Part 31 (1/2)
He got over into the pen. There was no doubt about it. The pigs were dead, and valueless, as far as any use he could make of them was concerned.
He called in a neighbor, who knew something of animals, and this man said the pigs had probably eaten something that had not agreed with them, as there were no signs that they had been hurt. This view was generally accepted, when it became known what misfortune had visited Mr.
Crosby, though no one could tell what had caused the death of the animals.
”Another heavy loss,” mused Mr. Crosby that afternoon, as he got up from the dinner table. ”I declare, I don't know what's going to happen! I've got the interest money, but I'm afraid I'll have to use part of that to live on, now that we won't have any pork to put away for the winter.”
”Oh, dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Crosby, ”troubles never come singly! We certainly are in hard luck, Enos.”
”That's right,” he admitted gloomily. ”I don't know what to do. But there, Debby,” he added, as he saw how badly his wife felt. ”We'll make out somehow. We always have. I can let the interest go, and we can sell out the farm.”
”No, don't do that,” exclaimed his wife quickly. ”We must hold on to that. It's the only way we can make a living. I don't know anything except farming, and you don't either.”
”That's right, unless I could learn gold mining,” admitted Mr. Crosby with a sad smile. ”But we'll get along somehow.”
How he didn't know, but he knew he must not let his wife worry, as she was not strong, and had only recently gotten over a severe illness.
”Maybe I could help you, papa,” spoke Nettie, who had listened with some worriment to the talk of her parents.
”You, my dear girl? How could you help us?”
”Why, I hear they want girls to work at the machines in the mill over at Rossmore.”
”I'll never consent to let you go there,” said her father. ”We'll sell the farm first. Not that there's anything wrong about a girl working in a mill, but I want you to get a good education. No, Nettie, I'll find a way, somehow.”
”Whoa!” exclaimed a voice out in the driveway, and, looking out, the farmer saw a man in a carriage.
”Are you there, Mr. Crosby?” the man called.
”Oh, yes! How d'ye do, Mr. Jimson?” replied the farmer, as he recognized the man who held the mortgage on the farm. ”I see you've come for the interest.”
”Yes. I hope you have it ready.”
”Yes, it's all together. But I guess I'll have to ask you to drive me over to the bank in Rossmore. My pigs all died this morning, and I was so put out I didn't get a chance to go over. The money's there in the bank.”
”Is your interest money in the bank at Rossmore?” asked Mr. Jimson, in a curious voice.
”Yes. Why?”
”That bank failed yesterday,” was the startling answer. ”The depositors won't get a cent!”
CHAPTER XXIV
LOSING THE FARM
Hardly able to believe what he heard, Mr. Crosby stared at his informant.
”Wha--what's that you said?” he asked.