The Old Gray Homestead

  CHAPTER XI

  "So you refused Weston's offer of three hundred dollars for Frieda?"

  "Yes, father. Do you think I was wrong?"

  "Well, I don't know. That's a good deal of money, Austin."

  "I know, but think what she cost to import, and the record she's making!I told him he might have two of the brand-new bull calves atseventy-five apiece."

  "What did he say?"

  "Jumped at the chance. He's coming _for_ the calves, and _with_ the cashearly to-morrow morning. I said he might have a look at Dorothy, too.Peter thinks she isn't quite up to our standard, and I'm inclined toagree with him, though I imagine his opinion is based partly on the factthat she's a Jersey! If Weston will give three hundred for _her_, righton the spot, I think we'd better let her go."

  "Did you do any other special business in Wallacetown?"

  "I took ten dozen more eggs to Hassan's Grocery, and he paid me for thelast two months. Thirty dollars. Pretty good, but we ought to do betteryet, though, of course, we eat a great many ourselves. How's the taxassessing coming along? I suppose you've been out all day, too."

  "Yes. I'm so green at it I find it rather hard work. It's hard luck thatboth of the listers should be sick just now, though in New Hampshire theselectmen always have to do the assessing. But I've had some funnyexperiences to-day. I found one woman terribly distressed because herhusband wasn't at home. 'He waited 'round all yesterday afternoon foryou, thinkin' you'd probably be here,' she said, 'but he's gone to WhiteWater to-day.' 'Well,' I said, 'let's see if we can't get along just aswell without him. Have you a horse?' 'Yes, but he's over age--he can't betaxed.' 'Any cows?' 'Just two heifers--they're too young.' 'Any money ondeposit?' 'Lord, no!' 'Then there's only the poll-tax?' I suggested.'Bless you, he's seventy-six years old--there ain't no poll-tax!' sherejoined. And the long and short of it was that they weren't taxable fora single thing!"

  Austin laughed. "How much longer are you going to be at this, father?" heasked, as he turned to go away.

  "All through April, I'm afraid. I'm sorry it makes things so much harderfor you on the farm, Austin, but it means three dollars a day. I'm soglad Katherine and Edith could go on the high school trip toWashington--your mother had her first letter this noon. You'll want toread it--they're having a wonderful time. I'm trying to figure outwhether we can possibly let Katherine go to Wellesley next year. She'sgot her heart just set on it, and Edith seems perfectly willing to stayat home, so we shan't be put to any extra expense for her."

  "I guess when the time comes we can find a way to help Katherine if shehelps herself as much as Thomas and Molly are doing. By the way, has itoccurred to you that there may be some reason for Edith's sudden turntowards domesticity?"

  "Why, no--what do you mean?"

  "Peter."

  "Peter!" echoed Mr. Gray, aghast; "why the child isn't seventeen yet, andhe can't be more than a couple of years older!"

  "I know. But such things do sometimes happen."

  "You don't consider Peter a suitable match for one of your sisters?" wenton the horrified father; "why, she's oceans above him."

  "Any farther than Sylvia is above Thomas? You seem to be taking thatrather hard."

  For Thomas, in spite of Austin's warnings, and his chastening experienceon the night of the expedition to the Moving-Picture Palace, had brokenbounds again and openly declared himself. Sylvia, who already reproachedherself for her ill-temper on that occasion, was very kind and verysweet, and had the tact and wisdom not to treat the matter as a joke; butshe was as definite and firm in her "no" as she was considerate in theway she put it. Thomas was as usual quite unable to conceal his feelings,and his parents were grieving for him almost as much as he was forhimself, although they had never expected any other outcome to his firstlove-affair, and were somewhat amazed at his presumption.

  "You never thought of this yourself," went on the bewildered parent,ignoring Austin's last remark, feeling that his children were treatinghim most unfairly by indulging in so many affairs of the heart whichcould not possibly have a fortunate outcome. "_I_ haven't noticed athing, and I'm sure your mother hasn't, or she would have spoken about itto me. Why, Edith's hardly out of her cradle."

  "It would take a pretty flexible cradle to hold Edith nowadays," returnedAustin dryly; "she's running around all over the countryside, and she hasmore partners at a dance than all the other girls put together. She isn'tas nice as Molly, or half so interesting as Katherine, but she has alittle way with her that--well, I don't know just _what_ it is, but I seethe attraction myself. I thought I'd tell you so that if you didn't likeit, we could try to scrimp a little harder, and send her off for a yearor so, too--she never could get into college, but she might go to someschool of Domestic Science. No--I didn't notice Peter's state of mindmyself at first."

  "Sylvia!" said his father sharply. "She didn't approve, of course."

  "On the contrary, very highly. She says that the sooner a girl of Edith'stype is married--to the right sort of a man, of course--the better, andI'm inclined to think that she's right. Then she pointed out that Peterhad gone doggedly to school all winter, struggling with a foreignlanguage, and enduring the gibes he gets from being in a class with boysmuch younger than himself, with very good grace. She mentioned howfaithful and competent he was in his work, and how interested in it;asked if I had noticed the excellency of his handwriting, hisaccounts--and his manners! And finally she said that a boy who wouldpromise his mother to go to church once a fortnight at least, and keepthe promise, was doing pretty well."

  "Speaking of church," said Mr. Gray uneasily, as if forced to agree withall Austin said, yet anxious to change the subject, "Mr. Jessup iscalling. He comes pretty frequently."

  "Yes--I had noticed _that_ for myself! I don't think Sylvia particularlylikes it."

  "Then I imagine she can stop it without much outside help," said hisfather, somewhat ruefully. "Well, we must get to work, and not sit heretalking all the rest of the afternoon--not that there's so very muchafternoon left! What are you going to do next, Austin?"

  "Change my clothes, and then start burning the rubbish-pile--there's agood moon, so I can finish it after the milking's done."

  "That means you'll be up until midnight--and you were out in the barn atfive!" exclaimed Mr. Gray. "I don't see where you get all your energy."

  "From ambition!" laughed Austin, starting away. "This is going to be thefinest farm in the county again, if I have anything to do about it." Ashe entered the house, and went through the hall, he could hear voices inSylvia's parlor, and though the door was ajar, he went past it, contraryto his custom. His father was right. If she did not like the minister'svisits, she was quite competent to stop them without outside help. Was itpossible--_could_ it be?--that she _did_ like them? He flung off hisbusiness clothes and got into his overalls with a sort of savagehaste--after all, what difference ought it to make to him whether sheliked them or not? She was going away almost immediately, wouldinevitably marry some one before very long, Mr. Jessup at least held adignified position and possessed a good education, and if she marriedhim, she would come back to Hamstead, they could see her once in awhile--Having tried to comfort himself with these cheering reflections,he started down the stairs, inwardly cursing. Then he heard somethingwhich made him stop short.

  "Please go away," Sylvia was saying, in the low, penetrating voice heknew so well, "and I think it would be better if you didn't come anymore. How dare you speak to me like that! And how can a clergyman so losehis sense of dignity as to behave like any common fortune-hunter?"

  Austin pushed open the door without stopping to knock, and walked in.

  "Good-afternoon, Mr. Jessup," he said coolly, "my father told me we werehaving the pleasure of a call from you. I'm just going out to milk--won'tyou come with me, and see the cattle? They're really a fine sight, tiedup ready for the night."

  Mr. Jessup picked up his hat, and Austin held the door open for him topass out, leaving Sylvia standing, an erect, scornful little
blackfigure, with very red cheeks, her angry eyes growing rapidly soft as shelooked straight past the minister at Austin.

  The results of Mr. Jessup's visit were several. The most immediate onewas that Austin's work was so delayed by the interruption it receivedthat it was nearly nine o'clock before he was able to start his bonfire.Thomas joined him, but after an hour declared he was too sleepy to workanother minute, and strolled off to bed. Austin's next visitor was hisfather, who merely came to see how things were getting along and to saygood-night. And finally, when he had settled down to a period oflaborious solitude, he was amazed to see Sylvia open and shut the frontdoor very quietly, and come towards him in the moonlight, carrying awhite bundle so large that she could hardly manage it.

  "For Heaven's sake!" he exclaimed, hurrying to help her, "you ought tohave been asleep hours ago! What have you got here?"

  "Something to add to your bonfire," she said savagely, and as he took thegreat package from her, the white wrapping fell open, showing thecontents to be inky black. "All the crepe I own! I won't wear it anotherday! I've been respectful to death--even if I couldn't be to thedead--and to convention long enough. I've swathed myself in that stufffor nearly fifteen months! I won't be such a hypocrite as to wear itanother day! And if Thomas--and--and--Mr. Jessup and--and everybody--aregoing to pester the life out of me, I might just as well be in New Yorkas here. I'm glad I'm going away."

  "No one else is going to pester you," said Austin quietly, "and theywon't any more. But you'll have a good time in New York--I think it'sfine that you're going." He tossed the bundle into the very midst of theburning pile, and tried to speak lightly, pretending not to notice theexcitement of her manner and the undried tears on her flushed cheeks. "Ithink you're just right about that stuff, too. Will this mean all sortsof fluffy pink and blue things, like what Flora Little wears? I shouldthink you would look great in them!"

  "No--but it means lots and lots of pure white dresses and plain blacksuits and hats, without any crepe. Then in the fall, lavender, and gray,and so on."

  "I see--a gradual improvement. Won't you sit down a few minutes? It's awonderful night."

  "Thank you. Austin--you and Sally will have to help me shop when I get toNew York--Heaven knows what I can wear to travel down in."

  Austin stopped raking, and flung himself down on the grass beside her."Sylvia," he said quickly, "I'm awfully sorry, but I can't go."

  "Can't go! Why not?" she exclaimed, with so much disappointment in hervoice that he was amazed.

  "Father's a selectman now, you know, and away all day just at this timeon town business. There's too much farmwork for Thomas and Peter tomanage alone. I didn't foresee this, of course, when I accepted youruncle's invitation. I can't tell you how much it means to me to give itup, but you must see that I've got to."

  "Yes, I see," she said gravely, and sat silently for some minutes,fingering the frill on her sleeve. Then she went on: "Uncle Mat wants meto stay a month or six weeks with him, and I think I ought to, after.deserting him for so long. When I come back, my own little house will beready for me, and it will be warm enough for me to move in there, so Ithink these last few days will be 'good-bye.' Your family has let me staya year--the happiest year of all my life--and I know your mother lovesme--almost as much as I love her--and hates to have me go. But allfamilies are better off by themselves, and in one way I think I've stayedtoo long already."

  "You mean Thomas?"

  She nodded, her eyes full of tears. "I ought to have gone before ithappened," she said penitently; "any woman with a grain of sense canusually see that--that sort of thing coming, and ward it off beforehand.But I didn't think he was quite so serious, or expect it quite so soon."

  "The young donkey! To annoy you so!"

  "_Annoy_ me! Surely you don't think _Thomas_ was thinking of the money?"

  "Good Lord, no, it never entered his head! Neither did it enter his headwhat an unpardonable piece of presumption it was on his part to ask youto marry him. A great, ignorant, overgrown, farmer boy!"

  "You are mistaken," said Sylvia quietly; "I do not love Thomas, but if Idid, the answer would have had to be 'no' just the same. The presumptionwould be all on my part, if I allowed any clean, wholesome, honest boy,in a moment of passion, to throw away his life on a woman like me. Thomasmust marry a girl, as fresh as he is himself--not a woman with a pastlike mine behind her."

  For nearly a year Austin had exercised a good deal of self-control for aman little trained in that valuable quality. At Sylvia's speech it gaveway suddenly, and without warning. Entirely forgetting his resolutionnever to touch her, he leaned forward, seizing her arm, and speakingvehemently.

  "I wish you would get rid of your false, gloomy thoughts about yourselfas easily as you have got rid of your false, gloomy clothing," he said,passionately. "The mother and husband who made your life what it was areboth where they can never hurt you again. Your character they never didtouch, except in the most superficial way. When you told me your story,that night in the woods, you tried to make me think that you didvoluntarily--what you did. You lied to me. I thought so then. I know itnow. You were flattered and bullied, cajoled and coerced--a girl scarcelyolder than my sister Edith, whom we consider a child, whose father isdistressed to even think of her as marriageable. It is time to stopfeeling repentance for sins you never committed, and to look at yourselfsanely and happily--if you must be introspective at all. No braver,lovelier, purer woman ever lived, or one more obviously intended to be awife and mother. The sooner you become both, the better."

  There was a moment of tense silence. Sylvia made no effort to draw awayfrom him; at last she asked, in a voice which was almost pleading inits quality:

  "Is that what you think of me?"

  Austin dropped his hand. "Good God, Sylvia!" he said hoarsely; "don't youknow by this time what I think of you?"

  "Then you mean--that you want me to marry you?"

  "No, no, no!" he cried. "Why are you so bound to misunderstand andmisjudge me? I beg you not to ride by yourself, and you tell me I am'dictating.' I go for months without hearing from you for fear ofannoying you, and you accuse me of 'indifference.' I bring you a gift asa vassal might have done to his liege lady--and you shrink away from mein terror. I try to show you what manner of woman you really are, and youbelieve that I am displaying the same presumption which I have justcondemned in my own brother. Are you so warped and embittered by oneexperience--a horrible one, but, thank Heaven, quickly and safely overwith!--that you cannot believe me when I tell you that the best part of adecent man's love is not passion, but reverence? His greatest desire, notpossession, but protection? His ultimate aim, not gratification, butsacrifice?"

  He bent over her. She was sitting quite motionless, her head bowed, herface hidden in her hands; she was trembling from head to foot. He put hisarm around her.

  "Don't!" he said, his voice breaking; "don't, Sylvia. I've been rough andviolent--lost my grip on myself--but it's all over now--I give you myword of honor that it is. Please lift your head up, and tell me that youforgive me!" He waited until it seemed as if his very reason would leavehim if she did not answer him; then at last she dropped her hands, andraised her head. The moon shone full on her upturned face, and the lookthat Austin saw there was not one of forgiveness, but of something somuch greater that he caught his breath before she moved or spoke to him.

  "Are you blind?" she whispered. "Can't you see how I have felt--sinceChristmas night, even if you couldn't long before that? Don't you knowwhy I just couldn't go away? But I thought you didn't care for me--thatyou couldn't possibly have kept away from me so long if you did--that youthought I wasn't good enough--Oh, my dear, my dear--" She laid both handson his shoulders.

  The next instant she was in his arms, his lips against hers, all thesorrow and bitterness of their lives lost forever in the glory of theirfirst kiss.