Part 9 (1/2)
”Ann, I do wish you could have seen her in that frilled white thing with the two huge blue bows at the ends of the long plaits at my dinner-dance the other night, standing and looking at everybody with all the fascination and coquetry of--of--well, that little Golden Bird peeping at us from the left-hand corner of Mrs. Red Ally's right wing. Where _did_ she get that frock?”
”Do you suppose that a woman who runs a farm dairy of fifty cows, while her husband banks and post-offices and groceries would be at all routed by a few yards of lace and muslin and a current copy of 'The Woman's Review'?
Aunt Mary made that dress between sun-up and -down and worked out fifty pounds of b.u.t.ter as well,” I answered, with a glow of cla.s.s pride in my rustic breast.
”All of that is what is seething in my blood until I can't stand it,” said Bess as we walked towards the barn-door. ”The reason I just feel like devouring Polly Corn-ta.s.sel is that somehow she seems to taste like bread and b.u.t.ter to me; I'm tired of life served with mayonnaise dressing with tabasco and caviar in it.
”Yes, a Romney herb-pot is better,” I said, as a strange chant began to play itself on my heartstrings with me alone for a breathless audience.
”And if you come in on Sat.u.r.day you can--” Bess was saying in a positive tone that admitted of no retreat, when Matthew's huge blue car came around the drive from the front of Elmnest and stopped by Bess's roadster. On the front seat sat Matthew, and Corn-ta.s.sel was beside him, but the rest of the car was piled high with huge sacks of grain, which looked extremely sensible and out of place in the handsomest car in the Harpeth Valley.
”Oh, Miss Ann, Mr. Matthew and I found the greatest bargain in winter wheat, and the man opened every sack and let me run my arm to the elbow in it. It is all hard and not short in a single grain. We are going to trade you half.” And Polly's blue eyes, which still looked like the uncommercialized violet despite a six weeks' acquaintance with society in Hayesville, danced with true farmer delight.
”It's warranted to make 'em lay in night s.h.i.+fts, Ann,” said Matthew as he beamed down upon me with a delight equal to Polly's, and somehow equally as young. ”Where'll I put it? In the feed-room in the bins?”
”Yes, and they are almost empty. I was wondering what I would do next for food, because I owe Rufus and the hogs so much,” I answered gratefully.
”What did you pay?” asked Bess, in a business-like tone of voice.
”Only a dollar and a quarter a bushel, all seed grade,” answered Matthew, with the greatest nonchalance, as if he had known the grades of wheat from his earliest infancy.
”Why, Owen bought two bags of it for our joint family and paid such a fortune for it that I forgot the figures immediately; but I took up the rug and put it all in my dressing-room to watch over, lest thieves break into the garage and steal. Also I made him send me plebeian carnations instead of violets for Belle Proctor's dinner Tuesday,” said Bess, with covetousness in her eyes as she watched Matthew begin to unload his wheat.
I wonder what Matthew's man, Hickson, at one twenty-five a month, thought of his master's coat when he began to brush the chaff out of its London nap.
”Oh, Owen Murray is just a town-bred duffer,” said Matthew, as he shouldered his last sack of grain.
”Well, you are vastly mistaken if you think that--” Bess was beginning to say in a manner that I knew from long experience would bring on a war of words between her and Matthew when a large and cheerful interruption in the shape and person of Aunt Mary Corn-ta.s.sel came around the corner of the house.
”Well, well, what sort of city farming is going on to-day amongst all these stylish folks?” she asked as she skirted the two cars at what she considered a safe and respectful distance, and handed me a bunch of sweet clover-pinks with a spring perfume that made me think of the breath of Pan O'Woods as I buried my lips in them. ”You, Polly, go right home and take off that linen dress, get into a gingham ap.r.o.n, and begin to help Bud milk.
I believe in gavots at parties only if they strengthen muscles for milking time.”
”May I wait and ride down with Mr. Matthew and show him where to put our wheat, Mother?” asked Polly as she snuggled up to her mother, who was pinning a stray pink into Matthew's b.u.t.ton-hole per his request.
”Yes, if he'll put his legs under old Mrs. b.u.t.ter to help you get done before I am ready to strain up,” answered Aunt Mary, with a merry twinkle in her eye as she regarded Matthew in his purple and fine linen. ”Put an ap.r.o.n on him,” she added.
”Lead me to the ap.r.o.n,” said Matthew, with real and not mock heroics.
”But before you go I want to tell all of you about an invitation that has come over the telephone in the bank to all of Riverfield, and make a consultation about it. Now who do you suppose gave it?”
”Who?” we all asked in chorus.
”n.o.body less than the governor of the State called up Silas, me answering for him on account of his deafness, and asked everybody to come in to town next Sat.u.r.day night to hear this new commissioner of agriculture that he is going to appoint make the opening address of his office, I reckon you could call it. You know Silas is the leading Democrat of this district, and the governor has opened riz biscuits with me many a time. I told him 'Thank you, sir,' we would all come and hear the young man talk about what he didn't know, and he laughed and rang off. Yes, we are all going in a kind of caravan of vehicles, and I want you to go, Nancy, in the family coach and take Mrs. Tillett with you on account of her having to take all the seven little Tilletts, because there won't be a minder woman left to look after 'em. Bud will drive so as not to disturb Cradd or William in their Heathen pursuits or discommode Rufus' disposition. Now, won't it be nice for the whole town to go junketing in like that?” As she spoke Aunt Mary beamed upon us all with pure delight.
”But Sat.u.r.day evening is the night that Mr. Matthew is going to have that dance for me, Mother,” said Polly, with the violets becoming slightly sprinkled underneath the long black lashes.
”Well, dancing can wait a spell,” answered Aunt Mary, comfortably. ”The governor said that all the folks at Cloverbend and Providence and Hillsboro are going, and Riverfield has got to shake out a forefoot in the trip and not a hind one.”
”Oh, we'll have the dance next week, Corn-ta.s.sel,” promised Matthew, promptly enough to prevent the drenching of the violets. ”It will be great to hear Baldwin accept his portfolio, as it were.”
”And after his term begins I suppose he'll have offices at the capitol and will be in town most of the time. Then we can have him at all the dances.