Part 8 (1/2)

Joe had been sitting in his corner, saying nothing, but, just at this point, I saw him roll his eyes scornfully at our neighbor, and wondered if it could be that the old man was jealous of her openly expressed interest in the little family to which he laid prior claim.

”Yes,” Jessie said, replying to Mrs. Horton's question: ”It is a great relief, and, after all, we've done about all that we can to make ready for it.”

”I'm not doubting that, still, I wish, now that we've thought of it, that you did have time to earn a little more by sewing. How much are the witnesses' fees?”

”Six dollars each; it will take eighteen dollars for that alone,”

Jessie told her.

”Eighteen dollars! and I don't suppose you can have much more than that on hand!” Mrs. Horton's face lengthened. ”I wish I had it to lend you,” she remarked, at last. ”You could pay me in sewing; but Jake--”

We had heard of Mr. Horton's views on the money question. He always ran bills at the store because, he said, a woman couldn't be trusted with ready cash. ”Give a woman her head and she'll spend all a man has on knick-knacks!” was an observation with which even his chance acquaintances were unduly familiar. How often, then, must his poor wife have heard it.

Pitying her halting effort to give a good excuse for not having the sum needed--when they were so wealthy--and still loyally s.h.i.+eld her tyrant, I said: ”I'm sure the witnesses will not be at all hard on us; they will be willing to wait a little if necessary, don't you think so, Jessie?”

But before Jessie could reply, Joe interposed: ”Mr. Wilson, he done say he goin' gib me a chance for to wuck for him w'en I wants to; mebbe I goin' want ter wuck out dem witness fee; no tellin'.”

This was ambiguous, but we well understood that the old man did not like to talk of business matters before strangers--as he regarded every one outside the immediate family.

”Your first notice came out along in the spring, didn't it?” Mrs.

Horton inquired.

”In April,” Jessie replied, and was silent, a dreamy look in her eyes, while I vividly recalled the stormy day when father came back from a visit to the post-office with the paper containing the first notice in his hand. I heard the April rain beating against the window panes while father told us children--for Jessie and I were children then; it was so long ago, measured by heart-beats, oh! so long ago--that our notice was out and the witnesses named.

Joe broke a little silence by remarking: ”Dere's ten acres ob as fine w'eat as ebber growed out doahs, a waitin' to be cut an' threshed atwixt dat day an' dis.”

”Ten acres!” Mrs. Horton echoed. ”What a help that'll be to you! I do hope you'll get it taken care of all right.”

”I'se goin' tek keer ob hit; yo' needn't fur to fret about dat. I'se goin' at hit, hammer an' tongs, day arter to-morry mornin'.”

”Why not to-morrow?” Jessie inquired eagerly; ”Leslie and I can help you.”

”I reckons dere can't n.o.body help me much w'en I'se done got a broken reaper to wuck with.”

”Oh, that's too bad! How long will it take to get it fixed?” Jessie asked.

”I'se done get hit fixed to-morry, sure, den--we see.”

”Leslie and I will help you,” Jessie repeated. ”The wheat is worth more than any sewing that we can do. If we can get it marketed it will pay up all our bills, nearly, won't it, Joe?”

”I spec' maybe hit will, honey,” Joe returned, grinning complacently.

”Doan you chillen fret about nothin',” he continued earnestly. ”Dem bills all goin' be paid up, clean to de handle.”

I confess that I felt far less sanguine than he appeared to be on that point.

”Isn't it a mercy that our corn and wheat have been let to grow in peace this year?” I said, after Mrs. Horton had taken her leave. ”It's the first year since we have been here that such a thing has happened.”

”I hope it will be the last year that we will have to try raising a crop without a fence,” Jessie replied. For our fence building had stopped abruptly with the digging of some post holes on that day in April. Pumping the water out of the mine had been an expensive piece of work, and all the valley people who had lost relatives in the accident, many who had not, indeed, had come gallantly to the Gray Eagle's aid when that task was undertaken. Because of the aid that we had furnished, our fence was still unbuilt.

CHAPTER X