SUNNYSIDE
As so often happens after a hard storm, the weather cleared at daybreak
and a patch of cold blue wintry sky met Hiram Strong's inquisitive gaze
through the window as he rolled over in Yancey Battick's comfortable
bed to look out.
He judged immediately that it would be a race between Boreas and Jack
Frost as to which would gain the most advantage by the stopping of the
rain. The sturdy wind would try to dry up the saturated earth before
Jack Frost could get his fetters on the puddles and plowed ground.
From what he had read of conditions here about Pringleton, the winter
had already been severe enough for all farming purposes. The grain was
in good shape, the plowed ground had already been well frozen to the
detriment of the bugs and worms, and the fruit trees were showing no
signs of early sap-rising.
Another month of cold weather, some snow for a wheat-cover, and some
strong March winds, would put the land in ideal shape for corn.
And Hiram Strong had been brought here to the Corn Belt of the Middle
West for the express purpose of raising corn.
He was enthusiastic over the prospect. He had worked hard and
intelligently on the little Eastern farm, and now had come his chance,
not only to work out his present theories on a larger scale, but to
experiment further and with greater facilities for carrying his plans
through to successful completion. Yes, it was with eager anticipation
and high hopes that he looked forward to the advancing spring.
Mr. Stephen Bronson had been growing bumper crops on all his farms
through the Middle West, and especially those in the vicinity of
Pringleton. Without doubt the big farm owner, having seen what Hiram
Strong had accomplished on the Atterson Eighty, determined to learn if
such methods of cultivation would pay on a larger acreage and under
somewhat different conditions of climate and with different tools.
The young fellow quite realized that he was on trial only. He must make
good within two years or he would be a failure in the eyes of such a
sharp business man as Stephen Bronson.
Hiram, however, had no intention of being a failure; he had come here
to Pringleton to win, just as he had gone upon the old Jeptha Atterson
farm to win.
Hiram remained in bed on this morning until he heard a stir in the
living room and the sizzling of bacon in the skillet. He had not been
disturbed by Mr. Battick shooting at rats in the night (for which he
was grateful), but he had not dared to venture into the outer room
until he was sure his host was moving about.
Hiram brought his bag out of the bedroom already packed. Battick only
grunted a "good morning," and was evidently in no more cheerful mood
than on the evening before. Had he been invited to do so, the youth
from the East would not have wished to prolong his stay with the man.
Battick, however, seemed still opposed to Hiram's getting into the
clutches of Miss Delia Pringle. At breakfast he said:
"If you can stand to 'bach it,' as I do, Mr. Strong, you can make
yourself comfortable up there at Sunnyside, and no thanks to anybody."
"But you say the house is burned down!"
"That's right. The last fellow who was on the farm, however, went in
strong for poultry. Believed in fowls--it was a religion with him. And
I take it a man has got to make 'em his religion really to get anything
out of them. I never had the patience myself."
"I believe eighty per cent. of those who try hens for profit, fail; but
the successful ones can easily enough point out the reasons for those
failures," said Hiram.
"Well, maybe. However, that Brandenburg who lived at Sunnyside last
fixed up a pretty good hen plant. After the fire he went in a hurry.
Feared he would be blamed, perhaps. And I guess that Pringle woman
would have done something to him if she could have got the law on him."
"Miss Delia Pringle?" Hiram asked, with some curiosity.
"Yes. Her folks owned pretty near all the land around here two or three
generations ago. That's why it is called Pringleton. Sounds like a
nursery rhyme. She sold Sunnyside to Stephen Bronson, same as she sold
me this place."
"Indeed?"
"This was the old Pringle homestead. Built before the Flood, or
thereabout," said Battick. "That is why it is rat-ridden. The rodents
had it to themselves for years, while the farm lay idle. It had not
been cropped to death by tenants; that is why I bought it. You will
find part of Sunnyside in worse shape than this old place was. Miss
Pringle had one tenant after another on the big farm, each one worse
than the previous incumbent. I hope Stephen Bronson got it cheap
enough."
"You intimated I might find some means of housekeeping up there, after
all," said Hiram. "What did you mean?"
"That Brandenburg left his chicken plant just as it was. The end
shed is tight and has a good stove in it and a bunk. He watched his
incubators there. You get some bedclothes and some cooking utensils and
you'll be fixed right," said Battick.
"Anything rather than give me up to the teeth and claws of Miss
Pringle, is it?" asked Hiram, with a quiet chuckle.
"No laughing matter, young fellow," advised Battick, as the visitor
prepared to depart. "I'll bet you she'll be over to see you before you
are at Sunnyside twenty-four hours--unless she has a broken leg. Oh, I
know her, Mr. Strong. I pretty near had to run her off this place with
my gun."
"I hope not, Mr. Battick."
"Fact," said the man in a perfectly serious way. "As I tell you, this
was the old Pringle place. She claimed she liked to come down here for
old time's sake and sit under that buttonwood tree out there. She'd
bring her sewing and stay all the afternoon and I had to dress up and
make believe I was going to town to get rid of her."
"That was a good deal of a time-consumer," interrupted Hiram, his eyes
dancing with his inward mirth.
"Then," pursued the harassed man, "folks riding by began to ask me if
we were going to be married soon and whether I'd continue to live down
here or go up to Miss Pringle's new house to live with her. It got
right embarrassing for a modest man, for a fact!
"Besides," added Battick, "I didn't know but she was aiming to get me
into court for breach of promise. Circumstantial evidence has hung many
a man."
"I hope I shall have no similar trouble," Hiram replied, vastly amused.
He believed Battick, in spite of all his moodiness, and his fear of
rats--and dislike for visitors--was a wit and worth cultivating. At
least, he determined to learn more about that new wheat that the man
was guarding so religiously.
In fact, Hiram had found a chance to pick up a pinch of the wheat corns
from under the trough, and had the grain safely twisted up in a bit of
paper in his pocket.
He knew better than to offer Mr. Battick anything like money in return
for the queer hospitality the misanthrope had shown him. Hiram did,
however, make one attempt to return something for the kindness.
"I see you have seed wheat in this box, Mr. Battick," he said. "If you
wish to keep the rats out of it, I believe I can show you a wrinkle."
"You can?" rejoined Battick, watching him with keen suspicion again.
"You have a couple of old milk pans there and two wash basins. Invert a
basin or a pan over each leg of that box and no rat can run up the leg
and over the side of the box, or gnaw into it."
"I get you!" ejaculated Battick, seeing the point at once. "I believe
that's a good idea, young fellow."
"I know it is," rejoined Hiram with confidence. "I built me a corncrib
that way only last year. It surely gives Mr. Rat something new to think
about."
He picked up his bag, shook hands with his odd host, and went out. It
was a keen wind he faced as he started up the hill to Sunnyside Farm.
A jay winging its way from one wood to another, stopped upon a dead
limb to stare curiously at the wayfarer. Then, with raucous cry, it
disappeared in a piece of woodland that evidently belonged to the old
farm that Yancey Battick had purchased from the terrible Miss Pringle.
This windbreak divided the Battick place from Sunnyside.
While he was yet at some distance Hiram saw the burned ruins of the
farmhouse on the hill and the barns and other outbuildings. All the
arable land of Sunnyside seemed to lie on the south side of the road;
and the slope of the fields was toward that same point of the compass.
The higher land on his right was heavily timbered clear to the summit
of the hill. As he mounted the incline he obtained a pretty clear idea
of what the acres he expected to farm looked like.
Hiram Strong was deeply interested in his calling. Every young fellow
must, if he would get on in the world and really amount to anything. As
he had told Yancey Battick the evening before, Hiram's father had been
a good farmer, and he had not only given his son knowledge, but had
instilled into his mind the principle of thoroughness, as well.
As Hiram looked, searching the fields to the far-distant line of the
forest-bounded farm, he wondered what would be his fortune here. Would
he be able to show a profit for Mr. Bronson on the ledger, as he had
for Mother Atterson? As to his own contract, Hiram was on a straight
salary, and whether he made little or much for his employer his own
income would not be affected.
But money was not the only thing that Hiram Strong saw in the bargain.
He was after a reputation. Moreover, he desired to learn something from
his experience--whatever it might be--here at Sunnyside.
He reached the plain at the top of the rise at last. The outlook all
about was promising, save in one direction where there was a piece of
burned timber. The nearest house was a white painted cottage with green
blinds on the other side of the road and a few rods beyond the burned
timber lot.
"That must be Miss Pringle's," Hiram thought, and on the heels of this
mental decision he beheld to his surprise a woman with a shawl thrown
hastily over her head running out of this small dwelling and out of the
yard, approaching the main gate of the Sunnyside place, evidently in a
state of exaggerated excitement.
"Say, young man!" she shouted while still some distance away, "I want
to know why you've kept this whole neighborhood in a stir-up all this
blessed night? Where have you been? And you as dry as a bone right
now!"