"Well, little girl, my supposing is that he felt himself not one with any of our party. 'Neither hay nor grass' he would likely express it. That's for his not coming. As for where he is now I suppose, to a degree that is certainty, that he is – doing his duty! From my brief acquaintance with the lad I judge that to be his principal idea. His duty, this morning, would have been the transplanting of the celery seedlings, which yesterday's events delayed. If we could look through the trees between us and my vegetable garden I believe we should see him bending over the rows of little green plants, oblivious to all that's going on around him, so intent is he on making up for lost time and not cheating his employer by wasting it. Jim Barlow is all right. I was angry enough with him yesterday, for a while, but I can do him justice, to-day."

Her guess at his whereabouts was correct. The lad had hurried away from Seth Winters's office and was already well along with his work while they were thus discussing him. But both his new mistress and Dorothy promptly forgot him when they came to that turn of the road they had been approaching and the view beyond lay open to them.

For an instant everybody stopped, even the coachman checked his horses in amazement, though he as swiftly resumed his ordinary impassive expression and drove forward again at the risk of disaster.

"What in the world! It looks like a – a funeral! Or the county fair! Whatever does that mean?" cried Mrs. Cecil, who was the first to voice her astonishment. Yet she wondered if she heard aright when, clasping her hands in dismay, Mrs. Chester almost shouted to her husband in front – riding backwards and thus unable to see at what they all so earnestly gazed:

"John, John! That dreadful advertisement!"

CHAPTER IX
A LIVE STOCK SALE

John Chester had prophesied that, in answer to his ill-advised jest of an advertisement, it would "rain horses."

Apparently, it had. Not only horses but cows; and, trampled upon by the first, hooked by the latter, an assorted lot of pigs mingled with the other quadrupeds, squealing, twisting, doubling-and-turning upon their leading ropes with the perversity native to swine.

These unlovely creatures frightened the high-bred team drawing the carriage, setting them to rearing and plunging till an accident was imminent. Their driver had made to pass directly through the assembly before Skyrie gate, leaving it for meaner turnouts to make way for him: with the result that the unmanageable pigs had set other horses into a tumult.

Fortunately, the coachman was both cool and skillful, and with a dexterity that seemed wonderful he brought the Montaigne equipage around and began a retreat, over the way he had just come. This saved the situation, so far as an upset was concerned, and he did not again draw rein till well away from the scene. Then, all danger being past, Helena promptly fainted, and saved her equally frightened mother from doing so by rousing her maternal anxiety.

John Chester never knew just how he managed to get out of that carriage. Certainly, with far less difficulty than he had found in entering it, for he was suddenly upon the ground, his crutches under his arms, and himself hobbling forward with tremendous swings into the very midst of things.

"Come here, come here!" commanded Mrs. Calvert to Dorothy, withdrawing to the high bank bordering the road and that was topped by one of those great stone walls which Simon Waterman had built. Amusement, surprise, and anxiety chased one another across her mobile old features, and with a sudden movement she turned upon Mrs. Chester, crying excitedly: "Well, my friend, you can't deny that plenty of things happen in the country, as well as in the city you bewail. Match me this in Baltimore, if you please! And explain it – if you can!"

For it was mother Martha and not her daughter who had obeyed Mrs. Cecil's imperative: "Come here!" and who could only gasp, through her astonishment: "It's that advertisement. A 'joke' of John's that he didn't mean to pass beyond our own doors. We need a horse, a cow, and pig to – "

"Add hens! to scratch up your neighbors' flower beds and give completeness to your lives!" laughed Mrs. Betty, who felt and declared that: "I haven't had so much fun in a single morning since – I can't tell when. I wouldn't have missed this!"

"Seems as if everybody in the whole town must have read and answered that foolish thing. I —what shall we do? How possibly get rid of all these people!" cried the mistress of Skyrie in real distress.

As yet neither she nor Mrs. Cecil had observed Helena's faintness, for the back of the carriage was toward them now and some distance down the road. But they had observed Mr. Chester's swift departure houseward, and had seen Dorothy leap like a flash over the intervening wall, toward the kitchen door and the well which was near it.

"Makes me think of the 'Light Brigade,' with horses for 'cannon.' That's shameful for me! though, there are cows to the right of them, pigs underneath them, and horses – did anybody ever see such a collection?" asked Mrs. Calvert, clutching Mrs. Chester's arm to keep herself from slipping downward from the bank into the briars below. Then suddenly again exclaiming: "Look at that child! She's carrying water in a pitcher. She's making her way through those men out into the road again. Something has happened. Somebody is in trouble. Oh! it must be that frail-looking daughter of the Montaignes! See. Dorothy is running now straight toward the carriage."

This was sufficient to banish all amusement from Mrs. Cecil's manner and she was instantly upon Dorothy's trail, moving with an ease and swiftness that amazed Mrs. Chester, active though she herself was. Indeed, the girl had to slacken her speed in order not to spill all the water from the pitcher, and so the pair reached the side of the carriage together; the old gentlewoman nodding approval for the presence of mind which Dorothy had shown.

However, Helena was rapidly recovering from her brief swoon, and her mother looked askance at the cracked pitcher in which the water had been brought and the rusty tin cup in which it was offered; Dorothy having seized the utensils always left lying beside the well, for the convenience of passers-by, without waiting to secure more presentable articles.

Still, it was Mrs. Calvert whose hand proffered the refreshing draught, and it was Mrs. Calvert's voice which was saying, in its most aristocratic yet kindest accents:

"I did not at once see that your daughter was ill. Your husband left us at the very first crossroad toward your place and I was absorbed with my new-old neighbors' affairs. Deerhurst is nearer than the Towers. Why not drive there first and let Miss Helena rest awhile before going further?"

Now the invitation was given in all sincerity, though the mistress of Deerhurst was inwardly smiling at the pictured face of Seth Winters, had he been there to hear her thus cordially soliciting for guests the people she had once declared she would never willingly know. Only the slightest reluctance accompanied her words. She had intended calling upon the Chesters in their home and upon having a plain business talk with "Johnnie." However, from all appearances at the cottage beyond, this was not an opportune time for such an interview and one that could easily be postponed. At present, the Skyrie family had their hands sufficiently full of more pressing affairs.

Helena Montaigne shared her father's social ambition, so it was with a wan, sweet smile that she accepted from the mistress of Deerhurst the battered tin cup that she would have rejected had Dorothy held it upwards. Also, after graciously sipping a few drops of the refreshing water, she accepted for herself and mother – it was always Helena who settled such matters – that most gratifying invitation to the mansion. More than that she rose from her place on the wide back seat of the carriage and offered it to Mrs. Cecil, rather than that lady should be forced to ride backwards. But this sacrifice was declined:

"No, indeed, thank you. I will finish my trip as I begin it, by walking. It will take you as long to drive around by the entrance as for me to go across lots, through the woods. I will meet you at the door. Good-by, Dorothy. I trust you'll all come well out of your present predicament and I shall be anxious to hear results."

Mrs. Cecil was not prone to outward expressions of affection and the little girl was surprised to receive a kiss, as the pitcher was handed back to her, and this surprise was fully shared by the occupants of the carriage. But, having bestowed this light caress, the nimble old lady gathered up her skirts and struck into a footpath running beneath the trees, where every woodland creature was gay with the gladness of June. Yet as she passed among them, none seemed more glad than she; nor, maybe, in the sight of the Creator of them all was she alien to them.

Let alone, Dorothy sped backward to her home, and to the side of her parents, who stood together before the kitchen door, vainly endeavoring to hear what a half-dozen different men were saying at once. Her keen eyes scanned the odd collection of beasts with an ever increasing amusement, though she lifted her feet with a little shriek of fear as a mighty hog, which had long outgrown its "pig" days, broke from its owner's grasp and waddled up the path.

"I saw it in the Local, and if a man's goin' to start in farmin' – " began one.

"Pooh; neighbor! this feller's hoss ain't no kind o' use to a lame man like you! That hoss? Why, that hoss has run away and smashed things more times 'an it's years old – and that's sayin' consid'able!" interrupted a second trader, as the first one edged into the dooryard leading a gaunt black steed, himself dragging through the gateway a sorrel mare which had also reached the years of discretion.

At which number one retorted with fine scorn:

"Why, if that ain't Bill Barry! Huh! Lemme tell you, neighbor, a man that trades hosses, or buys one outright, off Bill gets left every time. That there sorrel? Why, she's twenty-odd if she's a day!"

Amid the laugh that followed this sally a third man called over the wall from the road beyond:

"Hello, mister? Advertised for a cow, didn't you? Well, just step a-here and take a peek at this fine Alderney o' mine. New milker with a calf still beside her – purty as a picture, the pair of 'em, and dirt cheap. Reason I sell, I've got more stawk 'an my land 'll keep. Come this way, won't you, Mr. – Mr. – 'Skyrie,' is it?"

Poor father John scratched his perplexed head, shifted his weight upon his crutches, and would fain have answered each and all at once as each demanded; but the affair was too much for him, who was always so ready to see the funny side of things. He cast one bewildered glance into Dorothy's laughing, sympathetic face and, also, began to laugh aloud.

The trader nearest, he of the gaunt black steed, caught the infection of merriment and augmented it by a hoarse guffaw. Already, while waiting for the prospective purchasers, the many who had come to sell had seen the absurdity of the situation, and each new arrival of pig, cow, or horse, had caused an outburst of momentary mirth. Yet, hitherto, under this passing amusement, had lain a half-angry resentment. Each had climbed the mountain, or traveled across it, for the sole purpose of "making a good trade," and none was pleased to find his chances forestalled.

Now, however, personal feelings gave way before this good-natured acceptance of an annoying state of things; and, before another moment passed, the laughter which the master of Skyrie had started was echoed from man to man till Dorothy clapped her hands to her ears and mother Martha ran into the house, to escape the uproar.

The fun conquered, for a time at least, all ill feeling, but it had not settled more important matters. The buying and selling had yet to come, and John Chester fairly groaned as he whispered to Dorothy:

"What shall I do with them! However get out of this mess! I know no more about the good points of a horse or a cow than a babe unborn, and your mother who does – or should, for she's a farmer's daughter – has ignominiously fled!"

Seeing the pair in apparent consultation, the visiting owners of the various animals held their momentary peace, till Dorothy answered quite seriously:

"Well, whether you do or do not know which is good and which is bad, you did advertise for them, you know, and you ought to take one of each kind, I s'pose. That is – have you got the money ready, to pay right now?"

"Oh, yes! The money's all right. Martha has that in her cupboard."

"Well, then, let's try it this way. Ask her to come out again; then let's begin with the pigs. They act the meanest of all the creatures and I hate them! Must we have a pig, father John?"

"So your mother says. To eat up the milk!"

"Then I do think she ought to select it. I'll go and ask her, myself. Let everybody bring up his pig, one after another, like standing in line at the post-office, you know; and let mother look them all over and choose the one she wants. When we get through the pigs the rest of the pig-men will go away, and the cow-men show us their cows. Oh! it would be just jolly to do it that way! Mother buy the pig, you the horse, and I the cow! I'll go and see if she will."

Either Dorothy's arguments were convincing or Mrs. Chester had repented her retreat, thus leaving her more inexperienced husband to the mercy of possibly unscrupulous traders, for she promptly reappeared in the dooryard and announced:

"We will buy just what we advertised for: one cow, one horse, one pig. We will examine the pigs first, and in order, with lowest price stated at once. We will not dicker at all, but will buy as cheaply as we can. Now, begin."

The little woman had placed herself upon the doorstep, with an air of practical business which caused her husband to silently clap his hands and as silently applaud; nodding his head and saying, by his expression:

"Good enough, madam! Couldn't have done better if you'd been in continual practice!"

The only difficulty of the proceeding was that each "pig-man" had grown weary of waiting and now crowded to the fore, intent upon selling his pig before another had a chance. Result: seven specimens of swine, in varying degrees of fatness, were forced into the inclosure; where each immediately proceeded to entangle himself with his neighbor and to run in a direction diametrically opposed to his owner's will.

"Oh! how glad I am our flower beds haven't been made yet!" cried Dorothy, flying up the outside stairs of the cottage, where she felt quite safe, although one inquisitive porker did plant its fore-legs on the lower step, intent to follow. Thence it was jerked back by its owner, with the remark:

"Drat a hog, anyhow! They're plaguyest critters to drive of any that lives. Next time I have a pig to sell I'll do it on my own premises – or not at all!"

In mercy to the animals and to their owners Mrs. Chester made a quick selection and one that others, wiser than herself, knew to be a fortunate one. Her choice fell upon a half-grown creature, whose body had received a good scrubbing before being taken to Skyrie, and whose skin looked pink and clean beneath its white bristles. She was asked a larger price than was quite just, as all the other dealers knew, but as all likewise considered "city folks" legitimate prey nobody enlightened her, and she handed out the money at once; merely requesting its late owner to take the animal to the corner of the old barn and securely fasten it there.

Then there followed what father John remarked was "quite a lull in the hog market," and Dorothy begged:

"Let's buy the cow next! There's a lovely one yonder! A soft, fat, écru-colored one, with the cutest little calf tied to it! Oh! do let's have the calf any way even if we don't the cow. It's a perfectly adorable little thing! see how it cocks its head and kicks up its heels – the sweet!"

The swine and their owners having departed the dooryard was comparatively clear; and it was noticeable that nobody crowded forward when, at a nod from Mr. Chester, the proprietor of the "écru-colored" cow and "adorable calf" led them up for closer inspection.

They certainly were attractive specimens of their race, and the Quaker miller who offered them had a most benignant countenance. He seemed to possess the respect and confidence of his neighbors and his words had the ring of truthfulness as he stated:

"Thee will go much further and fare much worse before thee has a cow like Hannah offered thee, friend Martha. She is of good pedigree, as I can show thee if thee will step over to my mill and look at my ledger. Her yield is ten quarts at a milking, twice a day, and her price is fifty dollars."

Martha Chester caught her breath. She had not anticipated paying more than half that sum for "just a cow"; even the price of the pig had startled her, remembering the small amount of cash she had in her purse. But alas! The demon of possession had seized her! The fact that the porcine "beauty" already tied to her barn was her own roused all her old farm-born instinct for "stock," and though she hesitated she did not say "No." Besides, her own half-forgotten grandsire had been a Friend and this man's speech carried her back to childhood's days and a roomy farmhouse, with its rich abundance of good things. Was ever a Quaker really poor?

Now nobody, in his senses, could have compared honest Oliver Sands to a tempter; yet his very next words proved temptation to John and Martha Chester, whose Christian names he had somehow acquired and now used so naturally.

"If thee buys Hannah thee will not regret it. Moreover, because I have heard the surprising tale of the little maid yonder, I will bind the bargain by giving her the calf, free of charge. I do not like to separate mother and child, even among brute creatures, unless from necessity; and, Dorothy Chester, thee may have my calf."

Of the astonishment of her parents and Dorothy's wild, almost incredulous delight, there is no need to tell. It can be easily surmised. Sufficient to state that very shortly afterward the broad-brimmed hat of Oliver Sands was disappearing down the road, while Hannah and her offspring had joined the squealing pig beside the barn.

CHAPTER X
AT MILKING-TIME

As if by mutual consent the owners of the rejected cattle slowly departed. They had awaited the outcome of the Sands-Chester transaction rather from curiosity than any doubt as to the result.

Oliver Sands was an upright Friend. He was, also, locally known as a "slick trader." What he set out to do he generally did. Moreover, though he dwelt in a plainly furnished farmhouse, his farm comprised the richest acres of the table-land crowning the mountain, and his flocks and herds were the largest in the county. His flour mill did a thriving business. Some said that its thrift was due, in part, to the amount of toll extracted from his neighbors' grists; but this, of course, was a heresy unproved. Nor did many of even these disgruntled folk grumble openly. They dared not. Oliver "held them in his hand," as the saying went, having mortgages upon almost all the smaller farms adjacent to his own – intent upon sometime adding them to his, at that dreaded day when he should see fit to "foreclose."

With the miller's departure from the scene the horse-owners had their chance, and took it promptly; but the prices asked for the several steeds which were now "put through their paces" were far and away beyond the balance left in the Chesters' power to pay. Therefore, short work was made of this part of the memorable sale and the grounds were rapidly deserted of nearly all.

Bill Barry lingered to the last, and finding himself still unsuccessful, relieved his disappointment by a parting fling:

"Well, neighbor, after all I dunno as you will need a hoss – ary kind of one, seein's you've got Hannah! That creatur's a repytation for speed 'at puts my sorrel here out of the runnin'. Lively, Hannah is, an' no mistake. Old Olly's head's leveler than this mountain-side, even if his mouth is mealier 'n his own flour bags. Well, good-day. If you shouldn't get suited, lemme know. I'll drive right up."

The silence that fell upon Skyrie then seemed intense, but most delightful; and for a few moments all its household felt the need of rest. They sat without speaking, for a time, till a low from the barnyard reminded them that their "family" had increased and might need attention. Who was to give it?

With a smile, half of vexation, mother Martha suddenly exclaimed:

"We've begun at the wrong end of things! 'Put the cart before the horse.' We needed a pig, a cow, a horse, and a man. Well, the man should have been our first to secure. Then he could have looked after the other things. Oh! hum! What a day this has been!"

"Yes. Country life does seem to be rather exciting," agreed Mr. Chester, idly poking the end of his crutch among the weeds along the wide stone where his chair had been placed. "A lawsuit, a stock-sale, and an introduction to 'Society' – all in one morning."

"But we didn't get the horse!" said Dorothy C., who liked matters to be completely finished, once they had been undertaken; and whose fancy had been unduly stirred by the sight of Bucephalus. She had then and there decided that she, too, would become a finished equestrian as soon as possible; though she had seen none among the horses just exhibited that compared with Herbert's mount.

"The horse can wait," returned Mrs. Chester, in a tone of relief. "Yet, for your sake, John, it should have been our first purchase."

"After that necessary 'man,' my dear!"

But Mrs. Chester was in no mood for joking. The reaction from excitement had set in, and she let her husband's jest fall to the ground where it belonged. If only that unfortunate advertisement had done the same! They would not then have been so annoyed by an overflow of traders nor been rendered the laughing-stock of the community. Besides it was now past noon and dinner must be prepared; so she rose to go indoors, suggesting to Dorothy:

"It might be well to see if Hannah and the calf need water. You can take that old pail I use to scrub from and carry them a drink. Take but a half-pailful at a time. You're too young to lift heavy things, yet."

"All right: but, mother, that generous old man didn't say what the calf's name was. And isn't Hannah the oddest for – a cow? Real Quakerish it sounds to me. What shall you name your dear little pig? May I call my darling calf Jewel? Just to think! I never, never dreamed I should have a real live little calf for my very, very own!"

"May your Jewel prove a diamond of the first water!" cried father John, always sympathetic.

But mother Martha was carefully counting the contents of her depleted pocket-book and her tone was rather sharp as she answered:

"It's a poor pig that can't live without a name: and – I'm afraid that old Quaker gentleman was not – was not quite so generous as he seemed. A calf requires milk. A calf that 'runs with its mother' generally gets it; and – " She paused so long that her husband added:

"What becomes of the family that owns the calf? Is that what you were thinking, my dear? No matter! So long as that lowing mother and child were not cruelly 'separated' everything is right. May I come and peel the potatoes for you?"

For helpless to do great things for his household the crippled man had insisted upon his right to do small ones; but it always hurt his wife's pride to see her once stalwart husband doing "woman's work," so he never attempted it without permission.

This time she nodded consent, and promptly brought him a basin of them, while she sat down to shell a measure of pease procured that morning from a passing huckster. She felt that they could talk as they worked, and indeed there was much to discuss. Until her return everything had been absorbed by Dorothy's fortunes; and even still it was thought of Dorothy which lay closest to both their hearts.

"But Dolly brought down to a real bread-and-butter basis! We are compelled to make our living and hers out of this run-down farm. Now, how to begin? Shall I sit by the roadside and ask every man who passes by if he wants to hire himself out 'on shares'? Or will you risk another advertisement, compounded by yourself?" inquired Mr. Chester. "Help we must have."

"Yes, we must. If I could only get hold of some of the strong, idle, colored men loafing the streets of Baltimore! They, or he, would be just what we need."

"Maybe not, my dear. In any case we haven't one, nor time to import one. Probably he would be discontented if we got one. We'll have to depend on 'local talent' and – hear that cow 'Moo!' Sounds as if she were homesick."

"Poor thing! probably she is. I am – a little, myself," returned mother Martha, rising to put her vegetables on to boil. "Also, I consider that we have accomplished sufficient for one morning. Let's rest on it and wait what may turn up; fortunately Hannah can live upon grass – the whole farm is grass, or weeds – "

"And the calf can live upon Hannah! My dear, country life is making you a philosopher: and here comes our girl as ready for her dinner as I am. I'll take a bit of a nap while she sets the table, and the sooner I'm called to it the better. No trouble with our appetites since we came to Skyrie," rejoined the ex-postman, crossing to the lounge and settling himself, not for the "nap" he had mentioned but to best consider that farming question, almost a hopeless one to him.

The afternoon passed quietly, varied by frequent visits on the part of mother Martha and Dorothy to their respective possessions of live stock, tethered by the barn. All seemed going well. Hannah had ceased to low and lay upon the grass contentedly chewing her cud, while her festive offspring gamboled around as far as its rope-length would permit.

As for the unnamed pig, it had rooted for itself a soft muddy bed, and from having been well fed, earlier in the day, was contented to lie and slumber in the sunshine.

Contemplation of the creatures gave Martha great pleasure, till Dorothy suddenly propounded the question:

"Who's going to milk Hannah? That nice Quaker man said 'twice a day,' and 'ten quarts at a time.'"

For a moment Mrs. Chester did not answer; then she looked up and, as if in reply to her own perplexity, beheld Jim Barlow.

"O my lad! Never anybody more welcome. You can milk, of course?"

"Yes, ma'am, I should say so. Mis' Calvert she sent me over to see if you needed anything. She said as how none your folks was used to farmin' and she's got a right smart o' curiosity over how you came out with your advertisement. More'n that, here's a letter she had Ephraim fetch up-mounting, when he druv down for her mail. She said I was to tell you 't all your letters could be put with her'n if you wanted; so's to save you or Dorothy walking way to the office."

"All our letters won't be many and she is very kind. Please thank her for us and tell her that – that – Jim, would you like to change 'bosses' and come to work for us at Skyrie?" asked Mrs. Chester with sudden inspiration.

"No, ma'am, I wouldn't," answered the lad, with unflattering promptness. "I mean – you know – "

"Oh! don't try to smooth that over, pray. It was a mere thought of mine, knowing how fond you were, or seemed to be, of our girl. But, of course, you wouldn't. The comforts and conveniences of our little home can't compare with Deerhurst. Only – " said the lady, somewhat sarcastically, and on the point of adding: "It's better than Miranda Stott's." But she left her sentence unfinished and it was kinder so.

Poor Jim saw that he had offended. Even Dorothy's brown eyes had flashed, perceiving her mother's discomfiture, but though his face flushed to find himself thus misunderstood he did not alter, nor soften, his decision. He merely stated the case as he regarded it:

"If I could make two of myself I'd be glad to. I'd just admire to take hold this job an' clear the weeds an' rubbidge offen Skyrie. Not 't I think it'll ever be wuth shucks – for farmin': the land's all run to mullein an' stun. But I could make it a sight better 'n it is an' it might grow plenty of them posies Dorothy's so tickled with. If it could be stocked now – Mis' Stott used to say that keepin' lots o' cattle was to be looked at both ways; what they leave on the land in manure fetches it up, an' what they eat offen it fetches it down. She kep' more calves an' yearlin's than 'peared like she'd ought to, but she raised a power of stuff for market, 'count of 'em. If I was you folks I'd put my money into yearlin's fust thing," said this young farmer, rendered talkative by his novel position as adviser.

Dorothy was disgusted. This didn't seem like the old, subservient Jim she was familiar with and she disliked his plainness of speech. She improved the occasion by calling his attention to Jewel:

"See my calf? That's my very own! She was a present to me this very day, Jim Barlow, and I've named her Jewel. Maybe, though, I'll change that to 'Daisy.' I've read stories where cows were called 'Daisies,' and she'll be a cow sometime, and I shall sell her milk to get money."

"Pshaw! Looks like good stock, that calf does; 's if 't might make a nice steer, but 'twon't never be a cow to give milk. 'Tain't that kind of a calf; and after all, raisin' young cattle is a power of work. They run over fences an' fall into hollers, an' Mis' Stott she used to say, sometimes, she didn't know but they did eat their own heads off; meanin' their keep cost more than they was wuth – time they was ready for killin'. If I was you, Dorothy, I'd fat that calf up, quick's I could, then sell him to the butcher for veal," further advised this practical youth.

"O you horrid boy! You – you – I never saw anybody who could dash cold water on people's happiness as you can! You – you're as hateful as you can be!" cried Dorothy, venting all her disappointment in anger against him.