CHEERLESS PROSPECTS
While Jed and his brother were having such exciting times in the West,
matters at the Crosby farm were going along in their usual slow fashion.
The first few days after Jed and Will, in company with Gabe Harrison,
had departed, Mrs. Crosby and her daughter Nettie were very lonesome.
"It does seem just as if I'd never see my boys again," said the mother,
wiping away some tears gathered in her eyes.
"You mustn't think that way, ma," said Nettie. "First thing you know
they'll come back as rich--well, rich enough to have an automobile,
maybe."
"I'm afraid not. I haven't much faith in this gold-mining scheme, though
I believe Mr. Harrison meant all right. I wish the boys had stuck to
farming."
"But, mother, they could hardly make a living at it. Look at father, how
hard he has to work, and how little we can save."
"I know it, but it's sure. We have our hens, and we get some eggs. We
can go out in the garden and dig potatoes, and we have fruit."
"Yes, but we can't live on eggs, potatoes and fruit," objected Nettie
with a laugh. "Now, don't worry, mother. I'm sure the boys will make out
all right, though it may take some time. It will be a month before they
are in the gold region. I hope they send me some souvenir postals."
"Do they have souvenir postals out in the mines?"
"I guess so, mother. They have 'em most every place, and I've got quite
a collection."
Mrs. Crosby eagerly watched the mails for the next few days, and she was
rewarded by receiving brief notes from the boys, written on their route,
telling of the incidents of the way.
As for Mr. Crosby, he was so busy preparing for winter and arranging to
pay the interest on the mortgage, that he gave little thought, at first,
to the two young gold miners. Of course, he was interested in them, and
he hoped for their success, but he was worried about how he would get
along without their help on the farm, though most of the fall work was
done.
The money received from the barley crop, together with some from the
sale of other farm products, was, after part had been taken out for the
boys' outfits, placed in the bank at Rossmore, which was the nearest
large town to Lockport. Mr. Crosby wanted to keep the cash there until
he had enough to meet the payment of interest on the mortgage, which
would be due in a few weeks.
He had not quite enough, and he did not see how he was going to complete
the sum in time, but he trusted the man who held the mortgage would wait
for the balance. He determined, however, to make it up if he could, and,
for that reason, he was busier than usual, gathering in all the products
he could afford to sell off.
"You look worried, Enos," remarked Mrs. Crosby one evening, when her
husband came in from the village. "Has anything happened?"
"Nothing special. I saw Jimson this afternoon."
"The man who holds the mortgage on this place?"
"Yes. I told him I was afraid I'd be a few dollars short in the
interest, and I asked him if he'd wait a few weeks."
"What did he say?"
"He said he wouldn't. Told me I had to have it all or he'd foreclose."
"And take the farm away from us?"
"That's what it would mean. He's been wanting it ever since he heard
what a fine barley crop I raised."
"What will you do?"
"I don't know. I've tried my best to get the whole sum together, but I
don't see how I can rake up another dollar. We have to live, and I can't
touch the money I have put away for winter."
"Maybe we could get along on less than usual," suggested Mrs. Crosby.
"No, it's little enough as it is. I've calculated very closely, and the
sum I have saved for winter is barely enough as it is. If anything
happens, or one of us gets sick, there'll not be enough. I was thinking
I might get something to do in the village, or over in Rossmore, but I
can't leave you and Nettie here alone to look after the farm. I might
sell the horse, but it would not bring much now. Nobody wants to keep a
horse through the winter. I declare, I don't know what to do. Prospects
are pretty dismal."
"If we had the boys home now, maybe they could get work somewhere, and
help out."
"No, on the whole I'm glad the boys have gone out West. Their gold
hunting may not amount to much--likely it won't--but it will be a good
thing for them. They needed a little change from the drudgery of always
working on a farm. Of course, if they were here they'd help, but they're
not, and I'll not wish them back before they've had a fair chance,
though I'd like to see them, for I miss them considerably."
"So do I," added his wife.
"And I wish they were home," added Nettie. "I haven't had a good game of
checkers since Will went away."
"I reckon they've got other things besides checkers to think about now,"
said her father.
Two or three weeks passed. Mr. Crosby did his best to raise the
additional money needed toward the interest on the mortgage, and as a
last resort he had to sell his mowing machine. How he would get along
the following summer, without it, he did not know, but he hoped better
times would come. At any rate it was imperative that he have the
interest, or he might lose his farm.
It was coming on cool weather. The last of the crops had been gathered
in, though in this work the farmer sadly missed the help of his two
sturdy boys.
One frosty morning, he got up early to go out and feed the pigs, on
which he depended for his own pork, and which he hoped he would have
enough of to sell at a profit. There was a curious silence in the pen,
for, usually, the porkers were squealing from the first show of daylight
until they received their breakfast.
"That's rather queer," said Mr. Crosby to himself, as he neared the
pig-pen, with a pail of warm sour milk, which the porkers usually got
first. "I wonder why they aren't squealing their heads off as they
always are?"
When he got to the pen he saw the cause for the silence. Stretched out
on the ground were six fine pigs, all dead.
"Well, if this isn't hard luck!" exclaimed the farmer, setting down the
pail he had carried out. "And I counted on them to help us through the
winter!"
He got over into the pen. There was no doubt about it. The pigs were
dead, and valueless, as far as any use he could make of them was
concerned.
He called in a neighbor, who knew something of animals, and this man
said the pigs had probably eaten something that had not agreed with
them, as there were no signs that they had been hurt. This view was
generally accepted, when it became known what misfortune had visited Mr.
Crosby, though no one could tell what had caused the death of the
animals.
"Another heavy loss," mused Mr. Crosby that afternoon, as he got up from
the dinner table. "I declare, I don't know what's going to happen! I've
got the interest money, but I'm afraid I'll have to use part of that to
live on, now that we won't have any pork to put away for the winter."
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Crosby, "troubles never come singly! We
certainly are in hard luck, Enos."
"That's right," he admitted gloomily. "I don't know what to do. But
there, Debby," he added, as he saw how badly his wife felt. "We'll make
out somehow. We always have. I can let the interest go, and we can sell
out the farm."
"No, don't do that," exclaimed his wife quickly. "We must hold on to
that. It's the only way we can make a living. I don't know anything
except farming, and you don't either."
"That's right, unless I could learn gold mining," admitted Mr. Crosby
with a sad smile. "But we'll get along somehow."
How he didn't know, but he knew he must not let his wife worry, as she
was not strong, and had only recently gotten over a severe illness.
"Maybe I could help you, papa," spoke Nettie, who had listened with some
worriment to the talk of her parents.
"You, my dear girl? How could you help us?"
"Why, I hear they want girls to work at the machines in the mill over at
Rossmore."
"I'll never consent to let you go there," said her father. "We'll sell
the farm first. Not that there's anything wrong about a girl working in
a mill, but I want you to get a good education. No, Nettie, I'll find a
way, somehow."
"Whoa!" exclaimed a voice out in the driveway, and, looking out, the
farmer saw a man in a carriage.
"Are you there, Mr. Crosby?" the man called.
"Oh, yes! How d'ye do, Mr. Jimson?" replied the farmer, as he recognized
the man who held the mortgage on the farm. "I see you've come for the
interest."
"Yes. I hope you have it ready."
"Yes, it's all together. But I guess I'll have to ask you to drive me
over to the bank in Rossmore. My pigs all died this morning, and I was
so put out I didn't get a chance to go over. The money's there in the
bank."
"Is your interest money in the bank at Rossmore?" asked Mr. Jimson, in a
curious voice.
"Yes. Why?"
"That bank failed yesterday," was the startling answer. "The depositors
won't get a cent!"