He woke, however, with a dull, languid pulse, and an oppressive
melancholy on his heart. He looked around the little room, clean enough,
but oh, how poor! how barren! Cold plaster walls, a cheap wash-stand, a
wash-set of three pieces, with a blue band around each; the windows
rectangular, and fitted with fantastic green shades.
Outside he could hear the bees humming. Chickens were merrily moving
about. Cow-bells far up the road were sounding irregularly. A jay came
by and yelled an insolent reveille, and Howard sat up. He could hear
nothing in the house but the rattle of pans on the back side of the
kitchen. He looked at his watch, which indicated half-past seven. Grant
was already in the field, after milking, currying the horses, and eating
breakfast--had been at work two hours and a half.
He dressed himself hurriedly, in a negligé shirt, with a Windsor scarf,
light-colored, serviceable trousers with a belt, russet shoes, and a
tennis hat--a knockabout costume, he considered. His mother, good soul,
thought it a special suit put on for her benefit, and admired it through
her glasses.
He kissed her with a bright smile, nodded at Laura, the young wife, and
tossed the baby, all in a breath, and with the manner, as he himself
saw, of the returned captain in the war-dramas of the day.
"Been to breakfast?" He frowned reproachfully. "Why didn't you call me?
I wanted to get up, just as I used to, at sunrise."
"We thought you was tired, and so we didn't--"
"Tired! Just wait till you see me help Grant pitch hay or something.
Hasn't finished his haying yet, has he?"
"No, I guess not. He will to-day if it don't rain again."
"Well, breakfast is all ready--Howard," said Laura, hesitating a little
on his name.
"Good! I am ready for it. Bacon and eggs, as I'm a jay! Just what I was
wanting. I was saying to myself: 'Now if they'll only get bacon and eggs
and hot biscuits and honey--' Oh, say, mother, I heard the bees humming
this morning; same noise they used to make when I was a boy, exactly.
Must be the same bees,--Hey, you young rascal! come here and have some
breakfast with your uncle."
"I never saw her take to any one so quick," Laura said, emphasizing the
baby's sex. She had on a clean calico dress and a gingham apron, and she
looked strong and fresh and handsome. Her head was intellectual, her
eyes full of power. She seemed anxious to remove the impression of her
unpleasant looks and words the night before. Indeed, it would have been
hard to resist Howard's sunny good-nature.
The baby laughed and crowed. The old mother could not take her dim eyes
off the face of her son, but sat smiling at him as he ate and rattled
on. When he rose from the table at last, after eating heartily and
praising it all, he said, with a smile:
"Well, now I'll just telephone down to the express and have my trunk
brought up. I've got a few little things in there you'll enjoy seeing.
But this fellow," indicating the baby, "I didn't take him into account.
But never mind: Uncle How.'ll make that all right."
"You ain't going to lay it up agin Grant, be you, my son?" Mrs. McLane
faltered, as they went out into the best room.
"Of course not! He didn't mean it. Now, can't you send word down and
have my trunk brought up? Or shall I have to walk down?"
"I guess I'll see somebody goin' down," said Laura.
"All right. Now for the hay-field," he smiled, and went out into the
glorious morning.
The circling hills were the same, yet not the same as at night, a
cooler, tenderer, more subdued cloak of color lay upon them. Far down
the valley a cool, deep, impalpable, blue mist hung, beneath which one
divined the river ran, under its elms and basswoods and wild grapevines.
On the shaven slopes of the hill cattle and sheep were feeding, their
cries and bells coming to the ear with a sweet suggestiveness. There was
something immemorial in the sunny slopes dotted with red and brown and
gray cattle.
Walking toward the haymakers, Howard felt a twinge of pain and distrust.
Would Grant ignore it all and smile--
He stopped short. He had not seen Grant smile in so long--he couldn't
quite see him smiling. He had been cold and bitter for years. When he
came up to them, Grant was pitching on; the old man was loading, and the
boy was raking after.
"Good-morning," Howard cried cheerily; the old man nodded, the boy
stared. Grant growled something, without looking up. These "finical"
things of saying good-morning and good-night are not much practised in
such homes as Grant McLane's.
"Need some help? I'm ready to take a hand. Got on my regimentals this
morning."