"Whar wuz you, Dave, all the time we wuz in town?" asked Barnabas, as
they drove homeward.
"In Judge Thorne's office."
"Judge Thorne's office! What fer?"
"He asked me there, Uncle Barnabas. He was my father's lawyer once,
you know."
"So he wuz. I hed fergot."
"He warned me against my temper, as you did, and he told me--all about
my father."
"I am glad he did, Dave. He wuz the one to tell you."
"He says that every time I come to Lafferton I must come up and report
to him."
"Wal, Dave, it does beat all how folks take to you. Thar wuz Joe
wanted you, and now Mart Thorne's interested. Mebby they could do
better by you than we could. Joe's rich, and the Jedge is well fixed
and almighty smart."
"No," replied David stoutly. "I'd rather stay with you, Uncle
Barnabas. There's something you've got much more of than they have."
"What's that, Dave?" asked Barnabas curiously.
"Horse sense."
Barnabas looked pleased.
"Wal, Dave, I callate to do my best fer you, and thar's one thing I
want _you_ to git some horse sense about right off."
"All right, Uncle Barnabas. What is it?"
"Feedin' on them fairy stories all day. They hain't hullsome diet fer
a boy."
"The Judge reads them," protested David. "He has that same book of
fairy stories that Joe gave me."
"When you've done all the Jedge has, and git to whar you kin afford to
be idle, you kin read any stuff you want ter."
"Can't I read them at all?" asked David in alarm.
"Of course you kin. I meant, I didn't want you stickin' to 'em like a
pup to a root. You're goin' down to the fields to begin work with me
this arternoon, and you won't feel much like readin' to-night. I wuz
lookin' over them books of your'n last night. Thar's one you'd best
start in on right away, and give the fairies a rest."
"Which one?"
"Life of Lincoln. That'll show you what work will do."
"I'll read it aloud to you, Uncle Barnabas."
When they reached the bridge that spanned the river Old Hundred
dropped the little hurrying gait which he assumed in town, and settled
down to his normal, comfortable, country jog.
"Uncle Barnabas," said David thoughtfully, "what is your religion?"
Barnabas meditated.
"Wal, Dave, I don't know as I hev what you might call religion
exackly. I b'lieve in payin' a hundred cents on the dollar, and
a-helpin' the man that's down, and--wal, I s'pose I come as nigh bein'
a Unitarian as anything."
The distribution of the purchases now began. Sometimes the good
housewife, herself, came out to receive the parcels and to hear the
latest news from town. Oftener, the children of the household were
the messengers, for Barnabas' pockets were always well filled with
candy on town days. At one place Barnabas stopped at a barn by the
roadside and surreptitiously deposited a suspicious looking package.
When he was in front of the next farmhouse a man came out with anxious
mien.
"All right, Fred!" hailed Barnabas with a knowing wink. "I was afeerd
you'd not be on the watchout. I left it in the manger."
They did not reach the farm until the dinner hour, and the conversation
was maintained by M'ri and Barnabas on marketing matters. David spent
the afternoon in being initiated in field work. At supper, M'ri asked
him suddenly:
"To whom did you give the flowers, David?"
"I've made a story to it, Aunt M'ri, and I'm going to tell it to
Janey. Then you can hear."
M'ri smiled, and questioned him no further.
When the day was done and the "still hour" had come, Janey and David,
hand in hand, came around the house and sat down at her feet. It was
seldom that any one intruded at this hour, but she knew that David had
come to tell his story.
"Begin, Davey," urged Janey impatiently.
"One day, when a boy was going to town, his aunt gave him a big
bouquet of pink roses. She told him to give them to some one who
looked as if they needed flowers. So when the boy got to town he
walked up Main Street and looked at every one he met. He hoped to see
a little sick child or a tired woman who had no flowers of her own;
but every one seemed to be in a hurry, and very few stopped to look at
flowers or anything else. Those that did look turned away as if they
did not see them, and some seemed to be thinking, 'What beautiful
flowers!' and then forgot them.
"At last he met a tall, stern man dressed in fine clothes. He looked
very proud, but as if he were tired of everything. When he saw the
flowers he didn't turn away, but kept his eyes on them as if they made
him sad and lonesome in thinking of good times that were over. So the
boy asked him if he would not like the flowers. The man looked
surprised and asked the boy what his name was. When he heard it, he
remembered that he had been attorney for the boy's father. He took him
up into an office marked private, and he gave the boy some good
advice, and talked to him about his mother, which made the boy feel
bad. But the man comforted him and told him that every time he came to
town he was to report to him."
M'ri had sat motionless during the recital of this story. At its close
she did not speak.
"That wasn't much of a story. Let's go play," suggested Janey,
relieving the tension.
They were off like a flash. David heard his name faintly called.
M'ri's voice sounded far off, and as if there were tears in it, but he
lacked the courage to return.