Part 44 (1/2)

”Here is the wood you wanted,” Joel said, removing his hat in quite his old chivalrous way. ”You said dry oak, and I found plenty on the hill back of my corn-field.”

”And mighty nigh killed yourself cutting it in lengths and splitting it,” Cavanaugh said. ”Dry oak is a hard proposition for anything but a sawmill. What do you want for this load?”

”A dollar is what I usually get,” Joel answered, sensitive as he always was when dealing with friends.

”Humph!” Cavanaugh sniffed, and looked at his wife. ”This load is twice as big as any dollar load I ever bought, and will throw out twice as much heat to the square inch. I'll tell you, Joel, I've got a two-dollar bill that is burning a hole in my pocket, and it goes for this load of wood or you have me to whip. We are out of stove-wood, too, and I don't want any d.i.c.kering from you about it.”

Joel flushed under his tattered straw hat. ”It isn't worth that much,”

he declared, tapping the ground with his whip.

”It is worth it to me, Joel,” Cavanaugh smiled, ”so what can you do about it? I won't take double value from any man, much less you. How is Tilly?”

”She is fairly well, thank you,” the farmer replied.

”And the little ones?” Mrs. Cavanaugh asked, with a motherly smile.

”They are both all right, thank you,” Joel said, his undecided glance on his wood. Then, to his surprise, the contractor came through the gate, took the reins from his hands, and drove the horse with its load around to the gate at the side of the house. Halting there, Cavanaugh began to throw the wood over the fence.

”Let him have his way, Joel,” Mrs. Cavanaugh said, smiling. ”He'd be miserable if he got anything too cheap from an old friend like you.

Before you start home, come in; I've made two little waists for the children from a pattern Tilly lent me the last time she was in. I hope they will fit.”

”You are always doing things like that, and yet want me to take double price for my produce,” Joel said, frowning. ”Something is wrong somewhere, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

The old woman laughed lightly. ”Go help Sam throw off the wood, Joel,”

she said. ”Don't tell me I haven't the right to sew for little children when I have none of my own. I love your two, and what I do for them has nothing to do with you.”

With a look of blended pleasure and pain, Joel joined Cavanaugh, and together they unloaded the wagon. When it was empty Joel shook the bits of bark and chips from the plank flooring, and stared at the contractor timidly. ”There is a matter I want to ask you about, Mr. Cavanaugh,” he began, clearing his throat. ”It is a serious thing for me, and my wife, too. I've wanted to mention it for several days--in fact, since I first heard of it. I really don't know whether I have the right to ask you, and if I haven't you must stop me. Mr. Cavanaugh, all sorts of stories have been floating about to the effect that--that my wife's--that John Trott's reported death was a mistake, and that--and that you went up to New York to--”

Joel broke off. He was quite agitated.

”I know what you mean,” Cavanaugh put into the break. ”How did you hear it?”

”My neighbors are all talking about it,” said Eperson, laboriously, his face now grim and fixed. ”I went to Todd Williams and asked him about it. All he could tell me was that he saw a man in New York that looked like John Trott, but he said it might have been only a fancy. Of course, I've kept the talk from Tilly as much as possible. I asked our neighbors not to mention it to her and they promised, but--but--”

”You think she has heard it?” Cavanaugh submitted, gravely.

Eperson nodded. A grim expression twisted his lips awry and left them quivering as he spoke. ”Yes, I think some part of it, at least, has reached her. I saw a change in her last night when she came back from a visit to the Creswells. She didn't mention it to me, but I was watching her and I saw a change. She was excited. I think I might call it excitement, Mr. Cavanaugh, and she didn't sleep well last night. She got up several times, and it seemed to me once that she was about to speak to me about it, but still she didn't.”

”I see, I see,” said Cavanaugh, slowly. ”Well, Joel, I hardly know what is right to do in a matter as delicate as this is, but still right is right, and if there is anybody in the world that ought to know the truth about this, why, it is you and Tilly. Joel, the truth is, John Trott and Dora are both still alive.”

”Then, then, _it is true_?”

”Yes, Joel; I've just had a letter from John and he wants the facts known. But I don't see that there is any reason for you to be disturbed.

You see, the law parted John and Tilly years ago, and even if it hadn't, his long desertion (we'll call it that) would have amounted to the same in any court.”

Like an automaton which all but creaked in its joints, Joel took up his reins. Tapping his thin horse with his whip and making a clucking sound between his teeth, he turned his wagon around.

”Wait! You haven't been paid yet,” Cavanaugh cried, holding out a bill.

Pausing, a flurried, far-away look in his eyes, Joel took the money.

”Thank you--thank you,” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”So there's no doubt about it?