AGATHA'S RESOLVE
Agatha looked pale and tired as she sat, rather languidly, in an easy
chair in Mrs. Farnam's pretty room. There was bitter frost outside, but
the new wooden house, standing among the orchards of South Ontario, was
warm, and furnished with a regard for comfort and artistic taste. Mrs.
Farnam was proud of her house and good-humored husband, who gave way to
her except about the growing of fruit. On this subject, she had told
Agatha, he was extraordinarily obstinate. She had some tact and much
kindly feeling, but had been a teacher and believed she had a talent for
managing other people's business. In fact, she had tried to manage
Agatha's, but was forced to admit without much success. Agatha, she
said, was difficult.
For all that, it had given her keen satisfaction to bring the girl there
when she was threatened by a nervous breakdown in consequence of
over-work. Agatha had been her confidential friend when they were at
school, but since Mabel married she had sometimes felt that the
confidence had been rather one-sided. She had told Agatha much, but the
latter had said little about her future plans.
"I don't think you're very much better yet," Mrs. Farnam said after a
pause in the talk, for she was seldom silent long.
Agatha languidly looked about the room, noting the warm color of the
polished floor, on which the light of the shaded lamp lay in a
glistening pool, the fine skin rugs, and thick curtains. She had not an
exaggerated love of comfort and her Toronto rooms were bare, but she
owned that Mabel had a pretty house. Besides, she had a husband who
indulged her and was always kind.
"It's very nice to be here, and I shall soon get strong," she said. "I
suppose I rather overdid things, but the examination was coming and I
was anxious my girls should pass well."
"From the school managers' point of view, that was a laudable aim, but I
don't know that it was worth injuring your health for. You used to agree
that managers often expected too much from a teacher."
"I'm afraid I had a selfish object," said Agatha, smiling. "I wanted a
better post that will soon be vacant."
"Ambition sometimes deceives one. I know the post you mean and the girl
who's going. It carries duties that wore her out."
"And better pay," said Agatha.
Mrs. Farnam gave her a thoughtful look. "Well, that's plausible; but I
never thought you greedy. Why do you want the extra pay?"
"I have a use for it," Agatha replied with a twinkle. "I don't suppose I
shall carry out my plans, and after all, they are too ridiculous to talk
about. Anyhow, you would think so. You're very practical."
"People are curious," Mrs. Farnam remarked. "I'm willing to admit I'm
practical, but I married and love my husband, while you look romantic
and in many ways are not. You risk your health for money, and I don't
think any man ever roused a tender thought in you. There's Jake, for
example--"
She stopped and Agatha was silent for a few moments, although she was
moved. She was tired and felt lonely and that life was hard. Instinctive
longings that she had fought against awoke. She wanted somebody to
shelter her and brush her troubles away. Mabel had her husband, whom she
loved; but she had chosen a rocky path that she must walk alone.
"I hope Jake is getting on well in British Columbia," she said. "I
suppose you hear from him?"
"He writes to us regularly and is getting on very well. Finds his work
absorbing and sees a chance of promotion, but it's obvious that he's not
satisfied. I don't know if you feel flattered, but he can't forget you."
Agatha stopped her. Jake was Mrs. Farnam's cousin, and had been a
teacher of science until he got a post at a mine. He had helped Agatha
in her studies, and she blamed herself for imagining that common
interests and ambitions accounted for their friendship. In fact, it was
something of a shock when, on getting his new post, Jake had asked her
to marry him.
"I'm not flattered but sorry," she replied. "I liked Jake very much--one
was forced to like him--but after all that doesn't go far enough. And,
you see, I didn't know--"
"I believe you really didn't know. It would be ridiculous to admit this
about any other girl, but, in a way, you're not quite normal. You're too
absorbed in your occupation and haven't a woman's natural feelings. You
took all Jake had to give and were surprised and half indignant when he
asked something from you."
Agatha wondered rather drearily whether Mrs. Farnam's reproaches were
not justified; but the latter went on: "Perhaps, however, your coldness
is encouraging. I don't suppose you have met anybody you liked, or felt
you could like, better than Jake."
"No," said Agatha, and then hesitated. Since Mabel was capable of giving
her cousin a hint, she saw that frankness was needed and remembered the
fortnight she had spent with Thirlwell by the lake. She had thought
about him since; indeed she had done so oftener than she knew.
"I shall never marry Jake," she said. "Just now it seems unlikely that I
shall marry anybody else."
Mrs. Farnam made a sign of disappointed acquiescence. "Very well! That's
done with. If there's anything more to be said about your plans for the
next few months, your brother will say it. I'm glad George is coming,
because he's sensible and will deal with you firmly. Now I'll go and get
supper."
She left Agatha thoughtful. George, whose business occasionally brought
him into the neighborhood, had written to say that he was coming and
would stop the night, and Agatha wondered what he wanted to talk about.
He would certainly give her good advice, but they seldom saw alike and
she braced herself for a struggle, although she was fond of her brother.
Supper in the bright cedar-paneled room was a cheerful function, and as
she looked about and joined in the talk Agatha was conscious of a
feeling that was hardly strong enough for envy or actual discontent, but
had a touch of both. Mabel looked happy and modestly proud. She was
obviously satisfied and in a way enjoyed all that a woman could wish
for. The house was pretty; Farnam was indulgent and showed his wife a
deference that Agatha liked. He owned a large orchard and had sufficient
capital to cultivate it properly. George Strange was marked by a
complacent, self-confident manner that his urbanity somewhat toned down.
He dealt in artificial fertilizers and farming implements, and it was
said that he never lost a customer and seldom made a bad debt.
In character, George was unlike his sister, because while unimaginative
he generally saw where his advantage lay. For all that, he was just and
often generous. He was married, and talked to Mrs. Farnam about his wife
and child when he was not eating with frank enjoyment and telling
humorous stories. While the others laughed and joked Agatha mused. They
had commonplace aims and duties that brought them happiness; but she had
been given a harder task. Still it was a task that could not be shirked;
she had accepted it and must carry it out.
Some time after supper Mrs. Farnam went away, and Farnam presently made
an excuse for following his wife. When they had gone George remarked: "I
must pull out to-morrow, but Florence sends a message. She wants you to
stop with us for two or three months."
"Florence is kind," said Agatha. "I would like to go, but you know it's
impossible."
"I don't know," George rejoined in an authoritative voice. "I'm your
elder brother and it's my duty to see you do what you ought. To begin
with, I looked up your doctor and he told me you needed a long rest."
"It can't be got. I must go back to school when the holidays are over."
"Wait a bit! None of us is as indispensable as we sometimes think."
Agatha felt half amused and half annoyed. George often made remarks like
this and imagined that they clinched his arguments. She saw that he had
been meddling.
"What did you do after seeing the doctor?" she asked suspiciously.
"I went to your principal at the school. She said she would talk to the
managers and had no doubt that if it was needful they would let you off
for a time. Now as I can fix the thing with the doctor, there's no
reason you shouldn't quit work and stop with us."
Agatha colored angrily. George meant well, but he had gone too far. She
felt this worse because she was tempted to give way. She liked her
brother's wife and needed a rest.
"Well," she said, "I suppose I ought to have expected something of the
kind, but it's comforting to feel that your efforts are wasted. I shall
be quite well in a week or two and am going back to school. For one
thing, I shall need some money before very long."
George looked hard at her. "You don't say why. Still if it's money that
prevents you taking the proper line, I might lend you some--" He stopped
and resumed with suspicion: "But I won't give you a dollar to waste in
searching for father's silver lode!"
"I am going to look for the lode," said Agatha quietly.
"I hoped you had got over that foolishness," George rejoined, throwing
his cigarette on the floor, although he was generally careful about
such things. "Now listen to me for a few minutes, and try to be
sensible!"
"One misses much by always being sensible," Agatha remarked with a
resigned smile.
"It often saves one's relations trouble. Anyhow, the blamed lode has
thrown its shadow on all our lives, and I don't mean to stand off,
saying nothing, and see you spoil yours."
"You escaped the shadow, because you never believed in the lode."
"I certainly didn't and don't believe in it now! For all that, I saw
father's restlessness and mother's fears."
"Ah!" said Agatha, "I didn't think--"
"I allow I haven't your imagination, but I can see a thing that's
obvious. Father thought he hid his feelings, but mother knew and
grieved. She was afraid he would give us up and go back to the North."
"No!" said Agatha with firmness; "she was not afraid he would give us
up! Father never failed in his duty."
"Then she was certainly afraid he'd die in the bush; as he did. She knew
what the prospectors were up against, and though she smiled when he
talked about the ore, I knew she had an anxious heart. I don't claim
that the anxiety broke her down, but it made a heavy load and helped."
"Yet when she was very ill she did not ask him to promise he wouldn't
go."
"She did not mind then," said George in a quiet voice. "She was dying
and we had grown up. But there was nothing selfish about her
acquiescence. I think she was glad to set him free, because she loved
him and knew what he had borne. He was a dreamer and not a business
man. She had run the store and taken care of him, and knew he would be
lonely after she had gone. Besides, I sometimes feel she thought he
would follow and rejoin her soon. It did not matter by what road he
came."
Agatha was silent for some moments because she was surprised and moved.
George had a keener imagination and saw farther than she thought. It
looked as if he had known her mother best.
"You loved her well and so you understood," she said. "But the troubles
she bore are done with, and now I stand alone. I have no
responsibilities; my life is mine!"
George's face got red. "Well, perhaps I don't count for much, but we
didn't cut loose when I married. I have a sister as well as a wife."
"I'm sorry, George," said Agatha, putting her hand on his arm. "I didn't
mean to hurt."
"Very well! I'm not a sentimental fellow; let's be practical. You can't
locate the ore, because it isn't there; but you may spoil your health
and get soured by disappointment. Then, if you stop long, you'll lose
your post and ruin your career. The blamed silver may become a fixed
illusion. That's what I'm really afraid of most. In some ways, you're
very like father."
"You're persuaded the silver was an illusion?"
"I am persuaded," George declared. "Men who live in the frozen woods get
credulous and believe extraordinary things, and tales of wonderful lodes
are common in the mining belts. Father heard something of the kind and
brooded over it until he came to believe he had located the ore. He had
too much imagination and wasn't practical."
"But he gave me some specimens he found and they carry rich metal."
"I allow he thought he found them; but that's a different thing."
Agatha smiled. "Perhaps your theory's plausible, but it has some weak
points."
"Anyhow, if father couldn't locate the vein he claimed to have struck, I
reckon there's not much chance of your doing so."
"I mean to try," said Agatha, with ominous quietness.
George saw that she was resolute, and although he was obstinate knew he
was beaten. Agatha could not be moved when she looked like that.
"I can't allow that you know best, but guess I may as well quit
arguing," he remarked with a resigned shrug. "You'll come along and stop
with Florence before you go back to Toronto?"
"I will come for a week," Agatha agreed, and George went away to look
for Farnam.