair that he might get a look at the stranger’s feet. They were -neatly covered with tan Oxfords, he satisfied himself; but the toes -were not pointed. - -“Where’ll I find it?” asked the stranger. “I’m an inspector from the -Phœnix Fire Insurance Company,” he added, correctly interpreting the -suspicious glances levelled at him and his sparse belongings. “Expect -to be in town two or three days, looking over our risks and correcting -a map of the town. I do a little life insurance business on the side.” - -“Takin’ on any new risks in buildin’s?” inquired the man on the pickle -barrel. - -“W’y, yes; I ain’t a regular soliciting agent for the Phœnix; but I’ll -be mighty glad to write any persons desiring insurance,” replied the -stranger. “My name,” he added pleasantly, “is Todd, Albert Todd, at -your service, gentlemen.” - -Mr. Todd bowed and smiled expansively. - -“Wall, ye want t’ cast yer eye over Hiram Plumb’s prop’ty, fust thing -you do,” advised the liveryman, with a facetious grimace toward the -individual on the pickle barrel. “It’s in a fierce condition.” - -The gentleman in question slowly descended from his perch, thoughtfully -caressing the seat of his trousers, as he replied in kind. - -“Y’ don’t hev to worry none ’bout me, Mister Todd—if that’s your -name—I don’t insure in the Phœnix; but Bud Hawley, him that keeps -the liv’ry-stable, is a teetotally bad risk. He’s been takin’ -au-to-mo-beels t’ board lately, an’ they sure do kick up a powerful -smell o’ gasolene.” - -“I’ve got a permit,” hastily interposed Mr. Hawley. “I c’n show it to -you.” - -The stranger waved his hand deprecatingly. - -“Oh, that’s all right,” he said gently. “I have nothing to do with that -class of business. But if Mr. Hawley has a good horse and buggy to -hire, I’ll be glad to talk business. How about it, Mr. Hawley?” - -Mr. Hawley favored the stranger with a comprehensive stare. - -“Guess I got a rig ’at ’ud suit,” he admitted. “Fi’ dollars a day an’ -up, ’cordin’ t’ the sort o’ rig you’re lookin’ for.” - -“I want,” said Mr. Todd, “a good smart horse; one that can cover -considerable territory in a day, and a buggy; nothing fancy, you know; -but neat and comfortable.” - -“All right,” said Mr. Hawley slowly. “I’m goin’ along t’ my place now; -’tain’t fur from the Eagle.” - -“Many folks stopping at the hotel?” inquired Mr. Todd briskly, as the -two men walked along the village street under the heavy noonday shade -of the big maples. - -“Not s’ many,” replied the liveryman non-committally. - -He scowled as a smart, yellow-wheeled trap whizzed past. - -“I dunno what sort of a driver you be,” he said. “Most anybody wants t’ -git over the ground these days; but the’s some folks ’at thinks they -c’n drive a horse like it was an automobeel. That’s one o’ my rigs an’ -one o’ my best horses,—or was till that chap took t’ drivin’ it.” - -Mr. Todd stretched his long neck after the yellow-wheeled trap, which -had stopped in front of the Barford Eagle a little further up the -street. - -“You don’t say!” he observed mildly. “Kind of a young feller, too. They -say a merciful man is merciful to his beast.” - -“Dave Whitcomb must be a hard case, ’cordin’ to that,” was Mr. Hawley’s -opinion. “Y’ seen him get out an’ go in; did you? Wall, that young chap -used t’ teach school here. Fact; he was principal of our union school, -an’ considered a smart enough chap, though quiet; didn’t cut much of a -swathe, even with the young folks. But all of a sudden he up an’ went -west! an’ we heard after a spell he was dead. But he turned up a while -ago, live as ever, an’ consid’able changed. He’s quite a heavy swell -now; they say he owns a mine, or suthin’, out west. He’s stayin’ t’ the -Eagle; ’n’ say, if you’re one of the sort ’at likes t’ put on style ’n’ -eat your dinner at night mebbe you c’d chum in with Dave.” - -“What’s the young man’s line of business?” asked Mr. Todd. “I’d like to -interest him in a little proposition——” - -“Business?” echoed Mr. Hawley, and he chuckled as he drove his hands -a little deeper into his trousers pockets. “Dave’s principal business -around these parts is courtin’, I sh’d say. I guess he don’t do much -else these days. Girl out in the country; got a big apple farm. If you -git acquainted with Dave he’ll tell you all about it.” - -To make the acquaintance of the ex-schoolmaster appeared to be exactly -what the energetic Mr. Todd was seeking. He put up at the Eagle, where -he made a point of asking for a six o’clock dinner. - -“I am told,” he said to Sutton, the proprietor, “that this is one of -the few properly managed hotels in this part of the country, with -evening dinners, breakfasts _à la carte_, and so forth!” - -Sutton silently shook his heavy body, his wide mouth turning up at the -comers, an exercise which passed with him as a laugh. - -“Oh, yes,” he said, “we’re stylish an’ up t’ date all right, when it -comes t’ ’leven o’clock breakfasts an’ six o’clock dinners. We’ve kind -of changed our day around here t’ ’commodate our patrons. We calc’late -t’ please.” - -And so it came about that young Whitcomb sat down to dinner that night -with Mr. Albert Todd. The latter individual was quite the gentleman in -his manners at table, David observed. Little by little the two fell -into friendly conversation, and David, at first irritable and silent, -passed all at once into his alternating mood, when he desired nothing -so much as to talk about himself. He had found few he cared to talk to -in Barford, except Barbara, and there were things one could not mention -to a woman. - -Not once did the tactful Mr. Todd allude to the subject of life -insurance, and he appeared wonderfully interested in David’s account -of his life in the West; of his failures, few and far between, and of -his successes, social and otherwise which, according to David, had -been many and remarkable. Mr. Todd was a man of the world, that much -was clear, with no foolish or fanatical prejudices. After dinner the -two in a state of post-prandial amity strolled across to the barroom, -where they partook of various cooling drinks, compounded, under David’s -direction, by the alert young person behind the bar. And when later -they strolled out to the piazza and David produced cigarettes, they -had fallen into relations of such exceeding friendliness that David -reopened the conversation in a more intimate tone than he had yet taken. - -“This is the most confoundedly stupid hole a man ever dropped into,” he -observed through the fragrant smoke wreaths. - -“It looks kind of peaceful and soothing,” agreed Mr. Todd, with a -chuckle; “I guess I can stand it for a few days, though.” - -He looked away up the dusty street where an occasional pedestrian -enlivened the solitude. “Thinking of settling here?” he asked. - -David scowled. - -“Yes,” he said. “Out in the country a mile or so.” - -“Then you’ll have hopes of striking the metropolis here occasionally?” -queried Mr. Todd facetiously. “I wouldn’t want to get too far away.” - -David’s eyes were still fixed and frowning. - -“What do you think of a man of my experience settling down in a place -like this to raise apples?” he asked. “Sometimes I think I’m several -kinds of a fool for doing it.” - -Mr. Todd spat thoughtfully over the rail. - -“That depends,” he said tentatively, but with a keen look at the other. - -David flicked the ash off his cigarette, then flung it impatiently away -and lighted a fresh one. - -“Yes, of course,” he said; “but take it anyway you like, is the game -worth the candle? Once I’m tied up here, I suppose I’ll have to stand -by the rest of my life. Do I want to do it? Would you want to do it? -Honest now.” - -The small spare gentleman who had introduced himself to Barford society -under the name of Albert Todd smiled thoughtfully. - -“Well, it strikes me as a bit slow for my taste. What do you say to a -game of cards to pass away the time?” - -David shook his head. - -“I don’t take much to cards,” he said. “The other chap generally wins, -and I like to be on the winning side.” - -He tramped up and down the piazza a few times; impatiently kicking at -the railings as he paused to turn. - -“There’s a man in this town I’ve got to see on rather disagreeable -business,” he said at last. “I’ve been putting it off for several -days; but I believe I’ll do it now. So long. See you in the morning.” - -Left to himself Mr. Todd elevated his feet to the railing, as if to -indulge in a prolonged period of post-prandial meditation. In the -gathering twilight he watched David’s muscular figure swinging along -the street. He was walking like a man with a purpose. After a minute or -two of keen-eyed watchfulness Mr. Todd quietly arose, clapped his hat -on his head, and strolled toward the steps. - -“Goin’ out t’ take in the town?” inquired a voice from the rear. - -The insurance man glanced at the slim youth in the rather untidy white -apron who stood in the doorway. - -“W’y, yes,” he replied, very pleasantly indeed. “I thought I might as -well.” - -“I’d advise you not to have much to do with that fellow you was talkin’ -to,” pursued the youth sulkily. “He’s one of our customers, but I don’t -care. Talk ’bout cards; he cleaned me out of a month’s wages one night -last week; then laughed at me for bein’ mad. I ain’t got no use fer -him.” - -“I don’t know about that,” Mr. Todd said pacifically. “He seems like a -nice sort. Nothing really vicious, or——” - -“He’s a durned, good-fer-nothin’ blowhard; that’s what he is,” said the -bartender rancorously. “An’ that’s what I tell Jennie. But she—— I’d -like t’ punch his head; that’s all!” - -“Who’s Jennie?” - -“She waited on your table t’ supper. She’s the prettiest girl in this -town.” - -“Oh,” said Mr. Todd understandingly. - -“She’s prettier ’n that Preston girl ever thought of bein’—that’s his -girl. He’s engaged t’ her. But some folks want the earth.” - -“That’s so,” observed Mr. Todd smilingly. “And sometimes,” he added, -with a wink, “they get it, too!” - -This speech appeared to irritate the youth exceedingly. “Huh!” he -exploded violently. “Well, I’d like to punch his head; that’s all.” - - - - -XIX - - -DAVID’S suddenly formed resolution carried him swiftly to the one big -house of the village, where he rang the bell. The night being warm the -outer door stood open and he could look through the screen into the -dimly lighted hall. To the left of the passage was Jarvis’s library, -and David, waiting impatiently before the outer door, perceived that -the master of the house was within, quietly reading by a shaded lamp. -Somehow the sight stirred the unreasoning anger within him to a hotter -glow. His unanswered summons appeared in the guise of a deliberate -insult. Raising his walking-stick he smote the door. He saw the man -within raise his eyes from his book, as if to listen, and repeated his -knock smartly; then as Jarvis rose and came hastily toward the door, he -spoke: - -“Good-evening, Mr. Jarvis,” he said, mumbling the prefix so that it was -little more than an inarticulate sound. “Guess your door-bell isn’t in -working order.” - -Jarvis recognized his visitor with an involuntary start, which David -perceived with ill-disguised triumph. - -“The fellow’s afraid of me,” he told himself, and hung up his hat on -the rack as if quite at his ease. - -He followed Jarvis into the library and sat down, looking about him -with cool curiosity. - -“You’ve been expecting to see me, I dare say,” he began, his eyes -returning from their tour of inspection to the other man’s face. - -Jarvis returned the look doubtfully. - -“It occurred to me that you might wish——” - -“Yes; I do,” interrupted David. “You’re entirely right, sir.” - -Having said this much in a loud, aggressive tone, David stopped short. -He had become suddenly aware that Jarvis was looking at—or rather, -through—him, in a way which made him irritably conscious of his hands, -his feet, the set of his collar, and the material of his light summer -clothes. Then those strange eyes went deeper; they were busying -themselves with his thoughts, his motives, they even saw his fears, -which crowded forward, a cloud of gibbering shapes, out of his past. - -He spoke again, hurriedly, and backed up his words with a laugh, which -sounded foolishly loud in the quiet room. - -“Well,” he said, “now that you’ve had time to look me over, how d’ you -like me? Think I’ll do—eh?” - -“No,” Jarvis said quietly, almost sadly. “I’m afraid not. But I don’t -intend to trust my own judgment—entirely.” - -He sighed deeply and looked down, as if there was nothing more to be -seen or said. - -David straightened himself in his chair with a jerk. - -“See here,” he said truculently. “I was joking, you know; you were -staring at me as if you’d never seen a human being before. But now I’d -like you to answer me straight. What d’you mean by saying I ‘won’t do’? -What business is it of yours what I——” - -He choked a little with the rage that was consuming him. - -“Why, confound your impudence!” he cried, his face flaming with anger. - -“I owe you an apology, sir,” said Jarvis, with stately composure. “I -ought not to have spoken as I did. But there is much at stake.” - -“Not for you,” said David insolently. - -He fell to staring at Jarvis, striving to imitate the other’s -disconcerting look. - -“She loves me, you know.” - -He had not intended to taunt his rival, but the words slipped out -without volition. He was glad of it, in view of the blighting change -that swept over the other’s face. - -“Yes,” Jarvis said dully, “I know that.” - -He was realizing all at once that the blow that felled Whitcomb must -reach her tender breast also. - -“There’s no use of beating about the bush,” David went on. “She told -me about your visit to her the other night. At first I didn’t catch on -about that remarkable client of yours and the care of the interesting -child and all that. But when I got out of her the fact that you had -been courting her while I was away, of course I was on to your little -game.” - -He paused to allow his words their full weight, exulting in the look of -quiet despair that appeared to have settled upon Jarvis’s face. - -“You thought if you couldn’t catch and hold her one way you would -another. You planned to keep her from me! Deny it if you dare!” - -Jarvis looked up, opened his lips as if minded to reply; then his head -drooped, and again he sighed deeply. He was striving to master himself; -that self which even now struggled like a leashed hound under his iron -hand. - -“I must be fair,” he groaned half aloud. “I must—I must, for her sake.” - -“What’s that?” inquired David smartly. “We may as well have it out -first as last, you know.” - -“Yes,” agreed Jarvis, rousing himself. “I didn’t mean to—yet. But——” - -He looked calmly at David. - -“Can we not talk this over in a reasonable way?” he asked. “There is -really no need of anger or——” - -“Oh, come, man; let’s get down to business!” cried David, vastly -pleased with himself and his own acumen. - -He had not been at all certain as to the money, which he was now -convinced Jarvis had given Barbara out of his own pocket. That he had -surprised, compelled, browbeaten Jarvis, in what he was pleased to call -“the fellow’s own game,” was a matter for pride, exultation. Who was -Jarvis, anyway, that a whole countryside should stand in awe of him and -his achievements? He, Whitcomb, had met the man and conquered him on -his own ground. He even began to feel a sort of complacent pity for his -abased rival, as his spirits rose from the depths of the humiliation -falsely put upon him by Jarvis. - -“‘You can fool some of the people all of the time,’ you know,” he -quoted, with a confident laugh; “and you did succeed in fooling Barbara -nicely; but the minute I heard you were in love with her, of course I——” - -“One thing first,” interrupted Jarvis; “did she tell you—what had -passed between us of her own free will?” - -David burst into a laugh. - -“Oh, that’s where the shoe pinches, is it?” he said good-humoredly. -“Well, I don’t mind informing you that Barbara didn’t tell me a single -thing about you—not at first. She’s a good little scout, Barbie is, and -she saved your pride all right for you. She’d never have told me, I -guess; but I taxed her with it, and, of course, she couldn’t deny it. -Some girls would have snapped you up quick, with all your money and -everything, and with me supposedly buried up in the Klondyke. But not -Barbara. She’s worth while, that girl.” - -“Yes,” mused Jarvis, “she is—worth while.” - -“You wouldn’t catch me loafing around this dead and alive hole for -many women,” David went on, drumming with his fingers on the edge of -his chair. “As it is, I’ve had about all I can stand of it; and she -won’t give in and marry me—won’t even wear my ring, till that client -of yours—that peculiar, hard-to-get-along-with individual you’re -representing—can be either bought off, or disposed of in some way. -Naturally, neither of us want to be under obligations to—_you_!” he -finished dramatically. - -“Does she—suppose that I——” - -David laughed again. - -“No,” he said. “Oh, no! Barbie isn’t gifted with a very keen -imagination. She swallowed all you told her about that singular, -out-of-town client of yours. She seems to have implicit faith in you.” - -A subtle lightning flash leaped from Jarvis’s eyes. - -“She’s quite right to trust me,” he said calmly. “I’ll be glad if you -can do the same.” - -“Oh, come now, it’s too late for any more joking between us!” cried -David roughly. “You can’t pull the wool over my eyes. You gave her that -money, Jarvis, you know you did. And you did it just so as to tie her -down. It’s a damned shame!” - -Jarvis had risen, and David sprang eagerly from his chair to face him. -The two men were of equal height, and for an instant David’s boyish -blue eyes strove to master Jarvis, glance to glance. Then he drew back, -baffled, furious. - -“You aren’t going to stick to that cock-and-bull story a minute longer -with me,” he blustered. “You know very well where the money came from!” - -Jarvis bowed ceremoniously. - -“Certainly I know,” he acknowledged. - -“Didn’t you give it to her?” - -“I shall not answer you.” - -“Well, you did, and I can prove it.” - -“How?” - -David sprang forward with a triumphant laugh and snatched a small -object from the desk. - -“I have been sitting where I could look at your writing traps,” he -exulted. “And I saw—this!” - -Jarvis appeared quite unmoved. - -“That is my seal,” he observed, “with my family crest. What of it?” - -“What of it?” shouted David. “Why, it’s the thing that was used to sign -that damned contract. It’s proof positive. That’s what it is!” - -“My client,” said Jarvis coolly, “did not wish to use his own name. I -suggested the seal. He used it—at my request.” - -“Well, you’re the man, anyway,” David retorted violently. “I insist -that you release her—at once. Do you hear? At once!” - -“So that she can be free to marry you?” Jarvis asked. His eyes were -fixed and glittered strangely. - -“Yes! Why not? She’s my promised wife.” - -Jarvis stood silent for a long minute, as if considering David’s words. -Then he looked up, moving a little toward the door with the manifest -intention of bringing the unfruitful interview to an end. - -“I cannot say more at present than that I will endeavor to so arrange -matters with my client as to meet Miss Preston’s wishes,” he said. - -He looked calmly, dispassionately at David, and again the young man -felt himself vaguely humiliated. He had meant to say more, much more; -but quite unexpectedly he found himself bidding Jarvis good-night. The -door closed quietly upon his wrath and discomfiture. - -Stephen Jarvis did not at once resume the reading of the thin blue -volume which lay face down in the bright circle of lamp-light. Instead -he walked slowly up and down the room, his brows knit, his sinewy hands -locked behind him. He was trying as conscientiously as possible to -look at the situation from the view-point of the young man; to find, -if possible, in his own conduct some valid excuse for the (to him) -intolerable behavior of Whitcomb. While he yet strove with himself a -second visitor was announced. - -Jarvis received this person with visible reluctance, bade him be -seated, and sat down himself, before he opened the conversation with a -tentative, “Well!” rather impatiently uttered. - -“I arrived this afternoon, Mr. Jarvis, and quite fortunately fell in at -once with the person in question,” the newcomer said. - -“Yes,” said Jarvis dryly. - -“As I understand my commission,” pursued Mr. Todd, “I am to inform -myself as to the person’s past, his present occupation and habits, -and——” - -Jarvis made an impatient gesture of assent. - -“I want to know all about him,” he said. “It is important that I should -be informed as to whether he is fitted for a position of trust.” - -The other man nodded. - -“I understand,” he said. - -“I want to know,” pursued Jarvis in a harsh voice, “if the man is -truthful, honest, temperate. If, in short, he is the man to be -implicitly trusted with—interests of the highest value and importance.” - -Mr. Todd again assented, his sharp ferret eyes taking in the details of -his employer’s face and person with professional acumen. - -“Mercantile?” he asked briskly, “or professional? There’s a difference, -you know. Now a man might be something of a braggart, addicted to -cigarette smoking, not averse to a temperate use of intoxicants, an -occasional—er——” - -“Do you see all this in him already?” demanded Jarvis. - -Mr. Todd considered. - -“I dined with the young man,” he said slowly, “and acquired certain -information which may or may not have a bearing on your case.” - -Jarvis leaned forward, glistening drops of moisture starting out on his -forehead. - -“Is the man merely a weak fool—weak because untried by any of the -deeper experiences of life, and foolish only because he is young? or -is he—worse?” he asked, in a low voice; “that is what I want to know. -Temperamentally the person in question is at odds with myself. I—don’t -like him. But, understand, I must not rely on my likes and dislikes in -this matter. I—am obliged to be—fair to him, at all costs.” - -“I understand, Mr. Jarvis,” assented the detective. “And I will tell -you frankly that my own initial impressions—and I have learned to rely -somewhat on first impressions as being in the main correct—are that -the person referred to is somewhat inconstant, easily led, excitable, -with all the faults of youth and—quite possibly”—he paused to again -study the face before him, “—many of its virtues. He is, on his own -testimony, selfish, extravagant, passionate.” He shook his head slowly. -“I should not,” he went on, “care to trust such a man with interests -calling for a high degree of business sagacity or—er—let us say sober -industry. I believe it was something of the sort you questioned.” - -Jarvis threw himself back in his chair. His haggard eyes met the -detective’s squarely. - -“Is the fellow fit to marry a good and pure woman?” he asked. “Could he -command her respect and hold her affection? That’s test enough for me.” - -Mr. Todd moved uneasily in his chair. - -“Oh, as to that,” he hesitated, “there are all sorts of women, you -know. Some of ’em like a man all the better—or appear to—if he—well; if -he isn’t too good, you know. I’ve known a woman,” he went on strongly, -“to marry a man who’d drink and abuse her, and yet she’d love him and -stick to him to the last. There’s something queer about women, when it -comes to loving a man. His character doesn’t seem to count for so much -as you’d suppose.” - -Jarvis assented dryly. - -“You think the person in question would be likely to—do as you -suggested?” - -“It would be a toss-up,” said Mr. Todd thoughtfully, “as to whether -he’d settle down into a steady, respectable sort of a citizen, or—” he -paused to button his coat painstakingly “—the opposite. I’ll follow him -up a while longer,” he went on, “and report from day to day. In a case -like this, where you don’t feel like trusting your own judgment, it’s -best to let facts talk.” - -Mr. Todd looked searchingly into the depths of his hat. - -“Facts will talk, you know,” he said confidently. “They’re bound to. -Sooner or later, something comes along that tells the story. I’ve -shadowed many a person in the past as could tell you that, sir, from -behind prison bars.” - - - - -XX - - -PEG MORRISON emulating (through the long summer months) the shining -examples reported in the agricultural papers, found himself half-owner -of a prodigious yield of onions in the early autumn. Day after day -he had toiled amid the long lines of odorous shoots; weeding, when -weeding was a back-breaking task under pitiless summer suns, and early -and late stirring the baked soil—for the onion specialists laid great -stress on intensive cultivation. Viewing the great heaps of shining -bulbs, red, yellow, and silver-hued, spread out in the various barns -to dry, Mr. Morrison felt inclined to break forth into singing, moved -by something of the same exultant spirit which has prompted successful -agriculturists from the days of the first harvests, reaped from the -bosom of the virgin earth. - - “Let everlastin’ thanks be thine, - Fer sech a bright displa-a-y [he chanted] - Es makes a world o’ darkness shine - With beams o’ heavenly da-a-y!” - -Martha Cottle, her maiden countenance coyly shaded by a ruffled pink -sun-bonnet, and bearing the egg-basket ostentatiously in one hand, -paused on the threshold of the barn. - -“Why, Mis-ter Morrison,” she exclaimed, “what a wonderful harvest of -onions! I never saw anything like it.” - -“This ain’t all of ’em, either,” quoth Peg, pausing long enough in his -labors to wipe the beaded perspiration from his forehead. “The only -thing that gits me is what to do with ’em, now ’t I’ve got ’em. The’ -ain’t a quarter of ’em out the ground yit.” - -“You should have thought of that before,” Miss Cottle said wisely. “If -you keep them too long they’ll rot or freeze out here.” - -“They sure will,” agreed Peg, with some anxiety. “I’ve got to do -somethin’ with ’em quick. I’ll bet,” he added, “that I’ve got nigh -onto three thousand bushels—two, anyhow. The’d ’a’ b’en more, only -part of ’em didn’t come up, an’ some was spoiled b’ the dry weather. -I didn’t put in more’n half I intended to, neither. I d’clar I don’t -see how that thar John Closner of Hidalgo, Texas, made out to plant -an’ cultivate thirty-two acres of onions; an’ what in creation he done -with twenty-eight thousan’ eight hunderd bushels when he got ’em raised -beats me. The’s an awful lot o’ onions in a hunderd bushels, seems t’ -me.” - -Miss Cottle reflected, her eyes on Mr. Morrison’s heated countenance. - -“I don’t suppose,” she said, “that you’d care to take any advice from -_me;_ but I know what _I’d_ do, if I’d raised all those onions.” - -“I ain’t proud,” Mr. Morrison confessed handsomely. “I’d take advice -f’om a Leghorn hen, ef it p’intedly hit the nail on the head. Fire -away, ma’am. Ef you’ve got any good idees, it’s reelly wrong t’ keep -’em to yourself, they’re kind o’ scurse these days.” - -He looked whimsically at the lady, whose earnest attention appeared to -be divided pretty evenly between the shining heaps of vegetables and -himself. - -“I don’t believe I shall ever smell onions again without thinking of -you, Peleg,” Miss Cottle observed sentimentally. - -“‘’Tis sweet to be remembered,’” quoted Peg gallantly. - -Miss Cottle sighed deeply; then started as if suddenly frightened by -her own thoughts. - -“What,” she demanded, dropping her basket, which was fortunately empty, -“did I say?” - -“W’y, nothin’ in pertic’lar, ma’am,” replied Peg. “You was speakin’ o’ -disposin’ o’ th’ onions, an’——” - -“Yes; but I called you by your Christian name. I called you—_Peleg!_ -What _must_ you think of me?” - -“Ev’rybody mostly calls me Peleg, er Peg. I ain’t pertic’lar es t’ -that. But how ’bout them onions? You was sayin’——” - -“I was about to inform you that my brother-in-law’s nephew is connected -with the Washington Market in New York City,” said Miss Cottle, with a -long, quivering sigh. “I had thought of writing to him, if you cared to -have me. I should be _glad_ to do _something_—for you, Peleg. There! -I’ve said it again.” - -“It’s mighty kind of you to write t’ your relation. I’m bleeged t’ you, -ma’am. Washin’ton Market, Noo York City, soun’s good t’ me. But d’ye -s’pose the’s folks enough thar t’ eat all them onions?” - -He shook his head doubtfully. - -“The loft t’ the kerridge house is full of ’em, an’ the hay barn -floor’s covered, an’ the’s a lot more in the ground, es I was sayin’.” - -Miss Cottle seated herself on an upturned bushel-basket and gazed -earnestly at the successful grower of onions. - -“I wish to talk to you _seriously_, Mr. Morrison, on a subject -_very near my heart_,” she said. “Will you not sit down on this -box”—indicating a place at her side—“and listen?” - -“I’d ought t’ be gittin’ them onions out th’ groun’,” protested Peg, -with a wary glint in his eye. But he sat down gingerly on the edge of -the box. - -“I’ve been thinking _deeply_ on the situation here on the farm,” -pursued Miss Cottle. “I do not feel that I am doing _right_ to remain -here longer, _under the circumstances_.” - -Peg fumbled the rampant locks behind his left ear, in a fashion he had -when perplexed. - -“Under the circumstances,” he repeated dubiously. “The circumstances is -all right; ain’t they?” - -“I appear to have dropped into the position of hired girl to Barbara -Preston,” pursued the spinster acidly. “She did her own work previous -to my coming; now I do most of it. But that isn’t all; I was engaged as -housekeeper and caretaker for that boy. She was to go away and _stay_ -for five years.” - -“Mebbe she’ll go soon now,” hazarded Peg. He shook his head slowly. -“Kind o’ funny ’bout that business,” he murmured. “I dunno who in -creation bid her in.” - -“I shouldn’t mind that so much,” pursued Miss Cottle, “but——” - -She paused dramatically to allow the full force of her remark to fall -on the unsuspecting man. - -“There’s been considerable talk in the village lately—_about you and -me_. It’s come to me straight.” - -“No!” exclaimed Peg, hastily gaining his legs and feeling for his pipe -in his rear breeches pocket with agitated haste. - -“Don’t you believe it, ma’am.” - -“Can you deny,” intoned Miss Cottle strongly, “that the subject of your -attentions to me was brought up and discussed in Hewett’s grocery store -less than a week ago?” - -“I said it wa’n’t so, ma’am; I told ’em the’ wa’n’t nothin’ in it.” - -“_You_ told them, Peleg Morrison? _You_ denied that you intended to -marry me? How could you?” - -“W’y, ma’am, you know——” - -“You should, at least, have afforded _me_ the opportunity of denying -the report—if it was to be denied.” - -Miss Cottle buried her face in her hands. - -“I supposed,” she went on, in a smothered voice, “that you had more -regard for the sacred feelings of a good woman. I thought, Peleg, -you—cared—a little—for me.” - -“Oh, my! Gosh—goll—durn—what—in—thunder——” - -Miss Cottle’s strong, determined hand shot out and fastened -tentacle-like upon the unfortunate Peleg’s sleeve. - -“I shall leave this very day—_never_ to return,” she said, in a hollow -voice, “unless you and I come to an understanding. I cannot endure it -longer.” - -“O Lord!” exclaimed Peg prayerfully. - -“I _love_ that _dear_ little boy as if he was my _own_,” pursued Miss -Cottle sentimentally, “and I _feel_ that my _duty_ calls me to remain -and care for him; but——” - -“I reelly hope you won’t go on my ’count, ma’am,” faltered Peg, moved -by these protestations and once more mindful of Barbara’s exhortations. - -“_Peleg!_” exclaimed Miss Cottle beatifically, and instantly relaxed -upon his shoulder. - -“Say, ma’am! You know—reelly, I——” - -“I am _so_ happy, Peleg!” gurgled the spinster. - -“Wall, I ain’t; I——” - -“I knew you would understand my feelings.” - -“But I don’t, ma’am. Kindly set down, an’——” - -“I shall remain _now_ and do my duty with a _light heart_. I feel that -the arrangement will be _much better_ for _all_ concerned, and I can -make you _so_ comfortable, Peleg. You need half a dozen new shirts, -and shall I confess it? I have them nearly completed already.” - -Mr. Morrison, looking wildly about for a means of escape, caught sight -of Jimmy running past the door, a brace of puppies frolicking at his -heels. - -“Hello, thar, Cap’n!” he called, “don’t you want t’ step in here an’——” - -“The _dear_ child,” murmured Miss Cottle, wiping her eyes on her apron. -“He shall be the first to share our happiness. I am going to be married -to your kind old friend here, James; aren’t you _glad_, my boy?” - -Jimmy gazed doubtfully at the pair from under puckered brows. - -“Married?” he echoed. “What for?” - -“Say, Cap’n, you’ve struck the nail on the head, es usual!” cried -Peg, regaining his composure with an effort. “I guess the lady don’t -altogether know her own mind. She was kind o’ calc’latin’ on bein’ -married t’ me. But she’s thought better of it b’ now, an’ I’m bearin’ -up es well es I kin under the circumstances. The’ ain’t goin’t’ be no -weddin’. No, sir! She’s changed her mind sence she come in here. D’ye -hear, ma’am? You couldn’t put up with ol’ Peg Morrison. Y’ tried to, -f’om a strict sense o’ duty; but y’ reelly couldn’t do it.” - -“_Peleg!_” exclaimed Miss Cottle sharply. “You must have taken leave of -your senses!” - -“No, ma’am, I ain’t. The Cap’n here’ll bear witness that I said you’d -give me up. That’ll put a stop t’ the talk—ef the’ is any. You c’n tell -’em that. I won’t deny it. I c’n stan’ it.” - -A light as of tardy victory dawned in Miss Cottle’s eyes. - -“You won’t deny that we’ve been engaged to be married?” she said slowly. - -“No, ma’am; you c’n say anythin’ you’ve a mind to. It’s all the same t’ -me, now ’t you’ve give me up. I feel turrible bad—all broke up; but I’m -a-goin’ t’ stan’ it the best I kin. Religion ’ll help some, I guess. It -gene’lly does. I’ll try it, anyhow.” - -“I might reconsider,” observed Miss Cottle, “before”—she added -darkly—“the affair becomes public. I fear the notoriety will be very -hard for you to bear, Peleg.” - -“It will, ma’am,” replied Peg with alacrity; “but I’m goin’ t’ try an’ -endure it.” - -Miss Cottle meditatively stirred the onions with one foot clad -substantially in rusty leather. - -“I shall hold you to the engagement which you have acknowledged,” she -said firmly, “unless——” - -“What? Fer goodness sake don’t keep me on tenter-hooks, ma’am! W’y, -say, you don’t want me! I ain’t fit t’ wipe m’ feet on your door-mat; -you’ve said so lots o’ times; ain’t she, Cap’n? I’m an ornary cuss; -more ornary ’n you hev any idee of; an’ I’m humbly’s a hedge-fence, -’n’—’n’ bad-tempered; m’ disposition’s somethin’ fierce. The Cap’n here -c’n tell you that. W’y, land, I dunno but what I’d be drove to drink, -ef I was t’ git married! I’ll bet I would. An’ what with my t’bacco—y’ -know y’ hate that like pison, an’ m’——” - -“If my brother-in-law’s nephew should make you an offer for these -onions, I feel that I ought to have a share in the proceeds,” said -Miss Cottle, suddenly abandoning sentiment for business. “If we were -to carry out our engagement of marriage, of course I should reasonably -expect to profit by the arrangement.” - -“No, ma’am; you wouldn’t, not whilst I was alive. I’m downright stingy. -That’s another thing I fergot t’ mention. Stingy? W’y, I’m closter -’n the bark t’ a tree. ’Nough sight closter, ’cause the bark’ll give -when the tree grows. But not Peleg Morrison; no, ma’am! I’ll bet you -wouldn’t git ’nough t’ eat, with me fer a pervider. An’ I’ve made up my -mind long ago to leave ev’rythin’ I’ve got t’ the Cap’n here. M’ will’s -all made. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you—a hunderd -dollars cash, ef I sell the onions, ’n ef you——” - -“Make it two hundred, and I’ll agree to let you off. You couldn’t do me -out of my widow’s third, anyway you’d fix it.” - -Peg stared at the determined spinster in silence for a long minute. -Then with a muttered exclamation, he dashed out of the barn and -disappeared. - -Miss Cottle’s eyes sparkled with animosity. - -“If I was to sue him for breach of promise, and I could do it, too, I -guess he——” - -She paused in her meditations to stare wrathfully at the spectacle of -the recalcitrant Peleg returning at full speed, a small, yellow-leaved -book in his hand. - -“Here we be, ma’am!” he exclaimed. “Now we’ll see whar we’re at. I -gene’lly find somethin’ t’ fit the ’casion, an’ I’ll bet I kin this -time.” - -He rapidly turned the pages with a moistened thumb and fingers. - -“‘Receipt fer horse linament.’ No; that won’t do. ‘Foot an’ mouth -disease,’ ‘How t’ git fat; an’ how not t’ git fat,’ ‘Blind staggers, -‘n’ how t’ pervent,’ ‘Jell-cake—— ’” - -“What,” demanded Miss Cottle sharply, “is that book? And what possible -connection does it have with our affairs?” - -Mr. Morrison paused, his thumb in his mouth. - -“W’y, this,” he explained, “is my book of vallable inf’mation. It’s got -ev’rythin’ to do with ’em, ma’am. I ain’t never be’n exactly in this -’ere fix b’fore; but I’ll bet the’s inf’mation in this ’ere book ’at’ll -fit the case all right. You jus’ set down, ma’am, an’ make yourself -comf’table, while——” - -“This is outrageous!” snapped Miss Cottle. - -“Maybe I’d better run and get my book, too,” volunteered Jimmy, who had -been an interested but sadly puzzled spectator of the scene. “P’raps -there’ll be somethin’ vallable in mine.” - -“All right, Cap’n; run ’long,” said Peg briskly. “Now, listen t’ this, -ma’am. ‘The sleepin’ fox ketches no poultry.’ That’s good; but the -trouble is you ’pear to be wide-awake. Hold on; don’t git ’xcited. -Here’s a little inf’mation on the subjec’ o’ fools. I copied it out the -almanac nigh onto twenty years ago, an’ it can’t be beat. ‘’Xperience -keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no other.’ An’ this, ’t I -got out o’ a story book, ‘The’ ain’t nothin’ so becomin’ t’ a fool es a -shet mouth.’ An’ mebbe this here has some bearin’s on the case: ‘Don’t -meddle with these three things: a buzz-saw, a kickin’ mule, an’ a -woman’s ’at’s mad clear through.’ They’re all alike in one pertic’lar——” - -“I shall certainly sue for breach of promise!” announced Miss Cottle, -treading recklessly among the onions on her way to the door. - -“No, ma’am; you won’t,” quoth Peg placidly. “‘Whar the’s be’n no -promise thar c’n be no breach.’ I wrote that down ’bout the year -fifty-nine. I wa’n’t ’s old’s I be now; but I’ve kep’ it in mind pretty -constant. You fix it so ’t I’ll sell them onions at a fair profit ’n’ -I’ll give ye a hunderd dollars. ’N’ you c’n tell your lady friends that -ol’ Peg Morrison’s sech a scalawag ’at you couldn’t hear t’ marryin’ -him, not ef he was the las’ man on earth. An’ that’s the truth. You -couldn’t hear t’ it, an’ you c’n bet I wouldn’t.” - -“I shall leave this house to-day.—_To-day_, Peleg Morrison; do you -_hear_?” - -Peg glanced up from his anxious scrutiny of the pages of accumulated -lore with a look of deep thankfulness. - -“Sho! you don’t say so?” he exclaimed. “Wall, take this ’long with you -t’ med’tate over: ‘A blue-bottle fly makes a turrible sight of loud -buzzin’, but take notice ’at it don’t git anywhar.’ An’ this: ‘Run your -head into a stone wall, ef you feel like doin’ it; but don’t blame the -wall none fer what happens.” - -Jimmy running blithely toward the barn with his book of Vallable -Inf’mation in one hand and his cherished bottle of red ink in the -other, met the irate Miss Cottle on the way. - -“I’m a-going to do _once_ what I’ve been simply _achin’_ to do ever -since I set foot onto this place!” she cried shrilly; and seizing the -child by the shoulder she gave him a violent shaking, concluding with a -hard-handed slap or two over the ear. - -“Take _that_, you little tyke, you! If I’d ’a’ had you in hand for -five years steady, with her gone, I’d ’a’ taken some of the laugh and -smartness out of you! But now I wash my hands of you and her and him!” - -The child, too astonished to cry out, writhed out of the spinster’s -bony grip. - -“I ’spise you,” he sputtered, “you ol’—ol’—Cottle woman! ’n’—’n’—I’ll -put it in my Vallable Inf’mation book ’at you—slapped me when I was -good!” - -Miss Cottle made another dive at him, and was met by a copious shower -of red ink from the loosely corked bottle, which Jimmy discharged at -his assailant with the practised aim of the small boy. Then he took -to his heels, to be received into asylum by Peg Morrison, who was -watching the proceedings from the barn-door. - -“Wall, Cap’n,” he said, “you sure did put that red ink to good use. -Don’t you cry, son; I’ll git ye another bottle twict es big b’fore -sun-down.” - -He chuckled deep within his capacious chest as he smoothed the little -boy’s ruffled curls with his big, horny hand. - -“You an’ me’ll hev to write out a little vallable inf’mation on the -subjec’ o’ females,” he said slowly. “The’s all kinds an’ varieties of -wimmin-folks; ’n’ t’ git ’em all sorted an’ labelled, so ’t ye won’t -git teetotally fooled ’ll take the better part of a lifetime.” - - - - -XXI - - -BARBARA was shut into her chamber looking over her wardrobe with a view -to approaching winter. In the autumn the call would come, Jarvis had -told her. Already the ripening apples glowed like live coals along the -laden orchard boughs, and the brisk September winds scattered drifts of -yellowing leaves about the feet of the early dying locusts below her -windows. Martha Cottle was gone, after a stormy scene in which she had -exacted redress and largesse of the most lavish description. Barbara -had drawn a long breath of relief when the last echo of the spinster’s -strident voice and the last militant thump of her flat-heeled shoes had -died away. - -Peg and Jimmy had openly exulted in the final retreat of the enemy; and -Peg took occasion to exhort his dearly beloved mistress anew concerning -the inscrutable yet invariably benevolent workings of Providence, as -signally evidenced in the hasty departure of Martha Cottle. - -“Ef it hadn’t be’n fer them onions,” he declared, “she’d never have -took a fancy t’ me. ’N’ ef I hadn’t ’a’ heard o’ John Closner of -Hidalgo, Texas, ’s like’s not I’d ’a’ never took t’ raisin’ ’em. Them -onions kinder drored Marthy’s ’tention t’ me—she thinkin’ ’at mebbe I’d -git a heap o’ money fer ’em, ’n’ then be accommodatin’ ’nough t’ die -an’ go t’ heaven immediate. Yes, ma’am, she’d got it all worked out in -her own mind, even t’ widow’s thirds. Then, y’ see, the Cap’n’s red ink -fitted right in t’ the scheme o’ salvation; an’ here we be. I figger it -this way: the Lord hes be’n ’quainted with Marthy Cottle fer a spell -longer’n we hev, an’ _He_ knew she wa’n’t fit t’ b’ left in charge o’ -the Cap’n, t’ say nothin’ o’ things in general.” - -“But what shall I do with Jimmy?” murmured Barbara, wrinkling her -forehead perplexedly. “It won’t be long now before I shall be obliged -to leave him.” - -“Don’t you worry none ’bout that,” advised Peg. “Everythin’s a-comin’ -out all right. I’ll bet a dollar’n a half,” he went on, raising his -voice to a high argumentative pitch, “that the Lord hes got his plans -all made a’ready. W’y, Miss Barb’ry, it’ll do you a heap o’ good t’ -jus’ take notice o’ the way the Lord kind o’ fetches things ’round -in this ’ere world. I’ve got so ’t I don’t put in a minute worryin’. -Daytimes I’m too blamed busy, an’ nights I’m too sleepy ’n’ tired; ’n’ -I’ve learned f’om a long life of experience ’at worryin’ ain’t no kind -o’ use, anyhow. Things is bein’ worked ’round fer you, nigh an’ fur, -an’ the fust thing you know you’re gittin’ ’long all hunky-dory. Mebbe -doin’ the very thing you wanted to do all the while, but thought you -couldn’t, nohow you’d fix it.” - -“I wish I could believe it,” sighed Barbara. - -“All you’ve got t’ do is t’ begin t’ take notice,” urged Peg. “You -don’t have t’ make no speshul effort. Keep yer eyes peeled an’ watch -out. I ain’t worryin’ none ’bout the Cap’n. You bet I ain’t.” - -Barbara was thinking about Peg’s homely and comfortable philosophy as -she laid the last neatly folded garment into the till of her trunk; -and mingled with her dubious musings on the scope and nature of that -mysteriously active power, known in current phrase as “Providence,” and -as commonly reckoned hostile, in the world’s judgment, were thoughts -of David. Not altogether happy were these uppermost reflections in -Barbara’s mind, as evidenced by her brooding eyes and the downward -droop of her red mouth. She loved David (she assured herself) yet -she could not but be conscious of inward reserves, tremors, even -resentments. She constantly caught herself explaining, excusing, -defending him before the bar of that clear-eyed self which had never -yet yielded to his hot kisses and close embraces. She loved him (she -was sure) but she also pitied him, for his evident weaknesses, his -frequent deflections from her own high ideals of manhood, for his -multiplied offenses against her maiden modesty. Almost insensibly she -had been forced into an attitude of watchfulness, guarding herself -against his too ardent and careless approaches, soothing the gloom and -irritation which alternated with not infrequent periods of coldness and -neglect, when he chanced to be feeling sorry for himself, in view of -what he was pleased to regard as the sacrifice of his future. - -David had not acquainted Barbara with the result of his latest -interview with Jarvis. He hated Jarvis, and he took small pains to -conceal the fact; but he jealously hid his unshaken conviction with -regard to the money, which he had made up his mind Jarvis had given to -Barbara. After a little he even concluded that it need not be repaid. - -“Miserly old crab,” he told himself. “It won’t hurt him to let Barbara -have that much out of his pile.” - -Something of this thought colored his words when he discussed the -question with Barbara. - -“You’ll marry me in November, won’t you?” he pleaded, “if the fellow -doesn’t show up before then? We can pay him all right—if we have to.” - -“If we have to?” echoed Barbara, with a straight look at him. “Why do -you say that?” - -“It’s a good bit of money—four thousand dollars. Perhaps -some—er—philanthropical jay gave it to you outright, Barbie. I -shouldn’t be so very much surprised.” - -He laughed at the proud curl of her lips. - -“You wouldn’t care, would you?” he persisted, “if some old duffer had -taken it into his noddle to do a good deed? Once we are married, I -shan’t bother to unearth him, you’d better believe. I’m in favor of -letting sleeping philanthropists lie—eh, Barbie?” - -“We’ll not be married,” Barbara said, in a low voice, “till——” - -He caught her suddenly about the waist and stopped her words with one -of his close kisses. - -“You shan’t say it,” he murmured, his lips still on hers. - -She twisted sharply out of his grasp, her face crimsoning slowly. - -“I wish—you wouldn’t, David.” - -“Wouldn’t what, little wife?” he drawled, reaching for her lazily from -his comfortable seat in the corner of the sofa. - -“I am not your wife,” she said coldly. - -“Pretty near,” he laughed; “too near for such little exhibitions of -prudery.” - -His eyes, vividly blue and sparkling under their long curling lashes, -met hers with a look which she silently resented. - -“I have sold the apples on the trees,” she said presently, seating -herself near the window, under pretence of getting a better light on -her sewing. - -David yawned audibly, and thrust his hands into his trousers pockets. - -“You have—eh?” - -“Yes; and for a good price, as prices go, Peg says.” - -“How much?” he wanted to know. - -She told him, and he shook his head. - -“Do y’ know, that old Morrison is a fool. I mean to get rid of him, -when I take charge here.” - -Barbara was silent. - -“The old chap doesn’t know enough to last him over night,” pursued -David. “I don’t believe you’d ever have gotten into such a hole -financially, if it hadn’t been for his running things into the ground. -What you want is a couple of capable young men about the place. Of -course we’ll keep some decent horses. I’ve bought one already, a -beauty! Come out and look at him, Barbie. Or, say, put on your hat and -I’ll take you for a spin. We’ll take in the county fair, if you say so. -It’s in full blast to-day.” - -She arose and folded her work. - -“Not to-day, David; I’ve bread to bake. But I’ll come out and look at -your horse.” - -“You’re getting so confoundedly difficult, Barbara. I never know how to -take you,” complained David, as they walked, a little apart, along the -gravel path. - -He turned to look at her and was struck afresh by her beauty. During -the long days of the summer that was past, she seemed to have bloomed -into a new and more vivid loveliness. He drew his breath sharply as -his eyes lingered on the rich red of her mouth, the full column of her -round white throat, and the soft undulations of her figure as she moved -slowly under the dazzling light of the September sky. - -“If you weren’t such a tearing beauty,” he said, under his breath, “I -don’t know as I could stand for it long. You’re forever treading on -a fellow’s toes; did you know it, Barbie? Now, I like a woman to be -sweet and—er—yielding.” - -He smiled at the vision of Jennie, the pink-cheeked waitress at the -Barford Eagle, which chose to obtrude itself at the moment. The humble, -almost suppliant look of adoration in her childish blue eyes had -lately, afforded David a vast amount of indolent amusement. - -“A woman,” he went on, didactically, “ought not to be always thinking -of herself.” - -“I know that, David,” Barbara said meekly. “I try not to. But——” - -“That’s just it!” he broke in quickly; “there’s always a ‘but’ in your -mind and in your attitude towards me, and always has been. You needn’t -deny it,” he added, openly complacent, in view of his own cleverness. -“I know women.” - -The girl looked at him in silence, a mutinous question behind her -closed lips. - -David smiled down at her brilliantly, his eyes, his tawny hair, his -white teeth, and his ruddy color suggesting the magnificent youth and -virility of a pagan deity, newly alighted on the common earth. - -“The fact is, Barbara,” he went on confidently, “you’ve lived here so -long practically alone that you’re a bit spoiled. What you need is to -give up trying to control everything and everybody and just be a sweet -little wife. Didn’t you know that?” - -Her eyes drooped under the blue fire of his gaze. David laughed aloud. - -“I’ll make you happy,” he said, possessing himself of her hand. “You -won’t know yourself a year from now, little girl. All this worry will -be over; and I’m never going to allow you to bother your dear little -head again over farm-products and such things as cows, pigs, and -chickens. I mean to give up a lot of that sort of farming. It doesn’t -pay, and it’s a whole lot of useless bother and expense. There! what do -you think of my horse? Isn’t he a beauty? Look at his head and eyes, -will you? and the build and color of him? There’s blood for you, and I -tell you he’s a hummer on the road!” - -Barbara passed a knowing little hand over the satin neck, and the horse -turned his large, full, intelligent eyes upon her with a whinny of -welcome. - -“He likes you, Barbie; first thing. Perhaps you can drive him after -a while. But just now he’s like a certain little woman I know, a bit -restive and needing a strong hand to guide and control. You don’t mind -my seeing it so clearly, do you, dear?” - -Barbara threw back her head and looked at him from under lowered lashes. - -“I mind your saying it,” she said. “And I may as well tell you—now—that -I don’t intend to discharge Peg; and I must always have a voice in the -management of the farm. It is Jimmy’s farm, you know.” - -“I’ve heard you say so before,” he said sulkily. “But why isn’t half of -it yours, I’d like to know?” - -“Because Jimmy is the last Preston, and father wanted it so. I shall -have all that comes off of it till Jimmy is of age. We——” - -She hesitated, with a doubtful look at him. “There is other good land -near. We shall, perhaps, be able to acquire it; start fresh orchards, -and——” - -“Perhaps—perhaps!” he echoed irritably. “I’ll tell you straight it’s -all nonsense. Under the law you’re entitled to half. Ask old Jarvis, if -you don’t believe me.” - -He watched the quick color rise in Barbara’s face, with a low laugh of -arrogant amusement. - -“Jarvis is a curious old duffer,” he added, lazily stroking the smooth -shoulder of his horse. “But he knows rather better than to tackle me on -certain subjects.” - -His eyes were fastened on Barbara, narrowly watching her. - -“He’s tried it once or twice; but I called his bluff each time. He -hasn’t been here lately, has he?” - -“No,” said Barbara faintly. - -“Well, he’d best keep his distance; that’s all.” - -He turned quickly at sound of a boyish whoop from behind. - -“Oh, hello, Jimmy!” he said carelessly. “How’s your majesty’s highness -to-day?” - -“I’m pretty well, ’xcept that bof my front teef are loose,” replied the -little boy seriously. “I can’t eat corn or apples, ’cept wiv my side -teef.” - -“Don’t you think it’s about time you taught that boy to speak the -English language, Barbara? It’s _teeth_ and _with_, my boy. Don’t let -me hear you make that babyish blunder again.” - -The child hung his head, his face flushing to a shamed scarlet under -his thatch of yellow hair. - -“I’m going to try,” he said manfully. - -“Want to take a ride with me, old man?” asked David. “Your sister says -she can’t.” - -Jimmy looked up eagerly into Barbara’s face for the coveted permission. - -“I’m going to drive over to the fair,” pursued David. “I’d like to take -my best girl along pretty well; but you’ll do, Jimmy.” - -Barbara hesitated, her eyes averted. - -“Of course, if you’re afraid to trust him with me——” mocked David. -“I’ve a tolerably fast horse here, and I’m supposed to be a reckless——” - -“It isn’t that,” she interrupted hurriedly. “He may go, if he’d like -to.” - -Jimmy burst into a shout of joy. - -“I guess I’d better brush my hair,” he exulted, “and put on my best -clo’es! Shall I, Barbara?” - -“You’re well enough as you are,” David said peremptorily. “Jump in, -boy, and we’ll be off!” - -She stood watching them as they drove away, the little boy’s yellow -hair blowing about his rosy face. - -“Good-bye, Barbara!” he shouted. “We’re going awful fast!” - -David’s attention seemed centred upon his horse. He did not once look -at the girl, as she waved her hand in token of a cheerful good-bye. - - - - -XXII - - -DAVID was quite his expansive, good-humored self again by the time he -and Jimmy reached the fair-grounds. He joked with the little boy about -his capacity for pink lemonade and peanuts as he drove his spirited -young horse carefully into the crowded enclosure; and Jimmy, all eager -and glowing with joyous anticipation, gazed with round eyes at the -stirring scene. Everywhere flags fluttered merrily in the wind, and the -crash and blare of band-music mingled with the shouts of vendors, the -trampling of feet, and the hum of many voices. - -“Hello, Dave! Goin’ t’ trot that nag o’ yourn?” called a voice from -among the crowd of men and boys lined up along the race-track. - -“Oh, hello, Bud Hawley! That you?” responded Dave, pulling in his -horse. “Why, no; I hadn’t thought of it. It’s too late to enter; isn’t -it?” - -The Barford liveryman, tipping a solemn wink at the men near him, -slowly advanced and stood, his hat pulled low over his eyes, examining -David’s horse. He passed an experienced hand over his withers, felt -his hock-joints, lifted his feet, and stared critically at the frogs -and the setting of his shoes. Then he sauntered around in front and -looked the animal full in the face, his cautious hand still feeling, -caressing, sliding from neck to powerful shoulder, from shoulder to -slender foreleg. - -“Say, Dave,” he drawled at length, “that ain’t a half bad horse. ’F I -was you, I’d enter him. Like ’s not you’d pull off some money; mebbe -enough t’ buy a new buggy. The’s a free-fer-all comin’ off ’bout -four-thirty. I’ll see t’ enterin’ him fer you, if you say so. ’N’ I -dunno but what I’d back him t’ the extent of a few dollars. What d’ you -say t’ lettin’ me drive him, ’n’ go shares on possible winnin’s?” - -David laughed arrogantly. - -“I’d say ’no’ to that last,” he said. “I’ll drive him myself, if I -enter him at all. Where’s the office?” - -Mr. Hawley thrust his hands deep into his trousers pockets, where he -thoughtfully jingled some loose silver. - -“Better let me handle the ribbons,” he advised. “I c’n git the paces -out o’ him without ha’f killin’ him, ’n’ that’s more’n some folks c’n -do. I ain’t anxious, though, ’s fur’s that’s concerned. But you’d have -the fun o’ lookin’ on from the grand stand.” - -“There’s something in that,” admitted David. - -“If y’ never drove in a race,” pursued Mr. Hawley, “y’ don’t want t’ -begin t’-day. There’ll sure be a ruck o’ horses in that free-fer-all.” - -David glanced over the rail at the spectacle of half a dozen horses -hitched to light sulkies and driven at a furious rate of speed, which -at that moment dashed past. - -“Them’s the two-year-olds,” vouchsafed Mr. Hawley. “I ain’t speshully -int’rested in seein’ ’em go it. Don’t b’lieve in racin’ colts m’self. -It’s too much like givin’ a man’s work t’ a boy. Breaks ’em down, like -es not, b’fore they’ve had a fair chance.” - -He glanced kindly at Jimmy. - -“Well, son,” he went on, “how d’ you like the fair?” - -“I like it,” Jimmy said shyly. “I like the music an’ the horses an’ the -flags ’n’—’n’ everythin’.” - -“Want to get out, old man, and take in the side-shows?” asked David. - -“What are side-shows?” Jimmy demanded guilelessly. - -Mr. Hawley laughed heartily. - -“A little bit of everythin’,” he answered. “The’s the agercult’ral -exhibit—I seen some o’ your apples an’ a pile o’ them onions Peg -Morrison’s be’n raisin’ in there. An’ there’s the woman’s tent, with -the bigges’ lot o’ patchwork an’ jell’-cake an’ canned fruit y’ ever -saw. I jus’ come f’om there. Y’ c’n hitch over yonder, if y’ wan’ to, -Dave.” - -David’s eyes had been roaming somewhat impatiently over the gay scene. -He thrust his hand into his pocket. - -“See here, boy,” he said to Jimmy, “you take this small change and go -around to suit yourself. I don’t care anything about all that sort of -thing. But you can take it in as long as you’ve a mind to.” - -“What! All b’ my lone?” asked Jimmy, a frightened look in his brown -eyes. “I guess I’d rather stay wiv you, David.” - -“Nonsense!” said David sternly. “You’re not a baby, are you? Can’t you -walk around and look at pigs and chickens and patchwork quilts without -a guardian? You’ve got to quit being such a molly-coddle, my boy, and -we’ll begin right now. Come! jump out, and I’ll look you up after a -while. You couldn’t get lost, if you tried. Run along now and have a -good time.” - -“Her brother, ain’t it?” inquired Mr. Hawley, as David lifted the child -to the ground. - -“Get in, won’t you?” David said, ignoring the question. “We’ll look -into that race proposition. I don’t know but what I’ll go in for it. I -wouldn’t mind making a little money on the side.” - -Mr. Hawley accepted the invitation with a backward glance at Jimmy, who -stood watching them forlornly, his rosy mouth half open, the silver -pieces tightly clutched in one moist little hand. - -“Kind o’ small, ain’t he, to be goin’ ’round by himself in a place like -this?” he ventured. “I’ll bet his sister wouldn’t like it over an’ -’bove.” - -“He’s been pretty well spoiled,” David said sharply. “I intend to -make a man of him, and this is as good a way to begin as any. There’s -nothing to hurt him around here.” - -“You may ’xperience some trouble in locatin’ him after a spell,” opined -Mr. Hawley, shaking his head. “I remember m’ wife let me bring one o’ -our boys t’ the fair once, a number o’ years ago, when Lansing, our -oldest boy, was ’bout five. I was lookin’ at the live-stock, an’ Lance, -he got kind o’ tuckered out, an’ I sez to him——” - -“Oh, cut out the details,” David interrupted. “You didn’t lose the kid -for good, did you?” - -“No; I got him after a while; but it pretty near scared the life out o’ -me an’ him both, I remember; ’n’ m’ wife——” - -“Come,” said David, with some impatience, “and we’ll enter the horse.” - -He turned and stared sharply at the other man. - -“You ought to know what you’re talking about, Hawley, when you say my -horse stands a good show to win. Suppose I change my mind and allow you -to drive him, and you let him be beaten. What then?” - -The liveryman shrugged his shoulders. - -“You ain’t no sport, Dave; it’s easy t’ see that,” he drawled. “If I -drive your horse, I’ll do my best, o’ course. I dunno what sort o’ -horses ’ll be entered in that free-fer-all. But judgin’ from past -seasons and what I seen outside in the way o’ horseflesh, I sh’d say——” - -He paused and winked solemnly at David. - -“Try me an’ see,” he advised. “‘F I lose, I won’t sen’ you no bill fer -las’ month’s liv’ry. An’ it ’u’d naturally be a stiff one.” - -“All right,” said David. “Done! and we’ll have a drink on it.” - -“Lemonade fer mine, ’f I’m a-goin’ t’ drive,” said Mr. Hawley. - -But David drank something stronger. He felt the need of it, he said. - -Later, having settled the preliminaries of the race, David sauntered -forth with a hazy notion of looking up Jimmy and taking him up to the -grand stand. To this end he walked slowly through the agricultural -“pavilion,” with its exhibits of mammoth vegetables and pyramids of -red, green, and russet fruit; but nowhere did he catch a glimpse of -Jimmy’s yellow head topped with its scarlet tam. There was a crowd -of women in the next place of exhibition, where the pine and canvas -walls were covered with quilts of wonderful and complicated design, -varied with areas of painted tapestries, home-made lace, worsted and -crochet work; while the narrow shelves below were occupied with brown -loaves, raised biscuit, and frosted cakes, interspersed with jellies of -brilliant hues and luscious fruits preserved in lucent syrups. There -were many children here, clinging to maternal hands and skirts; but no -Jimmy. - -“Little nuisance,” muttered David irritably. “He ought to have stayed -where I told him to.” - -He was elbowing his way through a group of women engaged in an excited -discussion concerning the merits of two rival lace counterpanes, when a -small figure placed itself directly in his path. - -He stopped short and looked down into the babyish blue eyes uplifted -timidly to his. - -“Why, hello, Jennie!” he said, smiling. “Where did you come from?” - -The girl was very becomingly dressed in dark-blue serge, the jacket -thrown jauntily wide, revealing a waist of cheap white lace, which -in its turn permitted glimpses of the pink skin and rounded contours -beneath. A hat of dark-blue straw, wreathed with small pink roses, -rested coquettishly on her light-brown curly hair. At the moment of -meeting David thus unexpectedly, the light of youth and love shone -vividly over the girl’s insignificant face and figure, irradiating them -into a beauty almost noble. - -David could hardly help noticing the half infantile, wholly adorable -curve of her young brows and the clear blue light of the eyes beneath. -Then his curious eyes slowly swept the soft oval of pink cheek and the -rosy mouth, parted a little to ease the tumultuous heart-beats which -shook the transparent stuff at her throat. - -“I didn’t know as you’d want to speak to me, Mr. Whitcomb,” murmured -the girl. - -Her eyes wandered uncertainly past him into the crowd. - -“I s’pose,” she added, thrusting out her pink lips in a pout, “that -_she’s_ here somewheres.” - -“No,” laughed David. “‘She’ doesn’t happen to be along to-day.” - -A wayward impulse prompted his next words. - -“What do you think, Jennie? I asked her and she wouldn’t come with me.” - -“Wouldn’t come—with you?” - -The girl’s voice held wonder, incredulity, longing. Her eyes said more. - -“You wouldn’t treat me that way, would you, Jennie?” - -The girl looked down, an unsuspected delicacy sealing her lips. - -David looked at the pretty shadowy circle of the long lashes on the -smooth pink cheek. - -“You wouldn’t; now, would you, Jennie?” he persisted. - -The girl glanced at him sidewise, and tossed her head. - -“What do you want t’ know for?” she demanded. “If you don’t like the -way she treats you, you c’n tell her so, can’t you?” - -David bit his lip. - -“Don’t you want some ice cream, Jennie?” he asked. - -The girl hesitated. - -“I came t’ the fair with Gus Bamber,” she said. “An’ what do you think, -we hadn’t no more’n got here when Sutton got after Gus t’ help him in -the refreshment booth. Said the other fellow he’d hired wasn’t no good -at mixin’ drinks; an’ so nothin’ would do but he must have Gus t’ help. -Both of us was awful mad; but we didn’t das’ say so to old Sutton. He’s -somethin’ fierce if you don’t do ’xactly as he says.” - -“Who’s Gus?” asked David. - -“Well, that’s pretty good!” giggled the girl. “I guess you’d ought -t’ know Gus Bamber b’ this time. He waits on you often enough at the -Eagle.” - -“Oh, you mean Sutton’s barkeep—Gus; yes, that’s so. I didn’t know his -name was Bamber, though.” - -“It is,” the girl said. “Augustus Bamber. I think it’s a real nice -name, too. But I don’t like it ’s well’s I do yours.” - -“That’s kind of you,” drawled David. “_Mrs._ Augustus Bamber sounds -pretty well, though—eh, Jennie?” - -The girl moved her shoulders gently. - -“Not on your life!” she said positively. “‘N’ I’ve told him so more’n -fifty times already, I guess.” - -She lifted her eyes to David’s with innocent coquetry. - -“I don’t b’lieve in gettin’ married t’ anybody ’nless you’re awfully in -love with ’em. That’s what I keep tellin’ Gus, but he says——” - -“Are you coming with me to get that ice cream?” asked David, stifling a -yawn. - -“I dunno whether I’ve got the nerve,” murmured the girl. “The ice -cream’s in the same booth where Gus is; it’s right acrost from where -Sutton’s got his concession. ’F he should see me—with you——” - -“What do you suppose he’d do about it?” inquired David. “Gus—er—went -off and left you, didn’t he?” - -He paused to laugh sourly; then added, “And my girl wouldn’t come with -me; so I guess it’s up to us to do the best we can to have a good time, -Jennie. If you’ll come along with me, we’ll take in the whole darned -show.” - -“If you think it would be all right, Mr. Whitcomb.” - -“Why shouldn’t it be all right, I’d like to know?” - -“I don’t know, only——” - -“Only what? Out with it, little girl.” - -“I—I’m kind of scared of you, Mr. Whitcomb,” faltered the girl. -“You—you’re so—tall—’n’—’n’ handsome, ’n’ you——” - -David laughed outright. The girl’s eyes and voice conveyed so delicious -a flattery that he could not help the tenderness that crept into his -words. - -“Why, you dear little goose, you,” he said in her ear, “I won’t hurt -you, and nobody else shall, either, when I’m around. Come, we’ll go and -eat that ice cream, right where Augustus Bamber, Esquire, can see us; -then we’ll take in the other attractions. Have you seen anything yet?” - -“Only the cake an’ jell’ an’ canned peaches an’ stuff, an’ those stupid -ol’ quilts an’ things,” said the girl, with spirit. “Those women are -all ’s mad as wet hens because the quilt with red stars got the blue -ribbon over the one with yellow moons on it, an’ they pretty near come -to a scrap over those two big fruitcakes. One of ’em’s got white roses -made out o’ tissue paper round the edge, an’ the other’s got a bride -on top made out o’ sugar, with a real veil an’ bouquet. It’s awful -cute.” - -“A bride made out of sugar must be pretty sweet,” said David, smacking -his lips and smiling down into the pretty, foolish face at his side. -“But I know somebody that’ll be a heap sweeter—when she’s a bride.” - -“Oh, Mis-ter Whitcomb!” breathed the girl, the pink brightening in her -round cheeks. “But, of course, you meant—her. She’s awful good-lookin’.” - -“No; I didn’t mean—her,” said David, laughing outright. “I meant you, -Jennie.” - -The girl looked down and bit her lips in pretty confusion. Then she -sighed. - -“I shan’t never be a bride, I guess,” she said mournfully. - -“Why not? I’d like to know.” - -“Because—I—— If we’re goin’ out o’ here, I guess we’d better be movin’. -Folks is lookin’ at us.” - -“I have no objections,” David said coolly. “Let ’em look.” - -“It was that insurance man that’s stayin’ t’ the Eagle,” whispered the -girl. “I don’t like him a bit. He was right behind us; but he’s over -there now, lookin’ at those sofa-pillows.” - -“You mean Todd? Oh, Todd’s all right. He’s a good fellow.” - -“I don’t like him snoopin’ ’round, just the same. He’s got eyes like a -gimblet; ’n’ he looks at you like he was tryin’ t’ find out what you -had fer breakfas’. Gus says he’s a tight-wad, too. He don’t spen’ -nothin’ at the bar, ’xcept you or somebody treats him.” - -“He’s welcome to all he gets out of me,” drawled David. “Do you like -your ice cream mixed or straight, Jennie?” - -“I guess maybe you’ll think I’m kind o’ funny, but I like those little -round pancakes, folded around like a cornucopia with v’nilla ice cream -inside. They’re awful good.” - -“All right; we’ll partake of cornucopias, to begin with. Perhaps we’ll -work around to the other kinds after the races.” - -“Oh, are there goin’ to be races?” asked Jennie, nibbling prettily at -the edges of the cone sparsely filled with vanilla ice cream, which the -scarlet-faced man who presided over the gasoline stove and its adjacent -can of cold stuff, handed her with a wipe of his sticky fingers on a -long-suffering apron-front. - -“Get onto Gus, will you?” she whispered, as she bridled, laughed, -blushed, and giggled by turns, under the baleful light of Mr. Bamber’s -pale-green eyes. “I ’xpect he’ll kill me jus’ the minute he gets a -chance. Gus hates you; did you know it, Mr. Whitcomb?” - -“Hates me? Why should he? I’m sure I’ve given the fellow tips enough,” -David said arrogantly. - -All the light went out of the girl’s blue eyes. - -“You’ve given me ‘tips,’ as you call them, too,” she said soberly. “Do -you want to know what I’ve done with ’em? I jus’ hated to take money -from you; but I didn’t know what else t’ do; so I——” - -“Well, what did you do with the munificent sums I’ve bestowed on you -from time to time?” inquired David good-humoredly. “I’d really like to -know.” - -The girl had finished her ice cream, leathery receptacle and all. She -began pulling on her white cotton gloves. - -“Let’s go outside, where Gus can’t see us, an’ I’ll show you,” she -whispered. - -“We’ll go up to the grand stand,” David proposed. “One of my horses -is going to race,” he added magnificently, “and you shall bet on him. -Would you like to? I’ll pay, of course, if you lose.” - -“Isn’t betting kind o’ wicked?” asked the girl innocently. “The -Meth’dist minister said it was. Me an’ Gus went t’ church an’ heard a -sermon las’ Sunday night.” - -“Nothing would be wicked for you,” decided David, “except to throw -yourself away on that greasy little cad, Bamber. Promise me you won’t, -Jennie. You’re about ten times too pretty and good for such a chap.” - -“I told you I wasn’t goin’ t’ marry him b’fore,” murmured the girl. -“I—I couldn’t.” - -She pulled off her white cotton glove and spread her short-fingered, -blunt little hand for his inspection. - -“There!” she whispered. “I didn’t never ’xpect you’d see it. But that’s -what I’ve bought with all the money you’ve give me for makin’ your -toast the way you like it an’ your coffee an’ all. I’m goin’ t’ keep it -always, t’ remember you by.” - -David glanced carelessly at the pink little hand, with its -close-clipped, shallow nails and stubbed fingertips. - -“Do you mean—that?” he asked, touching the trumpery little ring with -its circle of blue stones, which glittered speciously on the third -finger. - -“Yes,” breathed the girl. “You—you ain’t—mad, are you? I—wanted -somethin’ t’ keep always, t’ put me in mind o’ you, when—I can’t do -things f’r you no more; I love t’ do things f’r you, an’ I don’t s’pose -I’ll always have the chance, after—after she——” - -David felt a sudden moisture in his eyes. There was something touching, -lovely, pathetic about this innocent, unasking love. He felt a little -proud of his own understanding of it. Almost unavoidably, too, there -came to his remembrance Barbara’s proud refusal to wear the costly ring -he had urged upon her acceptance. - -“I am not angry, dear little girl,” he said gently, “But I wish the -keepsake was better, more worth while.” - -“One of the stones did come out,” confessed the girl; “but I had it put -back in, ’n’ I’m only goin’ t’ wear it f’r best.” - -David’s hand was fumbling in his pocket. - -“I bought a ring for—a certain young lady,” he said bitterly, “and she -didn’t like it—or me—well enough to wear it. I wonder what you’d think -of a ring like that?” - -He thrust the white velvet case into her hands with a carelessly -magnificent gesture of disdain. - -“Do you mean for me to—to look at it?” asked the girl uncertainly. - -“Yes, of course; look at it and tell me what you think about it.” - -The girl’s face was a study as the sunshine leaped in a burst of -dazzling colors from the imbedded gem. - -“Oh!” she cried passionately. “_Oh—my!_” - -“Do you like it?” asked David morosely. “Do you think it’s pretty -enough for a girl to wear?” - -“Pretty enough? Oh—I——” - -She snapped the case shut. - -“Take it, please. I—I’m sorry you showed it to me.” - -“Why?” - -“Because—I shan’t like this—this cheap thing any more. It—isn’t fit to -remember you by. It—isn’t like you, the same’s this one is.” - -His face flushed. He bent toward her eagerly. - -“Give me the little blue ring, Jennie; I’d like to keep it—just to -remind me that there is a woman in the world who loved to do things for -me—— That’s what you said, and I shan’t forget it in a hurry.” - -She pulled the ring from her hand with a listless gesture. - -“You c’n have it, if you want it,” she said. - -She swallowed hard, her childish lips trembling piteously. - -“I shan’t care ’bout it no more.” - -“Try the other one on and see if it fits,” said David. “I’ve been -carrying it about in my pocket for a couple of months. She wouldn’t -have it, and I swore I wouldn’t offer it to her again. Take it, and -wear it—or sell it; I don’t care what you do with it.” - -The girl trembled, her round blue eyes on his face. - -“Honest and truly, do you mean it?” she whispered. “I’m almost afraid; -it—it’s so—lovely!” - -“Put it on,” ordered David, frowning. - -He was thinking confusedly of Barbara, of her coldness, her -capriciousness, her bad temper, as he chose to term her rather pitiful -attempts to curb his own lawlessness. It suddenly appeared to David -that he had been abused, made light of, almost insulted, of late. What -other construction could be put upon Barbara’s behavior that very -afternoon? He still loved her, of course; but her treatment of him -certainly merited this tardy reprisal. - -“You ain’t had a scrap with her, have you?” Jennie asked timidly, -“an’—broke off th’ engagement?” - -“Well, not exactly,” he muttered, with a frown. - -“Anyway, don’t—show her that ring o’ mine, please. I’m ’fraid—she’d -laugh.” - -“She won’t see it, ever. Don’t worry about that. And she won’t set eyes -on that diamond again in a hurry. Take good care of it, little girl. -It’s good for a house and lot—that ring.” - -“Is it a real di’mon’?” - -“Of course, goosie; you didn’t suppose I’d buy an imitation, did you? I -guess not. It’s yours to do what you like with. But——” - -He stared dubiously into her pretty, flushed face. “Keep it to yourself -that I gave it to you, will you?” - -“I—won’t tell,” she faltered. “I’ll do jus’ as you say, Mr. Whitcomb.” - -“All right. Now you sit down here, and I’ll be back in a few minutes. -I’ve got to look around a bit, and put some money on my horse. I’ll buy -some candy, too, while I’m gone.” - -The girl sat, where he had left her, in a daze of happiness. All about -her the seats of the grand stand were filling with people for the -afternoon races; but she did not see them, nor the arid stretch of the -race-course, around which were circling various experimental trotters -under the guidance of hunched men in two-wheeled vehicles. The subdued -light of the shaded place brought out new and more vivid flashes of -color in the marvellous white stone on her little pink hand—scarlet -and green and blue. Jennie twisted it slowly on her finger, her eyes -riveted upon its alien splendors. - -“To think she didn’t like it!” she whispered to herself. - -“Good-afternoon, Miss Jennie,” murmured a carefully modulated voice at -her side. She turned with a start to gaze into Mr. Todd’s smiling face. - -“Goodness!” exclaimed the girl petulantly. “How you made me jump!” - -“You were thinking about that new ring of yours, I suppose,” said Mr. -Todd, blinking pleasantly. - -“Who told you I had a new ring, I’d like to know?” the girl demanded -coldly. - -“I don’t have to be told,” Mr. Todd said facetiously. “Say, but it’s -handsome! I shouldn’t wonder if it cost as much as two hundred and -fifty.” - -“Not dollars?” exclaimed the girl, in an awestruck voice. - -“Sure! He must have thought a lot of you to give you that—eh, Miss -Jennie?” - -The girl did not answer. She was putting on her gloves with an air of -offended dignity. - -“I guess it ain’t any of your affairs,” she said, her lips trembling, -“if I’ve got a friend or two.” - -“Don’t sit on me too hard,” begged Mr. Todd. “I didn’t mean anything -out of the way. I couldn’t help noticing the sparkler on your hand. -Most anybody would. Get it to-day?” - -“Yes, I did,” admitted the girl. “But you don’t need t’ ask me who give -it t’ me, for I shan’t tell; so there!” - -“I wasn’t going to ask,” asserted Mr. Todd truthfully. -“I—er—congratulate you, though. You’ll let me do that, won’t you?” - -The girl hunched the shoulder nearest him and eyed him sulkily over its -slender defence. - -“I ain’t engaged; if that’s what you mean.” - -“Not engaged—with that ring? Come, you’re fooling!” - -“It does look some like an engagement ring,” said the girl, stealthily -feeling her new treasure, “but it—it’s only an offerin’ o’ friendship. -He—he’s got another girl. But I guess he don’t care s’ awful much ’bout -her. She’s good-lookin’; but she don’t treat him right, an’ that makes -him mad. I don’t blame him, neither.” - -“Do I know the party?” inquired Mr. Todd, affecting a consuming -curiosity. - -“I ain’t a-goin’ t’ say, whether you do, er don’t,” and the girl tossed -her head. “I wisht you’d let me alone.” - -“W’y, I ain’t sayin’ anything out the way. What’s your hurry to get rid -of me, I’d like to know?” - -The girl moistened her red lips, with an anxious glance at the stair. - -“The’s a party bought that seat you’re in. I got t’ save it fer him.” - -“That’s all right, too,” said Mr. Todd affably. “I’ll get up an’ -vamoose the minute you tell me he’s coming.” - -“He’s cornin’ now,” said the girl anxiously. “He won’t like it, if he -sees me talkin’ with you.” - -Mr. Todd arose. - -“He must be a great chap,” he said carelessly. “Well, so long. Hope -you’ll treat him better’n you have me.” - -Mr. Todd did not turn around to glimpse David seating himself in the -vacant place at the girl’s side. He was whistling softly to himself as -he wandered idly about the enclosure below where the last bets were -being registered. The interest in the free-for-all race appeared to be -rather languid; but he looked over the entries carefully; then fell -into a desultory conversation regarding the event with the gate-keeper. - -“‘Tain’t a-goin’ to be much of a race; never is,” opined that -individual sagely. “The’s a lot o’ Rubes that like to speed their -horses ’round the course; but it’s gen’ally a walkover fer one hoss. -Bud Hawley’s drivin’ the winner t’-day.” - -“No, he ain’t,” interrupted a raucous voice from the rear. “Bud -Hawley’s a-goin’ t’ git left this time.” - -“That so?” queried Mr. Todd. “Who’s goin’ to win?” - -“I be,” said the owner of the voice. “Say, I’ve seen you somewheres -b’fore, ain’t I?” - -“W’y, yes,” agreed Mr. Todd cordially. “But your name’s gone from me -just now. Let me see——” - -“I know now who you be,” put in the farmer. “You’re the fellow ’at come -int’ Hewett’s grocery a spell back one day when I was there. My name’s -Plumb—Hiram Plumb.” - -“And your horse is going to win—eh, Mr. Plumb?” - -“Yas, sir. He’ll win, hands down. You’ll see!” - -“Pretty tough on Whitcomb, if he does,” laughed the gateman. “He’s put -quite a wad on his own horse.” - -“He’s goin’ t’ part with his wad all right,” said the farmer, wagging -his head. “I ain’t a bettin’ man m’self; but I’m willin’ t’ put down -fi’ dollars on it.” - -“I take you,” said Mr. Todd, with an agreeable smile. - -This small matter being adjusted, the genial insurance man walked -quietly away through the crowd, humming a little tune to himself. -Among the vehicles drawn up inside the enclosure roped off for teams, -he caught sight of Jarvis, sitting alone, in his usual red-wheeled -sidebar. Mr. Todd made his way among the crowd and presently paused at -Jarvis’s side. - -“Our young friend is here to-day,” he observed, in a low voice. - -“Yes, I saw him come in with the boy,” Jarvis replied. - -“Since then he appears to have got rid of the boy and acquired a girl.” - -“Where is the boy?” demanded Jarvis sharply. - -Mr. Todd shook his head. - -“I wasn’t looking after the boy,” he reminded his patron. - -“What’s Whitcomb up to?” asked Jarvis after a silence. - -His face was gray and set and his weary eyes wandered impatiently over -the dusty race-track. - -“Horse-racing, for one thing,” replied the detective. “He’s backing his -own horse heavily; but there’s more doing than that. Do you want to -hear it now?” - -“No,” said Jarvis, “not here.” - -Mr. Todd gathered his lips into a noiseless whistle. - -“Our young friend,” he said slowly, “has appropriated about all the -rope he needs. All you’ve got to do now is to let him alone.” - - - - -XXIII - - -IT was well on toward evening before Barbara found herself watching -with strained attention for the return of David. Late in the afternoon -she had been visited with tardy contrition, which concerned itself more -particularly with the coldness of her refusal to accompany him. For -the moment she refused to go deeper, and consoled herself with careful -preparation for supper. She would urge David to stay, she told herself; -he would be hungry after the long drive. But at twilight the delicate -biscuit and boiled ham, that David loved, and the yellow squares of -sponge cake and the rich home-made preserves, which he had approved, -were all ready. The small round table was set daintily for three, with -shining silver and napery and the long-cherished pink china. - -The sun had set cold and still after a brilliant day of high winds -and flying clouds, and the big yellow moon slowly shouldering itself -from behind the dark woods looked in at her festal preparations like -an inquisitive face. Barbara shivered a little in her loneliness; -then thinking still of the belated merry-makers, she fetched firewood -and kindled a blaze on the hearth. The leaping light flickered over -the waiting table and cast warm, life-like reflections on the dim old -portraits on the wall. - -They would surely come soon, she concluded, with a glance at the -tall clock in the corner. But this faithful monitor of dead and -gone generations of Prestons presently became quite intolerable, so -loudly did it proclaim the lagging minutes. There seemed to be vague -stirrings, too, in the shadows, like whispers sunk below the rim of -sound. The painted eyes of father and grandfather, preternaturally wise -in their perpetual mute observance, appeared to be pitying her young -ignorance. They drove her forth at length into the chill of the autumn -moonlight. Down by the stone gateway she could see the empty road -winding away into obscurity on either hand, like a gray ribbon unbound -and flung carelessly across the valley. A faint wind shook gusts of -fragrance from the cone-laden pines, and away off among the orchards a -little brown owl gurgled a mocking defiance to the moon. - -She would have said, perhaps, that she was worried because David had -not brought Jimmy home early, as he had promised. The child would -be cold, hungry, tired; his little jacket was too thin; his limbs -unprotected; but beneath these quasi-maternal misgivings lurked a -keener anxiety, a more consuming fear. This it was that held her there, -listening, listening—her whole being an insistent question, which would -not be denied. This clamorous doubt had long been slowly growing in the -mind which lies directly beneath consciousness, stirring now and again, -like a child unborn, to lapse once more into quiescence. To-night, -grown big and lusty, it thrust itself upon her, a full-grown conviction. - -She could have told no one, least of all herself, how long she remained -alone in the wan darkness, fighting her losing battle; but her hair -and clothing were wet with frosty dew when at last she heard in the -far distance the unbroken beat of hoofs. It was a fast horse, driven -at furious speed; yet long before the vehicle drew up with a muttered -exclamation from its occupant, at sight of her standing there in the -moonlight, she knew it was not David. - -“I’ve got the boy here, and he’s all right,” Jarvis said. “Get in and -I’ll—explain.” - -But he said nothing further in the brief interval that elapsed before -they reached the house. Barbara had drawn the sleeping child into her -arms, and held him jealously close to her numbed breast. She felt -strangely still, unnaturally composed, as Jarvis took the child from -her and helped her to alight. - -“I’m coming in,” he said. “I want to tell you how it happened that I am -bringing him home.” - -“Is David——?” she managed to articulate. - -“Oh, nothing has happened to Whitcomb—no accident, I mean. Go in; -you’re chilled through.” - -She had taken off Jimmy’s coat and cap, and the child, half awake, was -nestled in her arms, when Jarvis followed her into the lighted room, -with its table daintily set for three, and its cheer of burning logs, -which Barbara had stirred to a blaze. - -She looked at him in piteous silence as he stood, a tall, sombre -figure at her fireside, looking down at her with eyes full of a -brooding tenderness of which he was only half aware. He was anxiously -searching for words which would hurt least; for a balm of comfort -which, he knew, did not exist. - -Jimmy, rubbing the sleep out of his brown eyes, sat up suddenly in -Barbara’s lap. - -“David didn’t let me stay wiv him,” he quavered. “He—he made me det out -’n’—’n’ he dave me some money; ’n’ a big boy pushed me over and took -it away. I ran after David ’n’ called him loud; but he didn’t hear me. -’Nen I got lost.” - -“I found him,” said Jarvis, “asleep on some straw in the comer of an -empty stall.” - -He smiled reassuringly at Barbara. - -“The boy appears to need a general washing and putting to rights, I -should say; but he isn’t hungry.” - -“Where,” asked Barbara, in a stifled voice, “is David?” - -“He’s gone wiv the pretty lady, I guess,” said Jimmy sleepily. “She had -roses in her hat. Why don’t you have roses in your hat, Barbara? I like -roses.” - -The little boy suddenly opened his eyes very wide; his mouth followed -suit. - -“Look, Barb’ra,” he shrilled excitedly. “A man dave me a sausage in -the middle of a biscuit, ’n’ I was awful hungry an’ I fordot—I mean I -forgot—t’ bite wiv my side teef—’n’—’n’—’n’ one o’ my front teef came -right out. I lost it on the ground.” - -Barbara’s questioning eyes were on Jarvis’s face. He turned abruptly as -if unable to bear them. - -“I called loud to David; but he was drinkin’ somethin’ brown out of a -tumbler ’n’ he didn’t turn around,” chattered Jimmy, “but the lady, she -looked at me, ’n’ she said——” - -He broke into a nervous laugh. - -“It feels funny in my mouf,” he complained. “Will my new toof come in -right away? Will it, Barbara?” - -Jarvis drew a deep breath. - -“If you’ll put the boy to bed,” he said, “I’ll—wait.” - -He sat down by the fire, a grim look of patient endurance on his face. -In the room above he could hear the light tread of Barbara’s feet, and -Jimmy’s high, childish treble upraised in excited speech. - -“He’s telling her all he knows,” muttered Jarvis, a sick distaste for -his own hateful task coming over him. - -It was long before Barbara returned. Jarvis had decided that she wished -him to go away without speaking, when he heard her re-enter the room. - -He sprang to his feet. - -“Sit down, won’t you? And let me—explain.” - -Barbara lifted her head proudly. - -“I think I—understand,” she said. - -He gazed steadily at her, a frown of pain between his brows. - -“I have known for a long time,” she went on, “that it was all a -dreadful mistake; that he—did not love me.” - -“And you?” leaped from his guarded lips. - -She looked away, a slow crimson staining her white cheeks. - -“I could not bear it, if——” she murmured, and was silent. - -“I hope you will believe me,” Jarvis said gravely, “when I tell you -that what took place was not intentional on Whitcomb’s part. I know -him, perhaps, better than you think.” - -A shadowy smile touched Barbara’s tense mouth. - -“Nothing—was ever—intentional with David,” she said. - -After a long silence she looked up at him, her eyes dry and bright. - -“Will you tell me,” she asked, “just what happened?” - -He drew a hardly controlled breath. - -“I will tell you what I know,” he said reluctantly. But he seemed -unable to go on with his shameful story in the light of her proud eyes. - -“I already know,” she said quietly, “that he abandoned Jimmy early in -the afternoon, and that later he was seen with——” - -“The woman was a waitress at the Barford Eagle,” Jarvis admitted -reluctantly. “She has attended Whitcomb at table during his stay there; -and so, of course——” - -“I know who the girl is,” Barbara told him, in a low, hurried voice. - -“He met the young woman on the fair grounds quite by accident,” Jarvis -went on quickly. “You ought to believe that; and what followed was -also, I am convinced, wholly unpremeditated.” - -“Well?” urged Barbara steadily. - -Jarvis clenched his strong hands on his knees and bent forward to stare -frowningly into the fire. - -“Whitcomb backed his own horse heavily and won,” he said slowly. -“Shortly afterward an altercation arose between himself and—a young -man, who had previously been interested in the girl, Jennie Sawyer. -This person Bamber, became very abusive, and——” - -Jarvis’s voice, which had been dry and caustic, as if he were reviewing -unsavory circumstantial evidence, suddenly broke. - -“Barbara!” he cried. “My poor girl, must you hear it all?” - -She was looking at him, her eyes burning beneath her long curved -lashes, the red of her under-lip caught in her white teeth. - -“Go on,” she said quietly. “Someone will have to tell me. I—would -rather hear it from—you.” - -The sweat of agony glistened on Jarvis’s forehead. - -“If I must,” he said hoarsely. “It was an accident, Barbara. It would -never have happened if David had not been excited, wild with success; -Bamber attacked him first, without due provocation, it would seem, and -Whitcomb retaliated—struck him, in self-defence.” - -Barbara heard his voice as if from a great distance. She seemed to -herself to be drifting away on a sea of strange dreams. Then she roused -suddenly to find herself supported by Jarvis’s arm. He was holding a -cup of water to her lips. She sat up, her face white and wan, her hands -clutching the arms of her chair. - -“You were saying——” she murmured. - -“I ought to have told you in the beginning,” he reproached himself, -“Bamber was not killed by the blow; but he fell and—struck his head -against the edge of a stall.” - -“And David?” she breathed. - -“The girl dragged him away from the scene of the accident, and -he—escaped. You know he had a fast horse.” - -She was looking at him dizzily through a mist of pain. - -“The girl went with him,” he said, reading aright the question in her -eyes. “There was talk of a pursuit, of an arrest. But unless Bamber -should—— I think I may assure you that David will not be molested.” - -He did not tell her that he had used all the official power at his -command to shield the fugitives from the fury of the crowd, and further -that the injured man had already received the best medical attention -procurable in the county. Barbara learned these things long, long -afterward, when the pain of that hour had been assuaged. - - * * * * * - -It was more than three months afterward, and the first snow was flying -past the windows in big, feathery flakes, when a letter came to Barbara -from a town in the Far West. It was from David, she saw, with a painful -throb of surprise, and postponed the reading of it for a difficult -hour, during which she reviewed once more and for the last time all the -futile anguish and passion of a love that had bruised and hurt her from -its beginning. Then she opened the letter with fingers that trembled -not at all. - - “Dear Barbara [he wrote]: I suppose by this time you have set me down - as a poor skate of a fellow. It probably hasn’t occurred to you that - it is entirely your own fault that you will never see me again. If you - had gone with me to the fair that day, as I wanted you to do, I should - not have met Jennie, nor gotten into a squabble with that unutterable - cad, Bamber. I hear he got off with nothing worse than a crack in his - foolish skull to remind him what it is like to try conclusions with a - gentleman. - - “I want to tell you, Barbara, that I’ve married Jennie, and so far, - neither of us is sorry. She is a dear little wife, sweet-tempered, - and entirely devoted to your humble servant. And I don’t find myself - so deucedly uncomfortable in her company as you used to make me feel - sometimes. Let me tell you, Barbara, that you’ll never succeed in - making any man happy till you get off that high horse of yours and - stop trying to run the universe. But I don’t suppose you’ll care for - what I say, any more than you cared for me, and I don’t flatter myself - that was a little bit. - - “Just one thing more before I say good-bye for always. If you want to - know who your master is, I’ll tell you. _It is old Jarvis._ I knew it - all along. But I let you go on deceiving yourself, since you seemed - to prefer doing it. You can settle it with him any way you see fit and - I shall be satisfied. - - “With best wishes for your future happiness, I am, my dear Barbara, - - Yours faithfully. - - “DAVID WHITCOMB.” - -Barbara read this letter once; then she thrust it deep down among the -burning logs and watched it blaze and shrivel into a black and scarlet -shred, which flitted stealthily up the chimney and out of sight, like a -wicked wraith. - -She was still thinking soberly rather than sorrowfully of David, when -Jimmy dashed into the room, his yellow hair standing up around his rosy -face like a halo as he pulled off his warm cap and threw his books and -mittens on the table. - -“What d’ you think, Barb’ra,” he exulted. “I had a reg’lar zamination -in my ’rithm’tic to-day, ’n’ I passed it a hunderd and fifty. My -teacher said I did. I did a whole lot o’ zamples an’ wrote out all the -sevens an’ eights an’ nines, an’ didn’ mix up seven times nine and -eight times eight, or anyfing—I mean any-th-ing.” - -“You’re home early, aren’t you, precious?” asked Barbara, glancing at -the clock. - -“Yes, ’course I am; I met Mr. Jarvis, Barb’ra. He was drivin’ that -horse wiv a short tail, ’n’—’n’ he asked me did I want to get in and -drive him, ’n’—’n’ he let me, Barb’ra; ’n’ I don’t believe that horse -cares if his tail is short. He’s comin’ in the house now.” - -“Who—the horse?” asked Barbara, in pretended alarm. - -“‘Course not!” shouted Jimmy, in fine scorn. “Mr. Jarvis is. He said he -was bringin’ you a book to read. I like Mr. Jarvis, don’t you, Barb’ra? -_Don’t_ you?” - -Jarvis himself, entering at the moment, heard the little boy’s -insistent question. He stood before the fire, tall and grave, drawing -off his gloves and looking keenly at Barbara. She had grown only more -beautiful in his eyes, since the day when he had first noticed her -youthful loveliness, like a wind-blown spray of blossoms against a dark -sky. Now he perceived that something untoward had happened to disturb -the quiet friendship which had been slowly growing up between them -in the peace of the past months. Her candid eyes avoided his, and a -fluttering color came and went in her soft cheeks. - -“What is it, Barbara?” he asked, when Jimmy had gone exultantly forth -to boast to Peg of his initial victory in the difficult warfare of -education. - -“I have just been reading a letter—from David,” she said, without -attempt at postponement or evasion. “He is married.” - -“Well?” said Jarvis gravely. - -“I was glad to know that,” she went on. “I have been afraid—for that -poor girl.” - -She was silent for a long minute, while the logs purred comfortably -together in the fireplace. - -Then she met his questioning eyes, her own filled with a deep, -mysterious light. - -“He told me what I had sometimes—thought might be true,” she hesitated; -“that you—were the unknown person, who—— that I really—belong to you.” - -Then the significance of her words flashed over her, and her face -glowed with lovely shamed color. - -“I am quite rich now,” she went on hurriedly, “and you must let me give -you—pay you——” - -“I will, Barbara,” he said, with a quiet smile. “If you will only give -me—what you have acknowledged really belongs to me. Will you, Barbara?” - -She turned to him, all her woman’s soul in her sweet eyes. - -“To the highest bidder,” she murmured, and laid her hand in his. - - - THE END - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's To the Highest Bidder, by Florence Morse Kingsley - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER *** - -***** This file should be named 51797-0.txt or 51797-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/7/9/51797/ - -Produced by Giovanni Fini, David Edwards and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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