Part 8 (2/2)

”Well, it's a wonder to me what you can do with some of this land of yours, it's so rough and poor,” said Kate, lightly. ”I don't see how the farmers manage to make a living, scratching round among the rocks.”

Then, with a good-natured laugh, she added: ”Oh, we don't despise the littles, out our way, as much as you think; but when it comes to wheat and corn, and things of that sort, we do like to see a lot of it growing all together. It looks as if there was enough to go round, you know, and makes people feel sort of free and easy.”

Perhaps, in his heart, Ruel Saxon doubted whether it was good for people to feel free and easy in this transient mortal state, but he had no chance just then to discuss the moral advantages of large labor and small returns, for Esther exclaimed, with a glance at her sister which was half reproachful: ”But there are so many other things in a country besides the crops! For my part, I think New England is perfectly beautiful. I believe I'm in love with it all.”

Miss Katharine Saxon turned her head and looked at the girl attentively.

The mother must have been very pretty indeed if she had ever looked prettier than Esther did at that moment. A delicate pink had risen in her cheeks, and her brown eyes seemed unusually soft and l.u.s.trous in the warmth with which she had spoken. She had made a lucky suggestion, and her grandfather took his cue instantly.

”We never pretended that our strong p'int was raising wheat 'n' corn here in New England,” he said loftily. ”The old Bay State can do better than that. She can raise men; men who fear G.o.d and honor their country, and can guide her in the hour of need with the spirit of wisdom and sound understanding.”

”We've got some of that sort, too,” said Kate, cutting in at the first pause. ”The only difference is you started on your list a little ahead of us.”

But the remark was lost on her grandfather. He was on solid ground now, and he felt his eloquence rising. ”You talk about our land being poor.

Well, mebbe 'tis; mebbe we do have to scratch round among the rocks to make a living, but we've scratched lively enough to do it, and support our schools and churches, and start yours into the bargain. We've scratched deep enough to find the money to send lots of our boys to college-there's been a good many of 'em right from this district. There was Abner Sickles that went to Harvard from the back side of Rocky Hill, where they used to say the stones were so thick you had to sharpen the sheep's nose to get 'em down to the gra.s.s between; there was Baxter Sloc.u.m-thirteen children his father had-there were the Dunham boys, three out of six in one family.”

For the last minute Miss Katharine Saxon had been moving uneasily in her chair. Her square chin, which had been resting on her clasped hands at the top of her cane, had come up, and her eyes were fixed sharply on her brother.

”While you're about it, Ruel,” she said, interrupting him in the dryest of tones, ”you might just mention some o' the _girls_ that have been sent to college from these old farms.”

Ruel Saxon, reined up thus suddenly in the onward charge of his eloquence, opened and closed his lips for a moment with a rather helpless expression. She waited for him to speak, her thin hands gripping the cane, and the corners of her mouth twitching ominously.

”Well, of course, Katharine,” he said testily, ”there hain't been as many girls. For that matter there warn't the female colleges to send 'em to fifty years ago; but you know yourself there hain't been the means to send 'em both, the boys _and_ the girls, and if it couldn't be but one-”

He paused to moisten his lips, and she took up the word with an accent of intense bitterness. ”If there couldn't be but one, it must be the boy, of course,-always the boy. Oh, I know! Yes, and I know how the girls 'n' their mothers have slaved to send 'em. It ain't the men that have learned how to get more out of the farms; it's the women that have learned how to get along with less in the house. There was Abner Sickles! Yes, there was; and there was his sister Abigail, too. I went to school with 'em both. She was enough sight smarter 'n he was; always could see into things quicker, 'n' handle 'em better, but they took a notion to send him to college,-wanted to make a minister of him,-and she stopped going to school when she was fourteen, and did the housework for the family,-her mother was always sickly,-and then sat up nights, sewing straw and binding shoes to earn money for Abner.” She paused, with a note in her voice which suggested a clutch at the throat, then added: ”She died when she was twenty. Went crazy the last part of the time, and thought she'd committed the unpardonable sin. It's my opinion somebody _had_ committed it; but 'twarn't her.”

It was the old gentleman who was moving uneasily now. ”It was too bad about Abigail,” he said, with a shake of the head. ”I remember her case, and 'twas one of the strangest we ever had in the church. I went out to see her once, with two of the other deacons, and we set out the doctrine of the unpardonable sin clear and strong, and showed her that if she really _had_ committed it she wouldn't be feeling so bad about it-she'd have her conscience seared as with a hot iron; but she couldn't seem to lay hold of any comfort. However, it was plain that her mind wasn't right, and I don't believe the Lord held her responsible for her lack of faith.”

The old woman gave an impatient snort. ”If he didn't hold somebody responsible, you needn't talk to me about justice,” she said fiercely.

”I don't know how you and the other deacons figured it out, Ruel, but if it ain't the unpardonable sin for folks to act like fools, when the Lord has given 'em eyes to see with, and sense enough to put two and two together, I don't know what 'tis. I tell you the whole trouble grew out of that notion that a boy must be sent away to school just because he was a boy, and a girl must be kept at home just because she was a girl.

If the Almighty ever meant to have things go that way why didn't He give the men the biggest brains, and put the strongest backs 'n' arms on the women? Heaven knows they've needed 'em.”

A good memory was undoubtedly one of Ruel Saxon's strong points, but all recollection of the gentle warning his daughter-in-law had given him was put utterly to flight by this speech of his sister's. He stiffened himself in his chair, and his nostrils dilated (to use a pet figure of his own) ”like a war-horse smelling the battle from afar.”

”Katharine,” he said, ”you darken counsel by words without knowledge. I don't pretend, and n.o.body ever pretended, that Abigail Sickles or' to have worked herself to death to keep Abner in college. Her folks or' to have seen it in time, and stopped her. But you take too much upon yourself when you want to change things round from the way the Lord made 'em. It's the _men_ that have got to be at the head of things in church and state; it's the _men_ that have got to go out into the world and earn the living for the women and children; and it's because they've needed the education more, and had more call to use it, that the boys have been sent to college instid of the girls. There's reason in all things.”

She broke in upon him with a short, scornful laugh. ”There's a terrible good reason sometimes, Ruel, why the women have to earn the living for themselves, 'n' the children too; and that's to keep themselves from starving. Who earned the living for Nancy's children when she brought 'em all home to the old house forty years ago? Well, I guess she 'n' I earned most of it.”

She lifted her shoulders with an effort, and added: ”Shouldn't be quite so near doubled together now if it hadn't been for bending over that spinning-wheel day in 'n' day out, working to get food 'n' clothes for those children, the six of 'em that John Proctor ran away 'n' left. You talk about men going out in the world to earn the living. It would be a good thing for the women to go into the world too, sometimes. Mebbe they wouldn't be quite so helpless then when they're left to s.h.i.+ft for themselves.”

The old man winced. ”You had an awful hard time, Katharine, you 'n'

Nancy. John Proctor didn't do his duty by his family,” he said; and then he faced her with a fresh impatience. ”But that ain't the way the men gener'ly do, is it? To hear you talk a body'd think the women had just naturally got to plan for that sort of thing. You want 'em to go out into the world, like the men, and make a business of it. I'd like to know who'd take care of the home 'n' the children if they did. Home is the place for women. The Apostle Paul-”

There was a distinct flash of anger now in the small, bright eyes of Miss Katharine Saxon. ”Don't tell me what Paul said,” she exclaimed. ”I tell you that notion o' his, that there was nothing a woman had a right to do but marry, 'n' have children, 'n' tend the house, is at the bottom of half the foolishness there is in the world to-day. Women have just as good a right to pick 'n' choose what they shall do as the men have. And some of 'em had a good deal better do something else than marry the men that want 'em. I tell you Paul didn't know it all. 'Cording to his own account he had to be struck by lightning before he could see some things, and if another streak had come his way mebbe he'd caught sight of a few more that were worth looking at.”

Ruel Saxon gazed at his sister for a minute speechless. Then he said solemnly, ”Katharine, there _is_ such a thing as blasphemy, and I'd be a little careful if I was you how I talked about the Lord's dealings with his saints.”

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