Soon we were inside the big barn that we had passed coming in. The
wavering rays of the lantern disclosed huge, cob-webbed recesses, rows
of empty stalls, a tumble-down carriage, and near the sliding door, a
small hillock of well packed hay. Otherwise the place was empty. On this
hay we made our bed and were soon asleep.
I was awakened by the drumming of rain on the roof. Another wet morning
was upon us. I leaned over to ask Dan what he thought of my “crazy
notion” now. But he was sound asleep, so I conquered my feminine impulse
and decided to get up and scout a dry place to cook breakfast.
“Ow-wow!” My bare foot splashed into a lake of cold water which,
concealed by a layer of floating straw and chaff, covered the floor of
the old barn to a depth of eighteen inches.
My startled howl brought Dan up with a jerk. Hastily we dressed and
moved our footgear and bedding to the top of a grain bin. As we perched
forlornly on this refuge in a watery waste, the door opened and the
little old lady of the night before came in.
Perhaps we appeared less murderous by the light of day, or what is more
likely, her “conthrary timper” was less in evidence when acting on her
own initiative; at any rate, after a short chat, she cordially invited
us in to breakfast.
Then followed a most interesting day. Jim, her husband, who was
unusually well read, struck up an immediate friendship with Dan, and
while waiting for the rain to cease, Katie and I visited in the kitchen.
There were but three in the family: the old man, his wife and the
feeble-minded chore man who had brought us to their dwelling the
previous night. Outside of an acre of orchard, a chicken run and a small
garden, their great holdings of hundreds of acres were rented to
tenants, one of whom supplied them with milk and butter.
The couple had emigrated from the old country when very young; had met
and loved on the long voyage, and were married soon after their arrival.
James Grogan was a remarkable man. Keen, shrewd, ambitious, he worked
and saved and invested with all the energy and acumen that has enabled
so many of his race to rise in the world. He homesteaded the original
Illinois farm and to these hundred and sixty acres he constantly added.
His passion was to leave his children educated and rich. He himself had
learned to read and write when past the age of thirty; the struggle
upward had been a hard one; his children should be spared all this.
And eleven babies were born to them. With bitter words old Katie painted
pictures of the heartbreaking toil; the lack of ordinary conveniences;
the goading tongue of her lord and master driving her on through the
years while acre was added to acre, and the herds increased, and no barn
was large enough to hold the abundant crops. Modern farm implements were
purchased in plenty, but there was no money for the simplest household
conveniences; outbuildings were snug and well built; but the home itself
was ramshackle and poor.
It has been said that in earlier days the size of a man’s farm could
often be estimated by the number of wives’ tombstones in his lot in the
cemetery. But it was not true in this case. Katie had lived, but her
babies died.
Her love for her husband turned to a cold hate, but still the babies
came. Ten had been born and ten had died before Jim realised that Katie
needed as good care as his animals—that she was more than any
animal—that she was, in truth, the mother of those children—his
children—whom he worshipped—and lost.
So the youngest boy was born and grew—a slender, delicate, brilliant
lad—and all the facilities for education, and all the riches of cattle
and horses and broad acres were his to command.
He was educated for the Bar. And while he was in college and while he
studied law, his father and he built up a wonderful library and still
more wonderful plans for the future, when James Grogan, Junior, should
be a great jurist and statesman with a reputation nation wide.
Abruptly his health failed. Lack of vitality, his inheritance from his
mother, made itself felt. He went to California and there died.
James Grogan, Senior, brought home that library and installed it in the
old ramshackle house with its addition here and lean-to there. And here,
alone, he read each volume.