Buch lesen: «Winning the Wilderness», Seite 14

At that moment young Todd Stewart appeared on the side porch before the dining room door.

“Thaine stopped long enough to ask me to come over and move furniture for his mother,” Todd sang out. “He doesn’t think you were made to lift cupboards and carry chairs downstairs.”

“Oh, it’s his mother he’s thinking about,” Jo said with pretty petulance. In truth, she was angry with Thaine for taking Leigh home last night and for leaving home today.

“No, it’s his mother he’s ceased to love,” Todd said, coming inside. “He said he’d quit the old home and was moving his goods up to Wolf Creek for keeps. And with that fat tow-headed Gimpke girl sitting on the frisky bay colt as unconcerned as a bump on a log, it was the funniest sight I ever saw.”

Jo tossed her head contemptuously.

“Say, Curly Locks, Curly Locks, you ought to always sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam and wear a dress to breakfast with those little pink du-dads scattered over it.”

“Not if I was a farmer’s wife,” Jo responded quickly.

“Oh, Jo, do you really want to be a city girl?” Todd’s face was frankly sorrowful. “Could you never be satisfied on a farm?”

“I don’t believe I ever could,” Jo said prettily.

“Thaine’s a farmer all right, Jo.”

“He isn’t going to be one always,” Jo broke in quickly. “He’s going to the Kansas University and there’s no telling after that.”

“No, he’s just going to Wykerton, that’s all. Nay, he have went. Him and him fraulein. And say, there’s another pretty fraulein went up the trail just ahead of the Aydelot horse party. A sweetheart of a girl whom Thaine Aydelot took home after all last night.”

“I don’t care where Thaine goes,” Jo cried.

“And you don’t care for a farmer anyhow,” Todd said suavely.

“Oh, that depends on how helpful he is,” Jo responded tactfully.

Todd sprang up and began to fling the chairs about with extravagant energy in his pretense of being useful.

“Let’s help Mrs. Aydelot as swift as possible. It’s hot as the dickens this morning, and the prognostics are for a cyclone before twelve hours. It’s nearly eleven of ’em now. I’ll take you home when we are through. Thaine isn’t the whole of Grass River and the adjacent creeks and tributaries and all that in them is.”

CHAPTER XV
The Coburn Book

 
And I see, from my higher level,
It is not the path but the pace
That wearies the back, and dims the eye,
And writes the lines on the face.
 

– Margaret E. Sangster.

Meanwhile the May sunshine beat hot upon the green prairie, and the promised storm gathered itself together behind the horizon where the three headlands were lost in an ash-colored blur. Wykerton, shut in by the broken country about Big Wolf Creek, was more uncomfortable than the open prairie. And especially was it uncomfortable in the “blind tiger” of the Wyker eating-house.

Today the men of the old firm of Champers & Co. were again holding a meeting in this little room that could have told of much lawless plotting if walls could only tell.

“It’s danged hot in here, Wyker. Open that window,” Darley Champers complained. “What kept you fellows so long, anyhow?”

“Business kep’ me, and Smith here, he stop to peek at a pretty girl for goot as ten minute,” Hans Wyker said jocosely.

Champers stared at Thomas Smith, whose small eyes gleamed back at him.

“Oh, I just turned to look at Miss Shirley in the dining room. Can’t a man look at a pretty girl if he is past forty-five? She didn’t see me, though.”

“Naw, she see nopotty but young Aydelot sitting mit her. Why you take oop precious time peekin’ trough der crack in der kitchen door? I be back in a minute vonce. Smitt haf business mit you,” Wyker declared as he turned to the kitchen again.

Left together, the two men sat silent a moment. Then Champers said with a frown:

“What do you want now? We’ve got no business with each other except as I am agent for your rents and mortgages.”

“You seem to fatten on them, or something,” Smith answered insinuatingly. “You lose no flesh with the years, I see.”

“I’ve little occasion to worry,” Darley Champers replied meaningly.

“Not with a fat income like yours and small returns to your employer who’s kept you all these years,” Smith began, but Darley Champers mentally blew up. It was in the bluffer’s game that he always succeeded best.

“Now, see here, dang you. Get to business. You and Wyker and me dissolved partnership long ago. I’ve been your agent years and years. I’ve did my best. I never got so rich you could notice it on my breath. I’m not a thief nor a murderer. I keep inside the law. I broke with you fellows years ago, except straight contract that’ll probate in any court. You are a bully in power and a coward out of it. What the devil do you want with me? I’m no bank. Be clear and quick about it and quit your infernal dodgin’ human beins like a cut-throat. I’ve signed your name to no end of papers for you when you wouldn’t put your own left-handed writin’ in sight. I have your written permit safe for doin’ it. I reckon somebody must a’ put that right hand of yours out of commission sometime. I’ll find out about it one of these days myself.”

Thomas Smith sat looking at the speaker with steady gaze. Many lines crossed his countenance now, but the crooked scar had not faded with time. In a coffin his would be the face of an old man. Alive, it was so colorless and uninteresting in expression that not one person in a hundred would turn to take a second look at him nor dream of the orgies of dissipation his years could recount. Withal, he had the shabby, run-down appearance as of a man in hard lines financially.

“I want money and I want it quick, or I’d not come clear out here. And you are going to get it for me. That Cloverdale quarter I’ve held grown to weeds so long you will sell to the first buyer now. Jim Shirley’s at the last of his string. I did what I wanted to do with him. He’ll never own a quarter again,” Smith spoke composedly.

“Yes, I guess you’re right. You’ve done him to his ruin. Jacobs has a mortgage on his home, too, and a Jew’s a Jew. He’ll close on Jim with a snap yet. It won’t be the first time he’s done it,” Darley Champers declared.

“And that niece, Tank’s girl, he was to protect for Alice Leigh?” Smith asked.

“Oh, eventually she’ll either marry some hired man, I reckon, or go to sewin’ or something like it for a livin’. She’s a danged pretty girl now, but girls fade quick,” Champers said.

For just one instant something like remorse swept Smith’s face. Then he hardened again as the ruling passion asserted itself.

“Serves her right,” he said in a tone so brutal that Champers remembered it.

“But I tell you I must have money. Two hundred dollars tonight and fourteen hundred inside of two weeks. And you’ll get it for me. You understand that. And listen, now.” Smith’s voice slowly uncoiled itself to Champers’ senses as a snake moves leisurely toward a bird it means to draw to itself. “You say you have signed my name for me and transacted business, handling my money. If you care to air the thing in court, I’m ready for you anytime. But do you dare? Well, bring me two hundred dollars before tomorrow and the other fourteen hundred inside of two weeks. And after this look out for yourself.”

The threat in the last words was indescribable, and Champers would have shuddered could he have seen Smith’s countenance as he left the room.

“So he taunts me with being a coward and a brute, a thief and a cut-throat; dares to strike me in the face when I’ve given him a living so long he’s forgotten who did it. I’m done with him. But he don’t dare to say a word.”

He shut his lips tightly and slowly clinched his hands.

“For wy you stare so at dat door yet? Where’s Champers?” Hans Wyker demanded as he came in.

“The game’s between us two now,” Thomas Smith declared, turning to Hans Wyker.

And a grim game was plotted then and there. Hans, who had been a perpetual law-breaker since the loss of his brewery business, had let his hatred of John Jacobs grow to a virulent poison in his system. While Thomas Smith, whose character Darley Champers had read truly, followed so many wrong paths down the years that conscience and manhood were strangers to him. From being a financier he had dropped to the employment of a brewers’ association. His commission was to tempt young men and boys to drink; to create appetites that should build up the brewing business for the future. In the game now, Smith was to deliver beer and whisky into Wyker’s hands. Wyker would do the rest. Whoever opposed him must suffer for his rashness.

It was cooler in the large dining-room where Thaine Aydelot and Leigh Shirley had met by chance at noontime. Leigh’s face wore a deeper bloom and her eyes were shining with the exciting events of the day: the going of Pryor Gaines and the business that had brought her to Wykerton. Something like pain stabbed suddenly into Thaine Aydelot’s mind as he caught sight of her, a surprise to find how daintily attractive she was in her cool summer gown of pale blue gingham and her becoming hat with its broad brim above her brown-gold hair.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” Leigh said as Thaine took the chair opposite her at the little table.

“I came over to Little Wolf with Rosie Gimpke and some other colts. Then I walked over here to catch a ride to Careyville, if I could,” Thaine said carelessly.

“You can ride with me if you want to. I’ll be going soon after dinner,” Leigh suggested.

“Oh, I’ll want to all right. It may be well to start early. It’s so hot I expect there’ll be a storm before night,” Thaine suggested, wondering the while what Leigh’s business in Wykerton might be.

Darley Champers was in a fever when he came from his conference with Thomas Smith. Smith had played large sums into his hands in the first years of their partnership. Of late the sums had all gone the other way. But Champers was entangled enough to know that he must raise the money required, and the land was the only asset. Few things are more difficult to accomplish than to find a buyer for what must be sold.

At the office Leigh was waiting for him. “Mr. Champers, I am Leigh Shirley from the Cloverdale place on Grass River,” she said, looking earnestly up at him.

Darley Champers was no ladies’ man, but so far as in his coarse-grained nature lay, he was never knowingly rude to a woman, and Leigh’s manner and presence made the atmosphere of his office comfortingly different from the place he had just quitted. The white lilac bush in the yard behind the office whose blossoms sent a faint odor through the rear door, seemed to double its fragrance.

“Sit down, madam. I’m pleased to meet you. Can I be of any service to you today?” he said with bluff cordiality.

“Yes, sir. I want to buy the quarter section lying southeast of us. It was the old Cloverdale Ranch once. It belongs to Champers & Co. now, the records show, and I want to get it. It was my Uncle Jim Shirley’s first claim.”

Darley Champers stared at the girl and said nothing.

“What do you ask for it?” Leigh inquired.

Still the real estate dealer was silent.

“Isn’t it for sale? It is all weed-grown and hasn’t been cultivated for years.”

The tremor in the girl’s voice reached the best spot in Darley Champers’ trade-hardened heart.

“Lord, yes, it’s for sale!” he broke out.

A sense of relief at this sudden opportunity, combined with the intense satisfaction of getting even with Thomas Smith, overwhelmed him. Smith would rave at the sale to a Shirley, yet this sale had been demanded. Champers had written Smith’s name into too many documents to need the owner’s handwriting in this transaction. Smith would leave town in the evening. The whole thing was easy enough. While Leigh waited, the real humaneness of which Champers so often boasted found its voice within him.

“I’ll sell it for sixteen hundred dollars if I can get two hundred down today and the rest in cash inside of two weeks. But I must close the bargain today, you understand.”

He had fully meant to make it seventeen hundred fifty dollars. It was the unknown humane thing in him that cut off his own commission.

“It’s worth it,” he said to himself. “Won’t Thomas Smith, who’s got no name to sign to a piece of paper, won’t he just cuss when it’s all did! It’s worth my little loss just to get something dead on him. The tricky thief!”

“I’ll take it,” Leigh said, a strange light glowing in her eyes and a firm line settling about her red lips.

Champers couldn’t realize an hour later how it was all done, nor why with such a poor bargain for himself he should feel such satisfaction as he saw Leigh Shirley and Thaine Aydelot driving down the road toward Little Wolf together. Neither could he understand why the perfume of white lilac blossoms from the bush in the back yard of his office should seem so sweet this morning. He was not a flower lover. But he felt the two hundred dollars of good money in his pocket and chuckled as he forecasted the hour of Thomas Smith’s discovery.

“This is a shadier road than the one I came over this morning,” Leigh said as she and Thaine followed the old trail toward Little Wolf Creek.

“It’s a little nearer, too, and you’ll see by casting a glimpse westward that things are doing over Grass River way,” Thaine replied.

Leigh saw that a sullen black cloud bank was heaving above the western horizon and felt the heated air of the May afternoon.

“I don’t like storms when I’m away from home,” she said.

“Are you afraid, like Jo Bennington? She has the terrors over them. We were out once when she nearly bankrupted everything, she was so scared.”

Thaine recalled a stormy night when Jo had clung to his arm to the danger of both of them and the frightened horse he could hardly control.

“No, I’m not afraid. I just don’t like being blown about. I am glad I happened to find you, to be blown about, too, if it’s necessary,” Leigh replied.

“‘Happened’ is a good word, Leigh. You happened on what I managed you should, else that long circus performance with Mademoiselle Rosella Gimpkello, famous bareback rider, had not been put on the sawdust this hot day.”

“What are you saying, Thaine Aydelot?” Leigh asked.

“You said last night you were coming over here today and that after you had come you might need my advice. Me for the place where my advice is needed ever, on land or water. Rosie’s hand isn’t fit to use yet. I knew that was a nasty glass cut, so I met her in the hall upstairs early this morning and persuaded her to come over today. It gave me the excuse I wanted – to get here by mere happening.”

“And leave Mrs. Aydelot all the cleaning up to do. Humane son!” Leigh exclaimed.

“Oh, Jo stayed all night, and I stopped at Todd Stewart’s place and persuaded him down to help mother and Jo. It wasn’t hard work to get him persuaded, either.”

“Aren’t you jealous of Todd?” Leigh asked, with a demure curve of her lip.

“Ought I be? He hasn’t anything I want,” Thaine retorted.

“No, he’s a farmer. Some folks don’t like farmers.”

“I don’t blame them,” Thaine said thoughtlessly. “I haven’t much use for a farm myself. But Leigh, am I an unnecessary evil? I really turned ’Rory Rumpus’ and ’rode a raw-boned racer’ clear over here just to be ready to help you. I wish now I’d stayed home and dried the knives and forks and spoons for my mammie.”

“Oh, Thaine, you are as good as – as alfalfa hay, and I need you more today than I ever did in my life before.”

“And I want to help you more than anything. Don’t be a still cat, Leighlie. Tell me what you are up to.”

They had reached the steep hill beyond the Jacobs sheep range where the narrow road with what John Jacobs called “the scary little twist” wound down between high banks to a shadowy hollow leading out to the open trail by the willows along Big Wolf. At the break in the bank, opening a rough way down to the deep waters of Little Wolf, a draught of cool air swept up refreshingly against their faces. Thaine flattened the buggy top under the shade of overhanging trees and held the horse to the spot to enjoy the delightful coolness. They had no such eerie picture to prejudice them against the place as the picture that haunted John Jacobs’ mind here.

“I’ve bought a ranch, Thaine; the quarter section that Uncle Jim entered in 1870,” Leigh said calmly.

“Alice Leigh Shirley, are you crazy?” Thaine exclaimed.

“No, I’m safe and sane. But that’s why I need your advice,” Leigh answered.

Something in the girl’s appealing voice and perfect confidence of friendship, so unlike Jo Bennington’s pouting demands and pretty coquetry, came as a revelation and a sense of loss to Thaine. For he loved Jo. He was sure of that, cock-sure.

“It’s this way,” Leigh went on, “you know how Uncle Jim lost everything in the boom except his honor. He’s helped everybody who needed help, and everybody likes him, I guess.”

“I never knew anybody who didn’t,” Thaine agreed.

“So many things, I needn’t name them all, bad crops, bad faith on the part of others, bad luck and bad judgment and bad health, for all his size, have helped till he is ready to go hopeless, and Uncle Jim’s only fifty-one. It’s no time to quit till you’re eighty in such a good old state as Kansas,” Leigh asserted. “Only, big as he is, he’s not a real strong man, and crumples down where small nervy men stand up.”

“Well, lady landlord, how can I advise you? You are past advising. You have already bought,” Thaine said.

“You can tell me how to pay for the ranch,” Leigh declared calmly. “I bought of Darley Champers for sixteen hundred dollars. I paid two hundred down just now. I’ve been saving it two years; since I left the high school at Careyville. Butter and eggs and chickens and some other things.” She hesitated, and a dainty pink tint swept her cheek.

Why should a girl be so deliciously fair with the bloom of summer on her cheeks and with little ringlets curling in baby-gold hair about her temples and at her neck, and with such red lips sweet to kiss, and then put about herself a faint invisible something that should make the young man beside her blush that he would even think of being so rude as to try to kiss her.

“And you paid how much?” Thaine asked gravely.

“Two hundred dollars. I want to borrow fourteen hundred more and get it clear away from Darley Champers. I’m sure with a ranch again, Uncle Jim will be able to win out,” Leigh insisted.

“What’s on it now?” Thaine asked.

“Just weeds and a million sunflowers. Enough to send Prince Quippi such a message he’d have to write back a real love letter to me,” Leigh replied.

“Leighlie, you can’t do it. You might pay interest maybe, year in and year out, the gnawing, wearing interest. That’s all you’d do even with your hens and butter. Don’t undertake the burden.”

“I’ve already done it,” Leigh declared.

“Throw it up. You can’t make it,” Thaine urged.

“I know I can,” Leigh maintained stoutly.

“You can’t.”

“I can.”

“How?” Thaine queried hopelessly.

“If I can get the loan – ”

“Which you can’t,” Thaine broke in. “Any man on Grass River will tell you the same, if you don’t want to believe the word of a nineteen-year-old boy.”

“Thaine, I must do something. Even our home is mortgaged. Everything is slipping out from under us. You don’t know what that means.”

“My father and mother knew it over and over.” Thaine’s face was full of sympathy.

“And they won out. I’m not so foolish after all. When they came out here, they took the prairies as Nature had left them, grass-covered and waiting. I’m taking them as the boom left them, weed-covered and waiting. I’ll earn the interest myself and make the land pay the principal and I know exactly how it will do it, too.”

“Tell me how,” Thaine demanded.

“It’s no dream. I got the idea out of a Coburn book last winter,” Leigh replied.

“You mean the State Agricultural Report of Secretary Coburn? Funny place to hunt for inspiration; queer gospel, I’d say,” Thaine declared. “Why didn’t you go to the census report of 1890, or Radway’s Ready Relief Almanac, or the Unabridged Dictionary?”

“All right, you despiser of small things. It was just an agricultural report full of tables and statistics and comparative values and things that I happened on one day when things were looking blackest, and right in the middle I found a page that Foster Dwight Coburn must have put in just for me, I guess. There was a little sketch of an alfalfa plant with its long good roots, and just one paragraph beside it with the title, ‘The Silent Subsoiler.’”

“That sounds well,” Thaine observed. He was listening eagerly in spite of his joking, and his mind was alert to the girl’s project.

“Mr. Coburn said,” Leigh went on, “that there are some silent subsoilers that do their work with ease and as effectually as any plow ever hitched, and the great one of these is alfalfa; that it is a reservoir of wealth that takes away the fear of protest and over-draft.”

“Well, and what if Coburn is right?” Thaine queried.

“Listen, now. I planned how I’d get back that old claim of Uncle Jim’s; how I’d pay some money down and borrow the rest, and begin seeding it to alfalfa. Then I’ll churn and feed chickens and make little sketches of water lilies, maybe, and pay the interest and let the alfalfa pay off the principal. I haven’t any father or mother, Thaine; Uncle Jim is all I have. He hasn’t always been successful in business ventures, but he’s always been honest. He has nothing to blush for, nothing to keep hidden. I know we’ll win now, for that writing of Foster Dwight Coburn’s is true. Don’t try to discourage me, Thaine,” she looked up with shining eyes.

“You are a silent little subsoiler yourself, Leigh, doing your work effectually. Of course you’ll win, you brave girl. I wish it was a different kind of work, though.”

A low peal of thunder rolled up from the darkening horizon, and the sun disappeared behind the advancing clouds.

“That’s our notice to quit the premises. I shouldn’t want to ford Little Wolf in a storm. It is ugly enough any time and was bank full when I took Rosie Posie over this morning. And say, her mother’s got a face like a brass bedstead.”

Thaine was lifting the buggy top as he spoke. Suddenly he exclaimed:

“Oh, Leigh, look down yonder.”

He pointed down the little rift toward the water.

“Where?” Leigh asked, looking in the direction of his hand.

“Across the creek, around by the side of that hill. That’s the Gimpke home stuck in there where you’d never think of looking for a house from up here. They can see anybody that goes up this lonely hill and nobody can see them. If I was gunning for Gimpkes, I’d lie in wait right here,” Thaine declared.

“Maybe, if the Gimpkes were gunning for you, they could pick you off as you went innocently up this Kyber Pass and you’d never know what hit you nor live to tell the tale; and they so snugly out of sight nobody but you would ever have sighted them,” Leigh replied. “But let’s hurry on. It will be cooler on the open prairie than down there along the creek trail. And if we are storm-stayed, we are storm-stayed, that’s all.”

“You are the comfortablest girl a fellow could have, Leighlie. You aren’t a bit scared of storms like – ”

“Yes, like Jo. I can’t help it. I never was much of a ’fraid cat, but I don’t mind admitting I am fonder of water in lakes and rivers and water-color drawings than thumping down on my head from the little end of a cyclone funnel.”

The air grew cooler in their homeward ride, while they followed the same old Sunflower Trail that Asher and Virginia Aydelot had followed one September day a quarter of a century before. And, for some reason, they did not stop to question, neither was eager to reach the end of the trail today.

As they came to a crest of the prairie looking down a long verdant slope toward what was now a woodsy draw, Thaine said, “Leigh, my mother was lost here somewhere once and Doctor Carey found her. Maybe Doctor Carey is the man to help you now.”

“Oh, Thaine, I believe I could ask Doctor Carey for anything. You are so good to think of him,” Leigh exclaimed. “I knew you’d help me out.”

“Yes, I’m good. That’s my trade,” Thaine replied. “And I’m pretty brave to offer advice, too. But if you want to talk any about courage, mine’s a different brand from yours. I may be a soldier myself some day. Brother Aydelot of the Sunflower Ranch, trustee of the Grass River M. E. Church, fit, bled, and died in the Civil War and was not quite my age now when he came out all battle-scoured and gory. I always said I’d be a soldier like my popper. But I’d fall in a dead faint before that alfalfa and mortgage business you face like a hero. It’s getting cooler. See, the storm didn’t get this side of the purple notches; it stayed over there with Pryor Gaines and Prince Quippi.”

They rode awhile in silence, then Thaine said: “Leigh, I will go up to Careyville and send Doctor Carey down to Cloverdale to see you. It will save you some time at least, and I’ll tell him you want to see him particularly and alone. You can tell me the result Sunday if you want to.”

Leigh did not reply, but gratitude in the violet eyes made words unnecessary.

On the Sabbath after the party, Thaine Aydelot waited at the church door for Jo Bennington, who loitered out slowly, chatting the while with Todd Stewart.

“Let me take you home, Jo. I see your carriage will be full with the company you will have today,” Thaine said.

Jo looked with a pretty pout at the invited guests gathered about her mother and father waiting for her at the family carriage.

“Thank you, yes. I am glad to get away from those tiresome goody-goodies. It looks like the Benningtons are taking the whole official board and the ’amen corner’ home for dinner.”

“Then come to the Sunflower Inn and dine with me. Rosie Gimpke came back last night and she promised me shortcake and sauerkraut and pretzels and schooners of Grass River water. Do come.”

Indeed, Thaine had been most uncomfortable since the day at Wykerton, and he wanted to be especially good to Jo now. He didn’t know exactly why, nor had he felt any jealousy at the bright looks and the leisure preference she had just given to Todd Stewart.

“Oh, you are too good. Yes, I’ll go, of course,” Jo exclaimed. “Can’t we go down to the grove and see the lilies this afternoon, too?”

“Yes, we can go to China if we want to,” Thaine declared. “Wait here in the shade until I drive up.”

Teams were being backed away from the hitching-rack, and much chatting of neighbors was everywhere. Jim Shirley was not at church today, and Jo saw Leigh Shirley going alone toward the farther end of the rack where her buggy stood, while three or four young men were rushing to untie her horse. Jo, turning to speak to some neighbors, did not notice who had outdistanced the others in this country church courtesy until she realized that the crowd was going, and down the deserted hitching line Leigh Shirley sat in her buggy talking with Thaine, who was standing beside it with his foot on the step, looking up earnestly into her face.

Jo was no better pleased that Leigh’s face was like a fair picture under her white hat, and she felt her own cheeks flushing as she saw how cool and poised and unhurried her little neighbor appeared.

“Thank you, Thaine. All right. Don’t forget, then,” Jo heard her say as she gathered up the reins, and noted that it was her motion and not the young man’s that cut short the interview.

“Leigh is a leech when she has the chance,” Jo said jokingly, as the two sat in the Aydelot buggy at last.

When one has grown up from babyhood the ruling spirit in a neighborhood, her opinions are to be accepted.

Thaine gave Jo a quick look but said nothing.

“By the way, papa says Jim isn’t very well this summer. Says he still grieves over the farm he lost. Leigh hasn’t much ahead of her, nailed down to a chicken lot and a cow pasture and a garden. I wonder they don’t move to town. She’d get a clerkship, maybe.”

Thaine only waited, and Jo ran on.

“I’d never stay in the country a minute if I could get to town. I’ll be glad when papa’s elected treasurer, so we can live in Careyville again. Poor Leigh. Doesn’t she look like a drudge?”

Still Thaine was silent.

“Why don’t you say something?” Jo demanded, looking coquettishly at him.

“About what?” he asked gravely.

“About Leigh. I don’t want to do all the gossiping. Tell me what you think of her.”

“It would take a Cyclopedia Britannica set of volumes to do that,” Thaine replied.

“Oh, be serious and answer my questions,” Jo demanded.

“‘Doesn’t she look like a drudge?’ What kind of an answer – information or just my opinion?”

“Oh, your opinion, of course,” Jo said.

“If she looks like a drudge, it’s what she is.” The young man’s eyes were on his team.

“I thought you liked her,” Jo insisted.

“I do,” Thaine replied.

“How much, pray?”

“I haven’t measured yet.”

Thaine Aydelot was by inheritance a handsome young fellow, and as he turned now to his companion, something in his countenance gave it a manliness not usual to his happy-go-lucky expression. But the same unpenetrable something beyond which no one could see was always on his face when Jo talked of Leigh.

“How much do you like me?” The query was daringly put, but the beauty of the girl’s striking face seemed to warrant anything from her lips, however daring.

“A tremendous lot, I know that,” Thaine replied quickly, and Jo dropped her eyes and began to chatter of other things.

In the afternoon the cool grove was inviting, and Thaine and Jo loitered about in careless enjoyment of woodland shadows and wind-dimpled waters and Sabbath quiet and one another.

“I want father to have a little boathouse over by the lily corner and make a picnic place here sometime,” Thaine said as they sat by the lake in the late afternoon.

“Such a nice place for you to come in the summer. Aren’t you glad you don’t just have to stay in the country?” Jo asked.

“Would you never be satisfied in the country, Jo?” Thaine queried. “Not if you had a home there?”

Jo blushed and her face was exquisite in its rich coloring.

“Would you be?” she asked.

“Oh, I’d like to do something worth while,” Thaine replied. “Father doesn’t say much, but he wants me here, I know.”