"He that tilleth his land shall be satisfied with bread; but
he that followeth vain persons is void of understanding."--_Prov. 12:11._
Widow Ames had homesteaded one hundred and sixty acres of government
land in Dry Hollow. That was a subject for a two days' gossip in the
town. There was speculation about what she wanted with a dry ravine in
the hills, and many shook their heads in condemnation. However, it set
some to thinking and moved one man, at least, to action. Jed Bolton,
the same day that he heard of it, rode up into the hills above town.
Sure enough, there was a rough shanty nearly finished; some furrows had
been plowed, and every indication of settlement was present. Mr. Bolton
bit his lip and used language which, if it did not grate on his own
ears, could not on the only other listener, his horse.
Rupert was on the roof of his shanty, and Mr. Bolton greeted him as he
rode up.
"Hello, Rupe, what're ye doin'?"
"Just finishin' my house. It looks like more rain, an' I must have the
roof good an' tight."
"You're not goin' to live here?"
"Oh, yes, part of the time."
"What's that for?"
"To secure our claim. Mother's homesteaded one hundred and sixty acres
of this land."
"What in the world are you goin' to do with it?"
"We'll farm some of it, of course, an' we'll find some use for another
part after awhile, I guess."
Then Mr. Bolton changed his tactics. He tried to discourage the boy by
telling him that it was railroad land, and even if it wasn't, his own
adjacent claim took it all in anyway; Rupert did not scare, but said, "I
guess not," as he went on quietly fitting and pounding.
The man had to give it up. "That Ames kid" had gotten the best of him.
This was four years ago, and wonderful changes had taken place since
then. Rupert had begun work on his reservoir the spring after they had
taken possession. He had a most beautiful site for one; and when the
melting winter snows and spring rains filled Dry Hollow creek, most of
it was turned into the Basin. It slowly spread out, filled the deep
ravines, and crept up to Rupert's embankment. Then he turned the stream
back into its natural channel again. Many came to look at the wonder.
Some of his neighbor "dry-benchers" offered to join him and help him for
a share in the water. The reservoir could be greatly enlarged, and the
canal leading from it around the side-hills to the bench had yet to be
dug; so Rupert and his mother accepted the offers of help and the work
went on rapidly. The next year Dry Bench had water. New ground was
broken and cleared. Trees were set out. There was new life on the farm,
and new hopes within the hearts of Widow Ames and her children.
Dry Bench farm had undergone a change. A neat frame house stood in front
of the log hut, which had been boarded and painted to match the newer
part. A barn filled with hay and containing horses and cows stood at a
proper distance back. A granary and a corn-crib were near. The new
county road now extended along the fronting of the Ames place, and a
neat fence separated the garden from the public highway. On the left was
the orchard, a beautiful sight. Standing in long, symmetrical rows were
peaches, apples, pears, and a dozen other varieties of fruit, now just
beginning to bear. At the rear, stretching nearly to the mountains, were
the grain and alfalfa fields. Neighboring farms also were greatly
improved by the advent of water, but none showed such labor and care as
the Ames farm. Rupert grew with the growth of his labors, until he was
now a tall, muscular fellow, browned and calloused. Nina was fast
outgrowing childish things and entering the young-lady period. A
beautiful girl she was, and a favorite among her schoolmates. She had
attended school in town for the past three winters, and her brother was
talking of sending her to the high school.
Practically, Rupert was the head of the family. Always respectful to his
mother, and generally consulting with her on any important matter, he
nevertheless could not help seeing that everything depended on him, and
that he was the master mind of Ames farm. And then the neighbors came to
him for advice, and older and presumably wiser men counseled with him,
and so it suggested itself to Rupert that he was the master mind of all
Dry Bench besides. Everybody called him a "rustler." When he had leisure
for school, he was beyond school age; so, nothing daunted, he set out to
study by himself. He procured the necessary books, and went to them with
an energy that made up for the lack of a teacher. Nina kept pace with
him for a time, but the ungraded village school curriculum was too slow
for Rupert; and when one spring the young reservoir projector appeared
at the county teachers' examination and passed creditably, all, as he
said "just for fun and practice," the people talked again--and elected
him to the board of trustees.
A beautiful spring morning dawned on Dry Bench. A cool breeze came from
the mountains and played with the young leaves of the orchard. The
apricots were white with blossoms, and the plums and peaches were just
bursting into masses of pink and white. The alfalfa and wheat fields
were beautifully green. Blessed Morning, what a life promoter, what a
dispeller of fears and bringer of hopes, thou art!
Rupert was out early. After tossing some hay to the horses and cows, he
shouldered his shovel and strode up the ditch, whistling as he went. His
straw hat set well back on his head. His blue "jumper" met the blue
overalls which were tucked into a pair of heavy boots. His tune was a
merry one and rang out over the still fields and up to the hills.
Rupert's thoughts were a mixture that morning, and flew from one thing
to another: the ditch which he was to clean and repair; the condition of
the reservoir; the meeting of the school board; the planting of the
garden; the dance at the hall in town; the wonderful spreading
properties of weeds--so on from one subject to another, until he came to
a standstill, leaning on his shovel and looking over his farm and down
to the town, fast growing into a city. From a hundred chimneys smoke was
beginning to come, befouling the clear air of the valley.
"It is a beautiful sight," said he to himself. "Six years ago and what
was it? Under whose hand has this change grown? Mine. I have done most
of the work, and I can lawfully claim most of the credit. Then it was
worthless, and just the other day I was offered five thousand dollars
for the place. That's pretty good. Father couldn't have done any
better."
Rupert was not given to boasting, but it did seem lately that everything
he set his hand to prospered exceedingly. This had brought some
self-exalting thoughts into his mind; not that he talked of them to
others, but he communed with them to himself, nevertheless.
That morning, as he rested his chin on his hands that clasped the end of
his shovel, such thoughts swelled the pride in his heart, and his work
was left undone. The sun came suddenly from behind the peak and flooded
the valley with light; still Rupert stood looking over the fields. In
the distance towards the left he caught sight of a horse and buggy
coming at a good pace along the new country road. He watched it drawing
nearer. A lady was driving. Her horse was on its mettle this morning and
the reins were tight. They were at that ugly place where the road
crosses the canal--he was to repair it that morning--He awoke from his
dreaming with a start, but too late; the horse shied, a wheel went into
the ugly hole, and the occupant was pitched into the dry bottom of the
canal. Rupert ran down the road shouting "whoa" to the horse which
galloped past him. The lady scrambled up before Rupert reached her.
"Are you hurt?" he inquired.
"No--no, sir," she managed to say. She was pale and trembling. "Can you
catch my horse? I think he will stop at that barn."
"I'll get your horse, never fear; just so you're not hurt. Let me help
you out of the ditch."
She held out a gloved hand and he assisted her up the bank. She was just
a girl, and he could have carried her home, had it been necessary.
"Thank you, sir, but could you get my horse, please? There, he is
stopping at that house."
"That is where I live. I'll bring him to you, if you will wait."
"Oh, thanks; but I can walk that far. The fall has just shaken me up a
little. I shall soon get over it."
They walked down the road to the gate.
"You must come in and rest," said he, "and I'll take care of your
horse." She remonstrated, but he insisted, and brought her into the
kitchen where his mother was busy with breakfast. Rupert explained, and
his mother instantly became solicitous. She drew a rocking chair up to
the fire and with gentle force seated the stranger, continuously asking
questions and exclaiming, "Too bad, too bad."
Rupert readily caught the runaway animal, and, leading him into the
yard, fastened and fed him.
"Take off your hat, Miss," said Mrs. Ames, "your head'll feel easier. I
know it must ache with such a knock as that. I believe you're cold, too.
Put your feet on the hearth--or here, I'll open the oven door--there!
You must take a cup of coffee with us. It'll warm you. You haven't had
breakfast yet, I dare say."
The stranger thanked her and leaned back in the chair quite content. The
fall had really shaken her severely and a pain shot, now and then, into
her head. Rupert foolishly fidgeted about outside before he could make
up his mind to come in. Nina now made her appearance. The coffee was
poured out and the stranger was invited to sit up. Once, twice, Mrs.
Ames spoke to her, but she sat perfectly still. Her face was pale, her
eyes half closed.
"What's the matter, Miss?" asked the mother, looking into the girl's
face.
"Mother, I believe she has fainted," said Nina.
The three bent over the still form. Mrs. Ames rubbed the cold hands,
Nina became nervous, and Rupert looked down into the pale, beautiful
face.
"Yes, she has fainted. It is too warm in here. We must get her in the
sitting-room on the sofa. Rupert, help us."
Rupert stood at a distance. The mother and Nina tried to lift her, but
they failed.
"You'll have to carry her in, Rupert. Come, don't stand there as if you
couldn't move. It's too close in this kitchen."
But the young fellow still hesitated. To take a strange, fair girl in
his arms--such a thing he had never done--but he must do so now. He put
his strong arms under her and lifted her as he would a child, and
carried her into the next room, where he laid his burden on the sofa.
The cool air had its effect, and she opened her eyes and smiled into the
faces that were bent over her.
"Lie still, my dear," said Mrs. Ames. "You have been hurt more than you
think."
"Did I faint?--yes, I must have--but I'm not hurt." She tried to rise,
but with a moan she sank back on the pillow which Nina had brought.
"I'll go for the doctor," said Rupert, and off he went. When he and
Doctor Chase came in an hour later, the girl was again sitting at the
table with Mrs. Ames and Nina.
"I met with a slight accident down the road," she explained to the
doctor. "I wasn't quite killed, you see, but these good people are
trying to finish me with their kindness;" and she laughed merrily.
Her name was Miss Wilton. She was a school teacher, and was on her way
to answer an advertisement of the Dry Bench trustees for a teacher. She
hoped the doctor would pronounce her all right that she might continue
her journey, as she understood it was not far.
"You have had a severe shaking up, Miss Wilton, but I don't think you
need to postpone your journey more than a few hours," was the doctor's
decision.
About noon, Rupert drove Miss Wilton's horse around to the front door
and delivered it to her. With a profusion of thanks, she drove away in
the direction of the chairman of the school trustees. Neither Nina nor
her mother had said anything about Rupert's being on the board. Mrs.
Ames had once seemed to broach the subject, but a look from Rupert was
enough to check her. When the school teacher disappeared down the road,
Rupert again shouldered his shovel, and this time the ugly hole where
the road crossed the canal was mended. That done, he returned home,
hitched a horse to his cart and drove to town.