LUCY GOES TO THE RESCUE
About four o'clock in the afternoon of the day following the beginning
of his harvest, Thorne sat heavy-eyed in the saddle of a binder which
three horses hauled along the edge of the grain. He had been at work
since sunrise, except for a brief rest at midday, and he was wondering
whether the team could hold out until nightfall. The binder had not
quite reached its present efficiency then, and the traction was heavy.
It was fiercely hot, and there was only the faintest breeze, while a
thin cloud of dust that made his eyes smart and crept into his nostrils
eddied about him. The whirling wooden arms of the machine flashed in the
midst of it as they flung out the sheaves, and there was a sharp clash
and tinkle as the knife rasped through the tall oat stalks.
As he neared a corner, driving wearily, he turned and glanced back along
the rows of piled-up sheaves which stood blazing with light down the
belt of gleaming stubble. The latter was narrow, for although it was the
result of two days' determined labor, he had somehow accomplished less
than he had anticipated. Half the time he had spent, turn about with
Hall, in the saddle and the rest gathering up the tossed-out sheaves in
the wake of the machine. It was desirable to keep pace with the binder,
though the task is one that is beyond the strength of a single man in a
heavy crop, and it was only by toiling with a savage persistency that he
and his companion had partially accomplished it. Now, however, his
heart sank as he looked round at the sea of grain.
It rose in a great oblong, glowing with tints of ochre, silvery gray and
cadmium, relieved here and there by coppery flashes and delicate
pencilings of warm sienna, and over it there hung a cloudless vault of
blue. It looked very large, and there was another oblong yet unbroken
some distance away. Thorne's head ached, and his eyes ached, and his
back hurt him at each jolt of the machine. He had been almost worn-out
when he began the task, and since then he had lain down for only a few
hours, and then had not been able to sleep.
Beyond the grain, the prairie stretched away, intolerably white in the
sun-glare, to the horizon. Thorne fancied that he had seen a moving
object upon it some time earlier. The machine had, however, engrossed
most of his attention, and he was not sure. He reached the turning and
was proceeding away from the house when a voice hailed him, and as he
pulled up the team Lucy Calvert appeared.
"What brought you over?" he asked in dull astonishment.
Lucy smiled coquettishly.
"It's generally allowed that you and I are friends. Anyway, if you'd
rather, I can go home again."
Thorne looked at her with drawn-down brows. He was worn-out, his brain
was heavy, and he did not feel equal to any attempt at repartee.
"You had better stop for supper first," he suggested.
"I guess I'm going to," Lucy laughed. "Still, you won't want it for two
hours yet, and it looks as if there's something to be done in the
meanwhile. I didn't come over for supper or to talk to you; I met
Farquhar on the prairie, and he told me all about the thing."
She turned and pointed to a row of sheaves which were still lying prone.
"Why haven't you got those on end? Where's Hall?"
"Gone over to his place for my team."
"Then," said Lucy, "you can get off that machine right now and set the
sheaves up while I drive. I'll stay on until it's too dark to see, and
come round again first thing in the morning. We don't expect to get our
binders in for a week yet."
Thorne was touched, and his face made it plain. He needed assistance
badly, and did not know where to obtain it, for his friends whose crops
the hail had spared were either beginning their own harvest or preparing
for it. Besides, there was not the slightest doubt that Lucy was
capable.
"Get down right away!" she ordered laughingly. "I don't want thanks
from--you."
Thorne was never sure afterward whether he attempted to offer her any,
but he set to work among the sheaves when she took her place in the
saddle and the binder went clinking and clashing on again. In spite of
his efforts, it drew farther and farther away, though he toiled in
half-breathless haste and the perspiration dripped from him. As he was
facing then, the sun beat upon his back and shoulders intolerably hot.
At length, when the shadows of the stooked sheaves had lengthened across
the crackling stubble in which he floundered, Lucy stopped her team a
moment and looked back at him.
"I'll unyoke them at the corner and get supper," she said. "You get into
the shade there and lie down and smoke. If I see you move before I call
you, I'll go home again."
She drove away before he could protest, but it was, after all, a relief
to obey her, and flinging himself down with his back to a cluster of the
sheaves, he took out his pipe. It was a little cooler there, and his
eyes were closing when a summons reached him across the grain. Getting
up with an effort, he walked toward the house, and was hazily astonished
when he entered it. Exactly what Lucy had done he could not tell, but
the place looked different. For the first time it seemed comfortably
habitable. There was a cloth, which was a thing he did not possess, on
the table, and his simple crockery, which shone absolutely white, and
his indurated ware made a neat display. The provisions laid out on it
looked tempting, too; in fact, he did not think that Hall could have
found any fault with them, and it presently struck him that they
included articles which he did not remember purchasing.
He sat down when Lucy told him to, and it was pleasant to find what he
required ready at hand, instead of having to walk backward and forward
between the table and the stove. He did not remember what she said, but
they both laughed every now and then, and after the meal was over he was
content to sit still a while when she bade him. The presence of the girl
somehow changed the whole aspect of the room; but he was conscious of a
regret that it was she and not another who occupied the place opposite
him across his table. It was not Lucy Calvert he had often pictured
sitting there. At length he pointed through the doorway to the grain.
"Lucy," he said, "that crop doesn't look by any means as hard to reap as
it did an hour ago."
"I guess it's the supper," Lucy suggested cheerfully.
"I don't think it's that exactly, though there's no doubt it's the best
meal I've had for a considerable time."
Lucy leaned back in her chair.
"Well," she observed, "it's company you want, and it's quite nice being
here. You and I kind of hit it, don't we, Mavy?"
"Of course. We always did," Thorne assented, though there was a hint of
astonishment in his tone.
"Then if you'll get rid of Hall--send him off again for something--I'll
get supper for you the next two or three evenings."
"I don't see why he should be done out of his share," protested Thorne
cautiously. He felt that Lucy was more gracious than there was any
occasion for.
"Don't you, Mavy?" she asked, with lifted brows. "Now, I've a notion
that anybody else would kind of spoil things."
Until lately Thorne had seldom shrunk from any harmless gallantry, but
he did not respond just then with the readiness which the girl seemed to
expect.
"It's a relief to hear you say it," he declared. "I'm afraid I'm a dull
companion to-night."
Lucy nodded sympathetically.
"Well," she replied, "I have seen you brighter, but you're anxious and
played out. Sit nice and still for half an hour while I talk to you."
"I ought to be stooking those sheaves," Thorne answered dubiously.
"You can do it by and by," Lucy urged. "It won't be dark for quite a
while yet."
She adroitly led him on to talk, and presently bade him light his pipe.
He had always hated any unnecessary reserve and ceremony, and by
degrees his natural gaiety once more asserted itself. At length, when
they were both laughing over a narrative of his, he stretched his arm
out across the table and it happened by merest accident that their hands
met. Lucy did not draw hers away; she looked up at him with a smile.
"Mavy," she teased, "I wonder what Miss Leigh would say if she could see
you."
Thorne straightened himself somewhat hastily in his chair. Nothing in
the shape of a tactful answer occurred to him, and he grew uneasy under
his companion's smile.
"Would you like to see her walk right in just now?" she persisted.
There was no doubt that this would not have afforded the man the
slightest pleasure, but he could not admit it.
"It's scarcely likely to happen," he evaded awkwardly.
Then to his relief Lucy laughed.
"Mavy, I've sure got you fixed. The curious thing is they allow at the
settlement that you could most talk the head off any of the boys."
"I really don't see what satisfaction you expected it to afford you,"
Thorne rejoined.
"I guessed it would help to put Nevis out of your mind. I'd an idea you
wanted cheering up--and I felt a little like that myself."
The girl's manner changed abruptly as she rose, and there was only
concern in her eyes.
"I wonder," she added softly, "where Jake is and what he is doing now."
Thorne felt that he had been favored with a hint.
"You haven't heard from him?"
"He hasn't sent a line; it wouldn't have been safe. It's kind of
wearing, Mavy."
"I'm sorry," sympathized Thorne. "But it's most unlikely that the
troopers will get him."
Lucy, without answering this, went out, and when they reached the binder
Thorne turned to her with a smile.
"Lucy," he said, "I don't quite understand yet what possessed you a
little while ago."
"Did you never feel so worried that it was kind of soothing to do
something mad?"
"I'm afraid I have once or twice," Thorne confessed. "On the other hand,
my experience wouldn't justify me in advising other people to indulge in
outbreaks of the kind. Suppose I'd been--we'll say equal to the
occasion?"
Lucy laughed, but there was a snap in her eyes.
"Then," she retorted, "it's a sure thing you would never have tried to
be equal to it again. Anyway, I didn't feel anxious about you. You
looked real amusing, Mavy."
"Perhaps I did. Still, I don't quite think you need have pointed it
out."
They set to work after this, Lucy guiding the team along the edge of the
grain and Thorne stooping among the sheaves in the wake of the machine.
They were thus engaged, oblivious to everything but their task, when
Mrs. Farquhar reined in her team close beside them, and Alison gazed
with somewhat confused sensations at the pair.
Lucy had obviously made her dress herself, of the cheapest kind of
print, but it was light in hue, as was her big hat, and in addition to
falling in with the flood of vivid color through which she moved it
flowed about her in becoming lines, and when she pulled up her horses
and turned partly toward the wagon her pose was expressive of a curious
virile grace. Behind her, straight-cut along its paler upper edge, where
the feathery tassels of the oats shone with a silvery luster against the
cold blue of the sky, the yellow grain glowed in the warm evening light.
The glaring vermilion paint on the binder added to the general effect,
and it occurred to Alison that the girl, with her brown face and hands
and the signs of a splendid vitality plain upon her, was very much in
harmony with her surroundings. The lean figure of the man stooping among
the sheaves, lightly clad in blue that had lost its harshness by long
exposure to the weather, formed a fit and necessary complement of the
picture.
They were, Alison recognized, engaged upon humanity's most natural and
beneficent task, and as she remembered how she had seen that soil lying
waste, covered only with the harsh wild grasses, in the early spring, it
was borne in upon her that there could be no greater reward than the
bounteous harvest for man's arduous toil. Then she became troubled by a
vague perception of the fact that this breaking of the wilderness and
rendering the good soil fruitful was one of the sternest and most real
tests of man's efficiency. Meretricious graces, paltry accomplishments,
and the pretenses of civilization availed one nothing here. The only
things that counted were the elemental qualities: slow endurance, faith
that held fast through all the vagaries of the weather, and the power of
toughened muscle that might ache but must in spite of that yield due
obedience to the will. Alison regarded Lucy, who could play her part in
the reaping, with a troubled feeling that was not far from envy.
Then Thorne looked up, partly dazzled with the level sunrays in his
eyes, and walked toward the wagon. When he stopped beside it Mrs.
Farquhar greeted him.
"We have been across to Shafter's place," she explained. "Harry asked me
to drive round and see how you were getting on. He'll try to send you
over his hired man in a day or two."
Thorne pointed to the rows of stooked sheaves.
"Thanks; I haven't done as much as I should have liked. Hall has gone
back for my other team, and if it hadn't been for Lucy I'd have been a
good deal farther behind."
"How much has she cut?" Mrs. Farquhar asked.
Thorne was quite aware that an answer would fix the time the girl had
spent with him. Before he could speak, however, Lucy had approached the
wagon and she broke in.
"I guess Mrs. Shafter would give you supper?"
Mrs. Farquhar said that she had done so, and Lucy smiled.
"That's going to save some trouble. Mavy and I had ours together most an
hour ago and the stove's out by now."
Thorne imagined that this intimation, which struck him as a trifle
superfluous, was made with a deliberate purpose; but one of the binder
horses, tormented by the flies, began to kick just then, and he turned
away to quiet it, while Lucy, who stood beside the wagon, smiled
provocatively at Alison.
"You'll have to excuse Mavy--he's been hustling round since sunup, and
he's played out," she said. "Still, you needn't get anxious. I'll look
after him."
Mrs. Farquhar laughed, while Alison's attitude grew distinctly prim. She
considered that in taking her anxiety for granted and alluding to it
openly Lucy had gone too far. She also felt inclined to resent the
girl's last consolatory assurance.
"Can I drive you home?" Mrs. Farquhar inquired. "I suppose you will be
going soon, and it won't make a very big round."
"No," replied Lucy decisively, "you needn't trouble. I've a horse here,
and I guess Mavy's not going to make love to me. For one thing, he's too
busy. Besides, I want to cut round that other side before I go."
"Then I suppose we had better not keep you," said Mrs. Farquhar.
She waved her hand to Thorne and drove away, and when they had left the
oats behind she turned to Alison.
"Lucy," she observed, "is now and then a little outspoken, but I'm
curious as to what she meant when she said that Thorne was not likely to
make love to her. Of course, the thing's improbable, anyway, but she
spoke as if he had been offered an opportunity."
Alison's face flushed with anger.
"Leaving the fact that she's to marry Winthrop out of the question, the
girl must have some self-respect. She would surely never go so far as
you suggest."
"Well," smiled her companion, "she might go far enough to place Thorne
in an embarrassing position, purely for the sake of the amusement she
might derive from it. In fact, when I remember how she laughed, I'm far
from sure that she didn't do something of the kind."
Alison sat silent for a minute or two. There was no doubt that she was
very angry with Lucy, but she was also troubled by other sensations,
among which was a certain envy of the girl's capacity for work that was
held of high account in that country. Thorne's attitude and his weary
face as he toiled among the sheaves had been very suggestive. He was,
she knew, hard-pressed, engaged in a desperate grapple with a task that
was generally admitted to be beyond his strength, and she could only
stand aside and watch his efforts with wholly ineffective sympathy.
Then she became conscious that Mrs. Farquhar was glancing at her
curiously.
"I feel humiliated to-night!" she broke out. "There's so little that
seems of the least use to anybody here that I can do; and my abilities
scarcely got me food and shelter in England. Isn't it almost a crime
that they teach so many of us only fripperies? Were we only made to be
taken care of and petted?"
Her companion smiled.
"If it's any consolation, I may point out that we haven't found you
useless at the Farquhar homestead, and I can't see why you shouldn't be
just as useful presiding over a place of your own. After all, since you
raise the question what you were made for, that seems to be the usual
destiny, and I haven't found it an unpleasant or ignoble one."
She broke off, and for a minute or two the jolting of the wagon rendered
further conversation out of the question.
"There's another point," she added presently; "it's my opinion that an
encouraging word from you would do more to brace Mavy for the work in
front of him than the offer of half a dozen binders and teams."
Alison made no answer, and they drove on in silence across the waste,
which was beginning to grow dim and shadowy.