WILLIAM BACON'S MAN
I
The yellow March sun lay powerfully on the bare Iowa prairie, where theploughed fields were already turning warm and brown, and only here andthere in a corner or on the north side of the fence did the sullendrifts remain, and they were so dark and low that they hardly appearedto break the mellow brown of the fields.
There passed also an occasional flock of geese, cheerful harbingers ofspring, and the prairie-chickens had set up their morning symphony,wide-swelling, wonderful with its prophecy of the new birth of grass andgrain and the springing life of all breathing things. The crow passednow and then, uttering his resonant croak, but the crane had not yetsent forth his bugle note.
Lyman Gilman rested on his axe-helve at the woodpile of Farmer Bacon tolisten to the music around him. In a vague way he was powerfully movedby it. He heard the hens singing their weird, raucous, monotonous song,and saw them burrowing in the dry chip-dust near him. He saw the youngcolts and cattle frisking in the sunny space around the straw-stacks,absorbed through his bare arms and uncovered head the heat of the sun,and felt the soft wooing of the air so deeply that he broke into anunwonted exclamation:--
"Glory! we'll be seeding by Friday, sure."
This short and disappointing soliloquy was, after all, an expression ofdeep emotion. To the Western farmer the very word "seeding" is a poem.And these few words, coming from Lyman Gilman, meant more and expressedmore than many a large and ambitious springtime song.
But the glory of all the slumbrous landscape, the stately beauty of thesky with its masses of fleecy vapor, were swept away by the sound of agirl's voice humming, "Come to the Saviour," while she bustled about thekitchen near by. The windows were open. Ah! what suggestion to thesedwellers in a rigorous climate was in the first unsealing of thewindows! How sweet it was to the pale and weary women after their longimprisonment!
As Lyman sat down on his maple log to hear better, a plump face appearedat the window, and a clear, girl-voice said:--
"Smell anything, Lime?"
He snuffed the air. "Cookies, by the great horn spoons!" he yelled,leaping up. "Bring me some, an' see me eat; it'll do ye good."
"Come an' get 'm," laughed the face at the window.
"Oh, it's nicer out here, Merry Etty. What's the rush? Bring me outsome, an' set down on this log."
With a nod Marietta disappeared, and soon came out with a plate ofcookies in one hand and a cup of milk in the other.
"Poor little man, he's all tired out, ain't he?"
Lime, taking the cue, collapsed in a heap, and said feebly, "Bread,bread!"
"Won't milk an' cookies do as well?"
He brushed off the log and motioned her to sit down beside him, but shehesitated a little and colored a little.
"Oh, Lime, s'pose somebody should see us?"
"Let 'em. What in thunder do we care? Sit down an' gimme a holt o' themcakes. I'm just about done up. I couldn't 'a' stood it another minute."
She sat down beside him with a laugh and a pretty blush. She was in herapron, and the sleeves of her dress were rolled to her elbows,displaying the strong, round arms. Wholesome and sweet she looked andsmelled, the scent of the cooking round her. Lyman munched a couple ofthe cookies and gulped a pint of milk before he spoke.
"Whadda we care who sees us sittin' side b' side? Ain't we goin' t' bemarried soon?"
"Oh, them cookies in the oven!" she shrieked, leaping up and running tothe house. She looked back as she reached the kitchen door, however, andsmiled with a flushed face. Lime slapped his knee and roared withlaughter at his bold stroke.
"Ho! ho!" he laughed. "Didn't I do it slick? Ain't nothin' green in _my_eye, I guess." In an intense and pleasurable abstraction he finished thecookies and the milk. Then he yelled:--
"Hey! Merry--Merry Etty!"
"Whadda ye want?" sang the girl from the window, her face still rosywith confusion.
"Come out here and git these things."
The girl shook her head, with a laugh.
"Come out an' git 'm, 'r, by jingo, I'll throw 'em at ye! Come on, now!"
The girl looked at the huge, handsome fellow, the sun falling on hisgolden hair and beard, and came slowly out to him--came creeping alongwith her hand outstretched for the plate which Lime, with a laugh in hissunny blue eyes, extended at the full length of his bare arm. The girlmade a snatch at it, but his left hand caught her by the wrist, and awaywent cup and plate as he drew her to him and kissed her in spite of herstruggles.
"My! ain't you strong!" she said, half ruefully and half admiringly, asshe shrugged her shoulders. "If you'd use a little more o' _that_choppin' wood, Dad wouldn't 'a' lost s' much money by yeh."
Lime grew grave.
"There's the hog in the fence, Merry; what's yer dad goin' t' say--"
"About what?"
"About our gitt'n married this spring."
"I guess you'd better find out what _I'm_ a-goin' t' say, Lime Gilman,'fore you pitch into Dad."
"I _know_ what you're a-goin' t' say."
"No, y' don't."
"Yes, but I _do_, though."
"Well, ask me, and see, if you think you're so smart. Jest as like 'snot, you'll slip up."
"All right; here goes. Marietty Bacon, ain't you an' Lime Gilman goin't' be married?"
"No, sir, we ain't," laughed the girl, snatching up the plate anddarting away to the house, where she struck up "Weevily Wheat," and wentbusily on about her cooking. Lime threw a kiss at her, and fell to workon his log with startling energy.
Lyman looked forward to his interview with the old man with as muchtrepidation as he had ever known, though commonly he had little fear ofanything--but a girl.
Marietta was not only the old man's only child, but his housekeeper, hiswife having at last succumbed to the ferocious toil of the farm. It wasreasonable to suppose, therefore, that he would surrender his claim onthe girl reluctantly. Rough as he was, he loved Marietta strongly, andwould find it exceedingly hard to get along without her.
Lyman mused on these things as he drove the gleaming axe into the hugemaple logs. He was something more than the usual hired man, being alumberman from the Wisconsin pineries, where he had sold out hisinterest in a camp not three weeks before the day he began work forBacon. He had a nice "little wad o' money" when he left the camp andstarted for La Crosse, but he had been robbed in his hotel the firstnight in the city, and was left nearly penniless. It was a great blow tohim, for, as he said, every cent of that money "stood fer hard knocksan' poor feed. When I smelt of it I could jest see the cold, frostymornin's and the late nights. I could feel the hot sun on my back likeit was when I worked in the harvest-field. By jingo! It kind o' made mytoes curl up."
But he went resolutely out to work again, and here he was chopping woodin old man Bacon's yard, thinking busily on the talk which had justpassed between Marietta and himself.
"By jingo!" he said all at once, stopping short, with the axe on hisshoulder. "If I hadn't 'a' been robbed I wouldn't 'a' come here--Inever'd met Merry. Thunder and jimson root! Wasn't that a narrowescape?"
And then he laughed so heartily that the girl looked out of the windowagain to see what in the world he was doing. He had his hat in his handand was whacking his thigh with it.
"Lyman Gilman, what in the world ails you to-day? It's perfectlyridiculous the way you yell and talk t' y'rself out there on the chips.You beat the hens, I declare if you don't."
Lime put on his hat and walked up to the window, and, resting his greatbare arms on the sill, and his chin on his arms, said:--
"Merry, I'm goin' to tackle 'Dad' this afternoon. He'll be sittin' upthe new seeder, and I'm goin' t' climb right on the back of his neck.He's jest _got_ t' give me a chance."
Marietta looked sober in sympathy.
"Well! P'raps it's best to have it over with, Lime, but someway I feelkind o' scary about it."
Lime stood for a long time looking in at the window, watching thelight-footed girl as she set the table in t
he middle of the sun-lightedkitchen floor. The kettle hissed, the meat sizzled, sending up adelicious odor; a hen stood in the open door and sang a sort of cheeryhalf-human song, while to and fro moved the sweet-faced, lithe, andpowerful girl, followed by the smiling eyes at the window.
"Merry, you look purty as a picture. You look just like the wife I be'na-huntin' for all these years, sure's shootin'."
Marietta colored with pleasure.
"Does Dad pay you to stand an' look at me an' say pretty things t' thecook?"
"No, he don't. But I'm willin' t' do it without pay. I could just standhere till kingdom come an' look at you. Hello! I hear a wagon. I guess Ibetter hump into that woodpile."
"I think so too. Dinner's most ready, and Dad 'll be here soon."
Lime was driving away furiously at a tough elm log when Farmer Bacondrove into the yard with a new seeder in his wagon. Lime whacked awaybusily while Bacon stabled the team, and in a short time Mariettacalled, in a long-drawn, musical fashion:--
"Dinner-r-r!"
After sozzling their faces at the well the two men went in and sat downat the table. Bacon was not much of a talker at any time, and atmeal-time, in seeding, eating was the main business in hand; thereforethe meal was a silent one, Marietta and Lime not caring to talk ongeneral topics. The hour was an anxious one for her, and an importantone for him.
"Wal, now, Lime, seedun' 's the nex' thing," said Bacon, as he shovedback his chair and glared around from under his bushy eyebrows. "Wecan't do too much this afternoon. That seeder's got t' be set up an' alot o' seed-wheat cleaned up. You unload the machine while I feed thepigs."
Lime sat still till the old man was heard outside calling "Oo-ee,poo-ee" to the pigs in the yard; then he smiled at Marietta, but shesaid:--
"He's got on one of his fits, Lime; I don't b'lieve you'd better tacklehim t'-day."
"Don't you worry; I'll fix him. Come, now, give me a kiss."
"Why, you great thing! You--took--"
"I know, but I want you to _give_ 'em to me. Just walk right up to mean' give me a smack t' bind the bargain."
"I ain't made any bargain," laughed the girl. Then, feeling the force ofhis tender tone, she added: "Will you behave, and go right off to yourwork?"
"Jest like a little man--hope t' die!"
"_Lime!_" roared the old man from the barn.
"Hello!" replied Lime, grinning joyously and winking at the girl, asmuch as to say, "This would paralyze the old man if he saw it."
He went out to the shed where Bacon was at work, as serene as if he hadnot a fearful task on hand. He was apprehensive that the father might"gig back" unless rightly approached, and so he awaited a goodopportunity.
The right moment seemed to present itself along about the middle of theafternoon. Bacon was down on the ground under the machine, tighteningsome burrs. This was a good chance for two reasons. In the first place,the keen, almost savage eyes were no longer where they could glare onhim, and in spite of his cool exterior Lime had just as soon not havethe old man looking at him.
Besides, the old farmer had been telling about his "river eighty," whichwas without a tenant; the man who had taken it, having lost his wife,had grown disheartened and had given it up.
"It's an almighty good chance for a man with a small family. Good housean' barn, good land. A likely young feller with a team an' a woman coulddo tiptop on that eighty. If he wanted more, I'd let him have an eightyj'inun'--"
"I'd like t' try that m'self," said Lime, as a feeler. The old fellowsaid nothing in reply for a moment.
"Ef you had a team an' tools an' a woman, I'd jest as lief you'd have itas anybody."
"Sell me your blacks, and I'll pay half down--the balance in the fall. Ican pick up some tools, and as for a woman, Merry Etty an' me havetalked that over to-day. She's ready to--ready to marry me whenever yousay go."
There was an ominous silence under the seeder, as if the father couldnot believe his ears.
"What's--what's that!" he stuttered. "Who'd you say? What about MerryEtty?"
"She's agreed to marry me."
"The hell you say!" roared Bacon, as the truth burst upon him. "Sothat's what you do when I go off to town and leave you to chop wood. Soyou're goun' to git married, hey?"
He was now where Lime could see him, glaring up into his smiling blueeyes. Lime stood his ground.
"Yes, sir. That's the calculation."
"Well, I guess I'll have somethin' t' say about that," said Bacon,nodding his head violently.
"I rather expected y' would. Blaze away. Your privilege--my bad luck.Sail in ol' man. What's y'r objection to me fer a son-in-law?"
"Don't you worry, young feller. I'll come at it soon enough," went onBacon, as he turned up another burr in a very awkward corner. In hisnervous excitement the wrench slipped, banging his knuckle.
"Ouch! Thunder--m-m-m!" howled and snarled the wounded man.
"What's the matter? Bark y'r knuckle?" queried Lime, feeling a mightyimpulse to laugh. But when he saw the old savage straighten up and glareat him he sobered. Bacon was now in a frightful temper. The veins in hisgreat, bare, weather-beaten neck swelled dangerously.
"Jest let me say right here that I've had enough o' you. You can't liveon the same acre with my girl another day."
"What makes ye think I can't?" It was now the young man's turn to drawhimself up, and as he faced the old man, his arms folded and each vasthand grasping an elbow, he looked like a statue of red granite, and thehands resembled the paws of a crouching lion; but his eyes smiled.
"I don't _think_, I know ye won't."
"What's the objection to me?"
"Objection? Hell! What's the inducement? My hired man, an' not threeshirts to yer back!"
"That's another; I've got four. Say, old man, did you ever work out fora living?"
"That's none o' your business," growled Bacon a little taken down. "I'veworked an' scraped, an' got t'gether a little prop'ty here, an' theyain't no sucker like you goun' to come 'long here, an' live off me, an'spend my prop'ty after I'm dead. You can jest bet high on that."
"Who's goin' t' live on ye?"
"You're aimun' to."
"I ain't, neither."
"Yes, y'are. You've loafed on me ever since I hired ye."
"That's a--" Lime checked himself for Marietta's sake, and the enragedfather went on:--
"I hired ye t' cut wood, an' you've gone an' fooled my daughter awayfrom me. Now you just figger up what I owe ye, and git out o' here. Yecan't go too soon t' suit _me_."
Bacon was renowned as the hardest man to handle in Cedar County, andthough he was getting old, he was still a terror to his neighbors whenroused. He was honest, temperate, and a good neighbor until somethingcarried him off his balance; then he became as cruel as a panther and assavage as a grisly. All this Lime knew, but it did not keep his angerdown so much as did the thought of Marietta. His silence infuriatedBacon, who yelled hoarsely:--
"Git out o' this!"
"Don't be in a rush, ol' man--"
Bacon hurled himself upon Lime, who threw out one hand and stopped him,while he said in a low voice:--
"Stay right where you are, ol' man. I'm dangerous. It's for Merry'ssake--"
The infuriated old man struck at him. Lime warded off the blow, and witha sudden wrench and twist threw him to the ground with frightful force.Before Bacon could rise, Marietta, who had witnessed the scene, cameflying from the house.
"Lime! Father! What are you doing?"
"I--couldn't help it, Merry. It was him 'r me," said Lime, almost sadly.
"Dad, ain't you got no sense? What 're you thinking of? You jest stopright now. I won't have it."
He rose while she clung to him; he seemed a little dazed. It was thefirst time he had ever been thrown, and he could not but feel a certainrespect for his opponent, but he could not give way.
"Pack up yer duds," he snarled, "an' git off'n my land. I'll have themoney fer ye when ye come back. I'll give ye jest five minutes to gitclear o' here.
Merry, you stay here."
The young man saw it was useless to remain, as it would only excite theold man; and so, with a look of apology, not without humor, at Marietta,he went to the house to get his valise. The girl wept silently while thefather raged up and down. His mood frightened her.
"I thought ye had more sense than t' take up with such a dirty houn'."
"He ain't a houn'," she blazed forth, "and he's just as good and cleanas you are."
"Shut up! Don't let me hear another word out o' your head. I'm boss hereyet, I reckon."
Lime came out with his valise in his hand.
"Good-by, Merry," he said cheerily. She started to go to him, but herfather's rough grasp held her.
"Set _down_, an' stay there."
Lime was going out of the gate.
"Here! Come and get y'r money," yelled the old man, extending somebills. "Here's twenty--"
"Go to thunder with your money," retorted Lime. "I've had my pay for mymonth's work." As he said that, he thought of the sunny kitchen and themerry girl, and his throat choked. Good-by to the sweet girl whose smilewas so much to him, and to the happy noons and nights her eyes had madefor him. He waved his hat at her as he stood in the open gate, and thesun lighted his handsome head into a sort of glory in her eyes. Then heturned and walked rapidly off down the road, not looking back.
The girl, when she could no longer see him, dashed away, and, sobbingviolently, entered the house.
II
There was just a suspicion of light in the east, a mere hint of a glow,when Lyman walked cautiously around the corner of the house and tappedat Marietta's window. She was sleeping soundly and did not hear, for shehad been restless during the first part of the night. He tapped again,and the girl woke without knowing what woke her.
Lyman put the blade of his pocket-knife under the window and raised it alittle, and then placed his lips to the crack, and spoke in a sepulchraltone, half groan, half whisper:--
"Merry! Merry Etty!"
The dazed girl sat up in bed and listened, while her heart almost stoodstill.
"Merry, it's me--Lime. Come to the winder." The girl hesitated, andLyman spoke again.
"Come, I hain't got much time. This is your last chance t' see me. It'snow 'r never."
The girl slipped out of bed, and, wrapping herself in a shawl, crept tothe window.
"Boost on that winder," commanded Lyman. She raised it enough to admithis head, which came just above the sill; then she knelt on the floor bythe window.
Her eyes stared wide and dark.
"Lime, what in the world do you mean--"
"I mean business," he replied. "I ain't no last year's chicken; I knowwhen the old man sleeps the soundest." He chuckled pleasantly.
"How 'd y' fool old Rove?"
"Never mind about that now; they's something more important on hand.You've got t' go with me."
She drew back, "Oh, Lime, I can't!"
He thrust a great arm in and caught her by the wrist.
"Yes, y' can. This is y'r last chance. If I go off without ye t'night, Inever come back. What makes ye gig back? Are ye 'fraid o' me?"
"N-no; but--but--"
"But what, Merry Etty?"
"It ain't right to go an' leave Dad all alone. Where y' goin' t' takeme, anyhow?"
"Milt Jennings let me have his horse an' buggy; they're down the road apiece, an' we'll go right down to Rock River and be married by sun-up."
The girl still hesitated, her firm, boyish will unwontedly befogged.Resolute as she was, she could not at once accede to his demand.
"Come, make up your mind soon. The old man 'll fill me with buck-shot ifhe catches sight o' me." He drew her arm out of the window and laid hisbearded cheek to it. "Come, little one, we're made for each other; Godknows it. Come! It's him 'r me."
The girl's head dropped, consented.
"That's right! Now a kiss to bind the bargain. There! What, cryin'? Nomore o' that, little one. Now I'll give you jest five minutes to git onyour Sunday-go-t'-meetin' clo'es. Quick, there goes a rooster. It'sgittin' white in the east."
The man turned his back to the window and gazed at the western sky witha wealth of unuttered and unutterable exultation in his heart. Far off arooster gave a long, clear blast--would it be answered in the barn? Yes;some wakeful ear had caught it, and now the answer came faint, muffled,and drowsy. The dog at his feet whined uneasily as if suspectingsomething wrong. The wind from the south was full of the wonderful odorof springing grass, warm, brown earth, and oozing sap. Overhead, to thewest, the stars were shining in the cloudless sky, dimmed a little inbrightness by the faint silvery veil of moisture in the air. The man'ssoul grew very tender as he stood waiting for his bride. He was rough,illiterate, yet there was something fine about him after all, a kind ofsimplicity and a gigantic, leonine tenderness.
He heard his sweetheart moving about inside, and mused: "The old manwon't hold out when he finds we're married. He can't get along withouther. If he does, why, I'll rent a farm here, and we'll go to workhousekeepin'. I can git the money. She shan't always be poor," he ended,and the thought was a vow.
The window was raised again, and the girl's voice was heard low andtremulous:--
"Lime, I'm ready, but I wish we didn't--"
He put his arm around her waist and helped her out, and did not put herdown till they reached the road. She was completely dressed, even toher hat and shoes, but she mourned:--
"My hair is every-which-way; Lime, how can I be married so?"
They were nearing the horse and buggy now, and Lime laughed. "Oh, we'llstop at Jennings's and fix up. Milt knows what's up, and has told hismother by this time. So just laugh as jolly as you can."
Soon they were in the buggy, the impatient horse swung into the road ata rattling pace, and as Marietta leaned back in the seat, thinking ofwhat she had done, she cried lamentably, in spite of all the caressesand pleadings of her lover.
But the sun burst up from the plain, the prairie-chickens took up theirmighty chorus on the hills, robins met them on the way, flocks of wildgeese, honking cheerily, drove far overhead toward the north, and, withthese sounds of a golden spring day in her ears, the bride grewcheerful, and laughed.
III
At about the time the sun was rising, Farmer Bacon, roused from hissleep by the crowing of the chickens on the dry knolls in the fields aswell as by those in the barn-yard, rolled out of bed wearily, wonderingwhy he should feel so drowsy. Then he remembered the row with Lime andhis subsequent inability to sleep with thinking over it. There was adull pain in his breast, which made him uncomfortable.
As was his usual custom, he went out into the kitchen and built the firefor Marietta, filled the tea-kettle with water, and filled thewater-bucket in the sink. Then he went to her bedroom door and knockedwith his knuckles as he had done for years in precisely the samefashion.
Rap--rap--rap. "Hello, Merry! Time t' git up. Broad daylight, an' birdsasingun.'"
Without waiting for an answer he went out to the barn and worked away athis chores. He took such delight in the glorious morning and theturbulent life of the farmyard that his heart grew light and he hummed atune which sounded like the merry growl of a lion. "Poo-ee, poo-ee," hecalled to the pigs as they swarmed across the yard.
"Ahrr! you big, fat rascals, them hams o' yourn is clear money. One ofye shall go t' buy Merry a new dress," he said as he glanced at thehouse and saw the smoke pouring out the stovepipe. "Merry's a good girl;she's stood by her old pap when other girls 'u'd 'a' gone back on 'im."
While currying horses he went all over the ground of the quarrelyesterday, and he began to see it in a different light. He began to seethat Lyman was a good man and an able man, and that his own course was afoolish one.
"When I git mad," he confessed to himself, "I don't know any thin'. ButI won't give her up. She ain't old 'nough t' marry yet--and, besides, Ineed her."
After finishing his chores, as usual, he went to the well and washed hisface and hands, then entered the
kitchen--to find the tea-kettle boilingover, and no signs of breakfast anywhere, and no sign of the girl.
"Well, I guess she felt sleepy this mornin'. Poor gal! Mebbe she criedhalf the night."
"Merry!" he called gently, at the door.
"Merry, m' gal! Pap needs his breakfast."
There was no reply, and the old man's face stiffened into a wildsurprise. He knocked heavily again and got no reply, and, with a whiteface and shaking hand, he flung the door open and gazed at the emptybed. His hand dropped to his side; his head turned slowly from the bedto the open window; he rushed forward and looked out on the ground,where he saw the tracks of a man.
He fell heavily into the chair by the bed, while a deep groan broke fromhis stiff and twitching lips.
"She's left me! She's left me!"
For a long half-hour the iron-muscled old man sat there motionless,hearing not the songs of the hens or the birds far out in the brilliantsunshine. He had lost sight of his farm, his day's work, and felt nohunger for food. He did not doubt that her going was final. He felt thatshe was gone from him forever. If she ever came back it would not be ashis daughter, but as the wife of Gilman. She had deserted him, fled inthe night like a thief; his heart began to harden again, and he rosestiffly. His native stubbornness began to assert itself, the first greatshock over, and he went out to the kitchen, and prepared, as best hecould, a breakfast, and sat down to it. In some way his appetite failedhim, and he fell to thinking over his past life, of the death of hiswife, and the early death of his only boy. He was still trying to thinkwhat his life would be in the future without his girl, when twocarriages drove into the yard. It was about the middle of the forenoon,and the prairie-chickens had ceased to boom and squawk; in fact, thatwas why he knew, for he had been sitting two hours at the table. Beforehe could rise he heard swift feet and a merry voice and Marietta burstthrough the door.
"Hello, Pap! How you makin' out with break--" She saw a look on his facethat went to her heart like a knife. She saw a lonely and deserted oldman sitting at his cold and cheerless breakfast, and with a remorsefulcry she ran across the floor and took him in her arms, kissing him againand again, while Mr. John Jennings and his wife stood in the door.
"Poor ol' Pap! Merry couldn't leave you. She's come back to stay as longas he lives."
The old man remained cold and stern. His deep voice had a relentlessnote in it as he pushed her away from him, noticing no one else.
"But how do you come back t' me?"
The girl grew rosy, but she stood proudly up.
"I come back the wife of a _man_, Pap; a wife like my mother, an' thist' hang beside hers;" and she laid down a rolled piece of parchment.
"Take it an' go," growled he; "take yer lazy lubber an' git out o' mysight. I raised ye, took keer o' ye when ye was little, sent ye t'school, bought ye dresses,--done everythin' fer ye I could, 'lowin' t'have ye stand by me when I got old,--but no, ye must go back on yer ol'pap, an' go off in the night with a good-f'r-nothin' houn' that nobuddyknows anything about--a feller that never done a thing fer ye in theworld--"
"What did you do for mother that she left _her_ father and mother andwent with you? How much did you have when you took her away from hergood home an' brought her away out here among the wolves an' Indians?I've heard you an' her say a hundred times that you didn't have a chairin the house. Now, why do you talk so t' me when I want t' git--whenLime comes and asks for me?"
The old man was staggered. He looked at the smiling face of JohnJennings and the tearful eyes of Mrs. Jennings, who had returned withLyman. But his heart hardened again as he caught sight of Lime lookingin at him. His absurd pride would not let him relent. Lime saw it, andstepped forward.
"Ol' man, I want t' take a little inning now. I'm a fair, square man. Iasked ye fer Merry as a man should. I told you I'd had hard luck, when Ifirst came here. I had five thousand dollars in clean cash stole fromme. I hain't got a thing now except credit, but that's good fer enought' stock a little farm with. Now, I wan' to be fair and square in thisthing. You wan' to rent a farm; I need one. Let me have the rivereighty, or I'll take the whole business on a share of a third, an' MerryEtty and I to stay here with you jest as if nothin' 'd happened. Come,now, what d' y' say?"
There was something winning in the sturdy bearing of the man as he stoodbefore the father, who remained silent and grim.
"Or if you don't do that, why, there's nothin' left fer Merry an' me butto go back to La Crosse, where I can have my choice of a dozen farms.Now this is the way things is standin'. I don't want to be underhandedabout this thing--"
"That's a fair offer," said Mr. Jennings in the pause which followed."You'd better do it, neighbor Bacon. Nobuddy need know how things stood;they were married in my house--I thought that would be best. You can'tlive without your girl," he went on, "any more 'n I could without myboy. You'd better--"
The figure at the table straightened up. Under his tufted eyebrows hiskeen gray eyes flashed from one to the other. His hands knotted.
"Go slow!" went on the smooth voice of Jennings, known all the countrythrough as a peacemaker. "Take time t' think it over. Stand out, an'you'll live here alone without chick 'r child; give in, and this house'll bubble over with noise and young ones. Now is short, and forever's along time to feel sorry in."
The old man at the table knitted his eyebrows, and a distorted,quivering, ghastly smile broke out on his face. His chest heaved; thenhe burst forth:--
"Gal, yank them gloves off, an' git me something to eat--breakfus 'rdinner, I don't care which. Lime, you infernal idiot, git out there andgear up them horses. What in thunder you foolun' round about hyere inseed'n'? Come, hustle, all o' ye!"
And they all shouted in laughter, while the old man strode unsteadilybut resolutely out toward the barn, followed by the bridegroom, who wasstill laughing--but silently.