CHAPTER XLIII
Six miles away from Aunt Jed's, on the top of a hill overlooking theHousatonic Valley, stood the Leighton homestead, a fine old-fashionedhouse, now unoccupied save for a care-taking farmer and his wife, whofarmed the Leighton acres on shares. The homestead belonged to Lewis'sfather, and in the natural course of events was destined to becomeLewis's property.
Great was the excitement at Homestead Farm when a telegram arrivedannouncing the imminent arrival of owner and son.
"Land sakes! William," gasped Mrs. Tuck, "in two days! You'll hev tosend 'em a telegram tellin' 'em it can't be done nohow. I told you myconscience was a-prickin' me over the spring cleanin'. Seems likeProvidence was a-jostlin' my elbow all these days, and I was jest tooornery to pay heed."
"In two days, it says," repeated William; "and we can't send no telegrambecause there ain't no address."
Tuck and his wife had no children. They occupied the kitchen for aliving-room and the big bedroom over it at night. The main part of thehouse was shut up. The hired hands occupied rooms in the barn that hadonce been the quarters of a numerous stable force, for the Leightons hadalways gone in for horses, as two or three long-standing trottingrecords at neighboring county fairs gave evidence.
Mrs. Tuck was not long in facing the inevitable. First of all shecommandeered all the labor on the farm; then she sent a call for aid toa couple of neighbors. Within an hour all the green shutters had swungwide on their creaking hinges, and the window-sashes were up. Out of theopen windows poured some dust and a great deal of commotion. Beforenight the big house was spick and span from garret to cellar.
"Does seem to me," said Mrs. Tuck, as she placed a very scrappy supperbefore William, "like dust is as human as guinea pigs. Where you say itcan't get in, it jest breeds."
"Now you sit down and take it easy, Mrs. Tuck," said William, who hadmarried late in life and never got on familiar terms with his wife. "Ireckon them men-folks ain't so took with reddin' up as you think theybe."
"Oh, I know," said the tired, but by no means exhausted, Mrs. Tuck, "Iain't forgettin' their innards, ef thet's what you're thinkin' of. Youjust tell Silas to kill four broilers, an' I'll clean 'em to-night.Thet'll give me a start, and to-morow I c'n do a few dozen pies. I _hev_got some mince-meat, thank goodness! an' you c'n get me in some of themearly apples in the morning. Seems like I'm not going to sleep a winkfor thinkin'."
Lewis and Leighton did not motor from New York to the Homestead Farm, asten years later they might have done. Motors, while common, were stillin that stage of development which made them a frequent source ofrevenue to the farmer with a stout team of horses. Consequently it wasby train that they arrived at Leighton's home station--a station thathad grown out of all recognition since last he had seen it.
However, he himself had not grown out of recognition. A lank figure of aman, red-cheeked, white-bearded, slouch-hatted, and in hisshirt-sleeves, stepped forward and held out a horny hand.
"Well, Glen, how be ye? Sure am glad to see ye back."
"Me, too," said Leighton, grinning and flushing with pleasure. "Comehere, Lew. Shake hands with Mr. Tuck."
"Well, I swan!" chuckled William as he crushed Lewis's knuckles. "Guessyou don't recollec' ridin' on my knee, young feller?"
"No, I don't," said Lewis, and smiled into the old man's moist blueeyes.
"And who he this?" asked William, turning toward Nelton.
"That? Oh, that's Nelton," said Lewis.
"Glad to meet ye, Mr. Nelton. Put it thar!" said William, holding out avast hand.
For an instant Nelton paused, then, with set teeth and the air of onewho comes to grips with an electric battery, he laid his fingers in Mr.Tuck's grasp. "Huh!" remarked William, "ye ain't got much grip. Waittell we've stuffed ye with buttermilk 'n' pies 'n' victuals 'n' things."
Nelton said not a word, but cast an agonized look at Leighton, who cameto his aid.
"Now, William, what have you brought down?"
"Well, Glen, there's me an' the kerryall for the folks, an' Silas herewith the spring-wagon for the trunks."
"Good," said Leighton. "Here, Silas, take these checks and look afterMr. Nelton. Lew and I will go in the carryall."
"Fancy your governor a-pullin' of my leg!" murmured Nelton, presumablyto Lewis, but apparently to space. "Why don't 'e tell this old josser asI'm a menial, and be done with it."
Old William started, stared at Nelton, then at Leighton. He walked offtoward the carryall, scratching his head.
"What is it?" he asked Lewis, in a loud whisper.
"That's dad's valet," said Lewis, grinning.
"Valley, is it?" said William, glancing over one shoulder. "Nice, lushbit o' green, to look at him. What does he do?"
"Looks after dad. Waits on him, helps him dress, and packs his bags forhim."
William stopped in his tracks and turned on Leighton.
"Glen," he said, "I don't know ez you c'n stand to ride in the oldkerryall. I ain't brought no sofy pillows, ner even a fire-screen tokeep the sun from sp'ilin' yer complexion."
Leighton smiled, but said nothing. They had reached the carryall, an oldhickory structure sadly in need of paint. Hitched to it were two rangybays. The harness was a piece of ingenious patchwork, fitted with hamesinstead of collars. Leighton stepped into the back seat, and Lewisfollowed. William unhitched the horses and climbed into the crampedfront seat. When he had settled down, his knees seemed to be peeringover the dash-board. "Gid ap!" he cried, and the bays started off slowlyacross the bridge.
The road to the homestead followed down the river for three miles beforeit took to the hills. No sooner had the carryall made the turn into theRiver Road than the bays sprang forward so suddenly that Lewis's hatflew off backward, and for a moment he thought his head had followed.
"Heh!" he called, "I've lost my hat!"
"Never mind your hat, Son," shouted William. "Silas'll pick it up."
The bays evidently thought he was shouting at them. They let theirenormous stride out another link. The carryall plowed through the dust,rattled over pebbles, and, where the road ran damp under overhangingtrees, shot four streams of mud from its flying wheels. Old Williamchewed steadily at the cud of tobacco he had kept tucked in his cheekduring the interview at the station. His long arms were stretched fulllength along the taut reins. If he had only had hand-holds on them, hewould have been quite content. As it was, he was grinning.
"Gee, Dad!" gasped Lewis, "d'you know those horses are still_trotting_!"
Leighton leaned forward.
"Got a match, William?" he shouted above the creak and rattle of thecarryall.
"Heh?" yelled William.
The bays let out another link.
"Got a match?" repeated Leighton. "I want to smoke."
William waved his beard at his left-hand pocket.
As they struck a bit of quiet, soft road, Leighton called:
"Why don't you let 'em out? You've gone and left your whip at home. Howare we going to get up the hill?"
The grin faded from Old William's face. "_Gid ap!_" he roared, and thenthe bays showed what they could really do in the way of hurrying forthe doctor. The old carryall leaped a thank-you-ma'am clean. When itstruck, the hickory wheels bent to the storm, but did not break.Instead, they shot their load into the air. A low-hanging branch swoopeddown and swept the canopy, supports and all, off the carryall. Williamnever looked back.
Lewis clung to the back of the front seat.
"D-d-dad," he stuttered, "p-please don't say anything more to him! D-d'youknow they're _still_ trotting?"
At last the bays swung off upon the steep Hill Road, and slowed down toa fast, pulling walk. Old William dropped the reins on the dash-board,made a telling shot with tobacco juice at a sunflower three yards off,and turned to have a chat.
"Glen," he said, "I reckon, after all, there's times when you c'n dowithout sofy pillows."
"Why, William," said Leighton, still pale with fright, "If I'd had apillow, I'd have gone f
ast asleep." Then he smiled. "Some of the oldstock?"
William nodded.
"I don't mind tellin' you I ain't drove like thet sence the day me'nyou--"
"Never mind since when, William," broke in Leighton, sharply. "How'sMrs. Tuck?"