CHAPTER XXIX
MARTHA'S STRONG ARGUMENTS
"How does love speak?"
THE next week Mr. Donald moved over to the Perkins home. His trunkshad been sent over in the morning, and after school he walked homewith Pearl. Mr. Donald had seen Martha at the services in theschoolhouse, but had not spoken to her. Pearl now brought him intriumphantly and introduced him to Mrs. Perkins and Martha.
The cleanliness and comfort of the big square kitchen, with itswindows filled with blooming plants, the singing canary, thewell-blackened range with its cheerful squares of firelight, thebubbling tea-kettle, all seemed to promise rest and comfort. Martha,neatly dressed in a dark blue house dress, with dainty white collarand apron, greeted, him hospitably, and told, him she hoped he wouldbe comfortable with them. There was no trace of awkwardness in hermanner, only a shy reserve that seemed to go well with her steadygray eyes and gentle voice. Pearl was distinctly proud of Martha.
When Mr. Donald went up to his room he looked around him in pleasedsurprise. It was only a small room, but it was well-aired, and hadthat elusive, indescribable air of comfort which some rooms have, andothers, without apparent reason, have not. The stovepipe from thekitchen range ran through it, giving it ample warmth. His room atMrs. Steadman's had been of about the temperature of a well. It waswith a decided feeling of satisfaction that the school-master hunghis overcoat on a hook behind the door and sat down in the cushionedrocking-chair. A rag carpet, gaily striped in red, green, and yellow,covered the floor, and a tawny wolf-skin lay in front of the bed.
"This looks good to me," said the schoolmaster, stretching himselfluxuriously in his chair and enjoying the warmth of the room, withthe pleasant feeling that at last he had one little spot that hecould call his own, where he could sit and read and think, or, if hewanted to, just sit and be comfortable. From below came the pleasantrattle of dishes and an appetizing odour of baking chicken.
Mr. Donald went to the wash-stand, and washed his hands, smilingpleasantly to himself. "Martha, like you," he was saying, "and I'llgladly make a deal with you. I have quite a stock of history andgeography and literature and other things which we call knowledge,and I will gladly, part with it for just such things as these,"looking around him approvingly. "Give me cream on my porridge,Martha, and I'll teach you all I know and more." A few minutes laterMr. Donald went down to supper.
Mr. Perkins did the honours of the table, and each wore his coatwhile he carved the chicken, as a token of respect for the newboarder. He hospitably urged Mr. Donald to eat heartily, though therewas no special need of urging him, for Martha's good cooking anddainty serving were proving a sufficient invitation.
Mr. Perkins was in fine fettle, and gave a detailed account of thevisit he and Sam Motherwell made to Winnipeg to interview theDepartment of Education about the formation of the Chicken-HillSchool District. Mr. Donald was much amused by his host's descriptionof the "Big Chief" of educational matters.
"You see, I knowed cousins of his down below, near Owen Sound," Mr.Perkins said, "though I didn't see that he favoured them at all atfirst; but when I got a look at him between the ears I could seethe very look of the old man his uncle. Maybe you've seen him,have you? Long-faced, lantern-jawed old pelter, with a face like acoffin--they're the kind you have to look out for; they'd go throughyou like an electric shock! Well, sir, Sam and me was sittin' thereon the edge of our chairs, and that old rack o' bones just riddled uswith questions. Sam got suspicious that there was a job gittin' putup on us some way, and so he wouldn't say a word for fear it wouldraise the taxes, and that left all the talkin' to me. Now, I don'tmind carryin' on a reasonable conversation with any one, but, byjinks, nobody could talk to that man. I tried to get a chance to tellhim about knowin' his folks, and a few amusin' things that came to meabout the time his uncle Zeb was married and borrowed my father'sblack coat for the occasion, but, land alive, he never let up on hisquestions. He asked me every blamed thing about every family in theneighbourhood. He had the map of the township right before him, andwrote down everything I told him nearly. I was scared to death wehadn't enough children to get the Gover'ment grant, and so I had togive twins to the Steadmans twice, both pairs of school age. I wasn'tjust sure of how many we needed to draw the grant, but I was bound tohave enough to be sure of it. Sam Motherwell's no good to take alongwith you at a time like that; he kinda gagged when I gave George thesecond pair of twins, and when the old man went out he went at meabout it, and said it was not a decent way to treat a neighbour andhim not there to deny it. I told him: 'My land sakes alive! I hadn'tsaid nothin' wrong about either George Steadman or the twins; andit's no disgrace to have 'em. Plenty of good people have twins.'
"Well, sir, when the old man came back he asked me a whole string ofquestions about them two pair of twins, just as if everythingdepended on them. I had to name them first thing. I got the girls allright--Lily and Rose I called them--but when he asked me about theboys I couldn't think of anything that would do for the boys except'Buck' and 'Bright.' Of course I explained that them wasn't reallytheir names, but that's what everyone called them, they were suchcute little chaps and looked just alike, only Buck toed in a little.I kicked Sam to pitch in and tell something about their smart ways,but he just sat like a man in a dream; he never seemed to get overhis surprise at them comin'. All this time the old lad was leafin'over a great big book he had, and askin' the greatest lot of foolquestions about the twins. I told him that Lily and Rose was prettylittle things with yalla hair and they sang 'The Dyin' Nun' at aconcert we had in the church at Millford somethin' grand; and the twoboys were the greatest lads, I said, to trap gophers--terrible shamenot to have a school for them. Then the old chap looked at me, andhis face seemed to be as long as a horse's, an' he says, lookin'square at me: 'I'm real glad you told me about Mr. Steadman's twins,because it's the first we've heard of them. Mr. Steadman is a mightlycareless man to only register two children--Thomas J., born October20, 1880, and Maud Mary, born sick a time 1882, and not a singleentry of the twins, either pair; and here the first we hear of themis when they begin to feel the need of an education--Buck and Brighttrappin' gophers, and Lily and Rose delightin' large audiences with'The Dyin' Nun' and other classic gems. Any father might well beproud of them. I'll write to Mr. Steadman and tell him just what Ithink of such carelessness. Even if Buck does toe in a little that'sno reason why him and his runnin' mate shouldn't have a place in thefiles of his country. I'll mention to Mr. Steadman that we're deeplyindebted to his friend and neighbour for putting us right in regardto his family tree.
"Well, Sir, I could see I had put my foot in it up to the knee, but Iwas game, you bet, and looked back at him as cool as a cucumber. Iwasn't going to go back on them twins now when I had brought theminto the world, as you might say; so I just said George Steadman waskinda careless about some things, he'd been cluttered up withpolitics for quite a while, and I guess he'd overlooked having thekids registered, but I'd speak to him about it. I'm a pretty goodbluffer myself, but I couldn't fool that man. His face seemed to meto get longer every minute, and says he, when we were coming away,'Give my love to the twins, Mr. Perkins, both pair--interestin'children, I'm sure they are.'
"My land sakes alive, you should have heard Motherwell pitch into mewhen we got out. Sam was as huffy about it as a wet hen.
"It's no good tryin' to fool them lads. I got my lesson that time, ifI'd just had sense enough to know it; but if you believe me, sir, Igot caught again. (Eh, what's that? Have another piece of chicken.)It was when I went to Montreal to see about the lump in my jaw. Didye hear about the trouble we had that year, summer of '87? Big crop,but frozen--forty-seven cents, by George, best you could do. Well,sir, didn't I take a lump in my jaw--just like you've seen in thosemangy steers. It wasn't very big at first, but it grooved somethingawful. I got a bottle of Mason's Lump jaw cure, but it just peeledthe hide off me, and the lump grew bigger than ever. The missus heregot scared she was goin' to lose me, and nothin' would do her butthat I'd have to go t
o Montreal to see Dr. Murray. Now, I've alwaysheard that he's awful easy on poor men, but takes it out of the richones, so you can bet I went prepared to put up a hard-luck story. Iwore a boiled shirt, goin' down, but you bet I peeled it off before Iwent to see him, and I told him a pretty likely story about livin' ona rented farm, and me with a big family, most of them sickly liketheir ma's folks. He seemed awful sorry for me and wrote down my nameand where I lived, and all that, and by George, I began to think hewas goin' to pay my way back or give me the price of a cow orsomethin'. He husked out the lump quick enough, had me come at seveno'clock--that man gets up as early as a farmer--and when I came tosettle up he says to me: 'Mr. Perkins, if I was you I wouldn't liveon a rented farm any longer. I'd go on one of my own--the north halfof seventeen there--what's the matter with that? My secretary tellsme you own that and there's two hundred acres under cultivation, andthen there's that quarter-section of yours just across theAssiniboine, where you keep your polled Angus cattle. It really seemstoo bad for you to be grubbin along on a rented farm when you havefour hundred and eighty acres of your own--good land, too.' Then helaughed, and I knew I was up against it, and I tried to laugh, too,but my laugh wasn't near as hearty as his. Then he says: 'It do beatall how many poor men with large sickly families, livin' on rentedfarms, come here to see me; but'--says; he, gittin' close up to me,and kinda tappin' me on the shoulder 'did you ever hear about anangel writin' in a big book--writin' steady day and night? Well, sayshe, 'here's one of them books,' and he whipped over the pages andshowed me my name, where I lived and all. 'Ye can't fool the angels,'says he, 'and now I'll just trouble you for an even hundred,' sayshe. 'I have had three workin'-girls in to see me about their eyestoday, and I done them free. I was writin' for some one like you tocome along and settle for them when he was settlin' for his own. Ipaid it without a kick, you bet. Don't it beat the cars? Eh? What?"
Mr. Donald laughed heartily and agreed with Mr. Perkins that honestywas the best policy.
While her father was telling his story Martha sat thinking her ownthoughts. She had listened to his reminiscences so often that theyhad long ago ceased to interest her. The schoolmaster studied herface closely. "No wonder she is quiet," he thought to himself, "shehas never had a chance to talk. There is no room in the conversationfor any one else when her voluble parent unfurls his matchlesstongue. Martha cannot or does not talk for the same reason thatpeople that live in the dark in time lose the power to see, becausethey haven't had it to do."
That night Arthur came over for his bread. The schoolmaster noticedthe sudden brightening of Martha's face when Arthur's knock soundedon the door, and the animated, eager way in which she listened toevery word he said. There was a feeling of good-fellowship, too,between them which did not escape the sharp eyes of the schoolmaster."Arthur likes her," he thought, "that's a sure thing; but I'm afraidit's that brotherly, sort of thing that's really no good. But, ofcourse, time may bring it all right. He's thinking too much now ofthe fair-haired Thursa. It's hard to begin a new song when the echoesof the old song are still ringing in your ears."
Through the open doorway he could see Martha in the kitchenfilling the basket that Arthur had brought over for his bread. Thebread--three loaves--was put in the bottom, rolled in a snow-whiteflour-sack; then she put in a roasted chicken, a fruit-cake and a jarof cream.
"Strong arguments in your favour, Martha," the teacher said, smilingto himself as he watched her.
"They are good, sensible, cogent arguments, every one of them,Martha, and my own opinion is that you will win."