BARBARA was shut into her chamber looking over her wardrobe with a view
to approaching winter. In the autumn the call would come, Jarvis had
told her. Already the ripening apples glowed like live coals along the
laden orchard boughs, and the brisk September winds scattered drifts of
yellowing leaves about the feet of the early dying locusts below her
windows. Martha Cottle was gone, after a stormy scene in which she had
exacted redress and largesse of the most lavish description. Barbara
had drawn a long breath of relief when the last echo of the spinster’s
strident voice and the last militant thump of her flat-heeled shoes had
died away.
Peg and Jimmy had openly exulted in the final retreat of the enemy; and
Peg took occasion to exhort his dearly beloved mistress anew concerning
the inscrutable yet invariably benevolent workings of Providence, as
signally evidenced in the hasty departure of Martha Cottle.
“Ef it hadn’t be’n fer them onions,” he declared, “she’d never have
took a fancy t’ me. ’N’ ef I hadn’t ’a’ heard o’ John Closner of
Hidalgo, Texas, ’s like’s not I’d ’a’ never took t’ raisin’ ’em. Them
onions kinder drored Marthy’s ’tention t’ me—she thinkin’ ’at mebbe I’d
git a heap o’ money fer ’em, ’n’ then be accommodatin’ ’nough t’ die
an’ go t’ heaven immediate. Yes, ma’am, she’d got it all worked out in
her own mind, even t’ widow’s thirds. Then, y’ see, the Cap’n’s red ink
fitted right in t’ the scheme o’ salvation; an’ here we be. I figger it
this way: the Lord hes be’n ’quainted with Marthy Cottle fer a spell
longer’n we hev, an’ _He_ knew she wa’n’t fit t’ b’ left in charge o’
the Cap’n, t’ say nothin’ o’ things in general.”
“But what shall I do with Jimmy?” murmured Barbara, wrinkling her
forehead perplexedly. “It won’t be long now before I shall be obliged
to leave him.”
“Don’t you worry none ’bout that,” advised Peg. “Everythin’s a-comin’
out all right. I’ll bet a dollar’n a half,” he went on, raising his
voice to a high argumentative pitch, “that the Lord hes got his plans
all made a’ready. W’y, Miss Barb’ry, it’ll do you a heap o’ good t’
jus’ take notice o’ the way the Lord kind o’ fetches things ’round
in this ’ere world. I’ve got so ’t I don’t put in a minute worryin’.
Daytimes I’m too blamed busy, an’ nights I’m too sleepy ’n’ tired; ’n’
I’ve learned f’om a long life of experience ’at worryin’ ain’t no kind
o’ use, anyhow. Things is bein’ worked ’round fer you, nigh an’ fur,
an’ the fust thing you know you’re gittin’ ’long all hunky-dory. Mebbe
doin’ the very thing you wanted to do all the while, but thought you
couldn’t, nohow you’d fix it.”
“I wish I could believe it,” sighed Barbara.
“All you’ve got t’ do is t’ begin t’ take notice,” urged Peg. “You
don’t have t’ make no speshul effort. Keep yer eyes peeled an’ watch
out. I ain’t worryin’ none ’bout the Cap’n. You bet I ain’t.”
Barbara was thinking about Peg’s homely and comfortable philosophy as
she laid the last neatly folded garment into the till of her trunk;
and mingled with her dubious musings on the scope and nature of that
mysteriously active power, known in current phrase as “Providence,” and
as commonly reckoned hostile, in the world’s judgment, were thoughts
of David. Not altogether happy were these uppermost reflections in
Barbara’s mind, as evidenced by her brooding eyes and the downward
droop of her red mouth. She loved David (she assured herself) yet
she could not but be conscious of inward reserves, tremors, even
resentments. She constantly caught herself explaining, excusing,
defending him before the bar of that clear-eyed self which had never
yet yielded to his hot kisses and close embraces. She loved him (she
was sure) but she also pitied him, for his evident weaknesses, his
frequent deflections from her own high ideals of manhood, for his
multiplied offenses against her maiden modesty. Almost insensibly she
had been forced into an attitude of watchfulness, guarding herself
against his too ardent and careless approaches, soothing the gloom and
irritation which alternated with not infrequent periods of coldness and
neglect, when he chanced to be feeling sorry for himself, in view of
what he was pleased to regard as the sacrifice of his future.
David had not acquainted Barbara with the result of his latest
interview with Jarvis. He hated Jarvis, and he took small pains to
conceal the fact; but he jealously hid his unshaken conviction with
regard to the money, which he had made up his mind Jarvis had given to
Barbara. After a little he even concluded that it need not be repaid.
“Miserly old crab,” he told himself. “It won’t hurt him to let Barbara
have that much out of his pile.”
Something of this thought colored his words when he discussed the
question with Barbara.
“You’ll marry me in November, won’t you?” he pleaded, “if the fellow
doesn’t show up before then? We can pay him all right—if we have to.”
“If we have to?” echoed Barbara, with a straight look at him. “Why do
you say that?”
“It’s a good bit of money—four thousand dollars. Perhaps
some—er—philanthropical jay gave it to you outright, Barbie. I
shouldn’t be so very much surprised.”
He laughed at the proud curl of her lips.
“You wouldn’t care, would you?” he persisted, “if some old duffer had
taken it into his noddle to do a good deed? Once we are married, I
shan’t bother to unearth him, you’d better believe. I’m in favor of
letting sleeping philanthropists lie—eh, Barbie?”
“We’ll not be married,” Barbara said, in a low voice, “till——”
He caught her suddenly about the waist and stopped her words with one
of his close kisses.
“You shan’t say it,” he murmured, his lips still on hers.
She twisted sharply out of his grasp, her face crimsoning slowly.
“I wish—you wouldn’t, David.”
“Wouldn’t what, little wife?” he drawled, reaching for her lazily from
his comfortable seat in the corner of the sofa.
“I am not your wife,” she said coldly.
“Pretty near,” he laughed; “too near for such little exhibitions of
prudery.”
His eyes, vividly blue and sparkling under their long curling lashes,
met hers with a look which she silently resented.
“I have sold the apples on the trees,” she said presently, seating
herself near the window, under pretence of getting a better light on
her sewing.
David yawned audibly, and thrust his hands into his trousers pockets.
“You have—eh?”
“Yes; and for a good price, as prices go, Peg says.”
“How much?” he wanted to know.
She told him, and he shook his head.
“Do y’ know, that old Morrison is a fool. I mean to get rid of him,
when I take charge here.”
Barbara was silent.
“The old chap doesn’t know enough to last him over night,” pursued
David. “I don’t believe you’d ever have gotten into such a hole
financially, if it hadn’t been for his running things into the ground.
What you want is a couple of capable young men about the place. Of
course we’ll keep some decent horses. I’ve bought one already, a
beauty! Come out and look at him, Barbie. Or, say, put on your hat and
I’ll take you for a spin. We’ll take in the county fair, if you say so.
It’s in full blast to-day.”
She arose and folded her work.
“Not to-day, David; I’ve bread to bake. But I’ll come out and look at
your horse.”
“You’re getting so confoundedly difficult, Barbara. I never know how to
take you,” complained David, as they walked, a little apart, along the
gravel path.
He turned to look at her and was struck afresh by her beauty. During
the long days of the summer that was past, she seemed to have bloomed
into a new and more vivid loveliness. He drew his breath sharply as
his eyes lingered on the rich red of her mouth, the full column of her
round white throat, and the soft undulations of her figure as she moved
slowly under the dazzling light of the September sky.
“If you weren’t such a tearing beauty,” he said, under his breath, “I
don’t know as I could stand for it long. You’re forever treading on
a fellow’s toes; did you know it, Barbie? Now, I like a woman to be
sweet and—er—yielding.”
He smiled at the vision of Jennie, the pink-cheeked waitress at the
Barford Eagle, which chose to obtrude itself at the moment. The humble,
almost suppliant look of adoration in her childish blue eyes had
lately, afforded David a vast amount of indolent amusement.
“A woman,” he went on, didactically, “ought not to be always thinking
of herself.”
“I know that, David,” Barbara said meekly. “I try not to. But——”
“That’s just it!” he broke in quickly; “there’s always a ‘but’ in your
mind and in your attitude towards me, and always has been. You needn’t
deny it,” he added, openly complacent, in view of his own cleverness.
“I know women.”
The girl looked at him in silence, a mutinous question behind her
closed lips.
David smiled down at her brilliantly, his eyes, his tawny hair, his
white teeth, and his ruddy color suggesting the magnificent youth and
virility of a pagan deity, newly alighted on the common earth.
“The fact is, Barbara,” he went on confidently, “you’ve lived here so
long practically alone that you’re a bit spoiled. What you need is to
give up trying to control everything and everybody and just be a sweet
little wife. Didn’t you know that?”
Her eyes drooped under the blue fire of his gaze. David laughed aloud.
“I’ll make you happy,” he said, possessing himself of her hand. “You
won’t know yourself a year from now, little girl. All this worry will
be over; and I’m never going to allow you to bother your dear little
head again over farm-products and such things as cows, pigs, and
chickens. I mean to give up a lot of that sort of farming. It doesn’t
pay, and it’s a whole lot of useless bother and expense. There! what do
you think of my horse? Isn’t he a beauty? Look at his head and eyes,
will you? and the build and color of him? There’s blood for you, and I
tell you he’s a hummer on the road!”
Barbara passed a knowing little hand over the satin neck, and the horse
turned his large, full, intelligent eyes upon her with a whinny of
welcome.
“He likes you, Barbie; first thing. Perhaps you can drive him after
a while. But just now he’s like a certain little woman I know, a bit
restive and needing a strong hand to guide and control. You don’t mind
my seeing it so clearly, do you, dear?”
Barbara threw back her head and looked at him from under lowered lashes.
“I mind your saying it,” she said. “And I may as well tell you—now—that
I don’t intend to discharge Peg; and I must always have a voice in the
management of the farm. It is Jimmy’s farm, you know.”
“I’ve heard you say so before,” he said sulkily. “But why isn’t half of
it yours, I’d like to know?”
“Because Jimmy is the last Preston, and father wanted it so. I shall
have all that comes off of it till Jimmy is of age. We——”
She hesitated, with a doubtful look at him. “There is other good land
near. We shall, perhaps, be able to acquire it; start fresh orchards,
and——”
“Perhaps—perhaps!” he echoed irritably. “I’ll tell you straight it’s
all nonsense. Under the law you’re entitled to half. Ask old Jarvis, if
you don’t believe me.”
He watched the quick color rise in Barbara’s face, with a low laugh of
arrogant amusement.
“Jarvis is a curious old duffer,” he added, lazily stroking the smooth
shoulder of his horse. “But he knows rather better than to tackle me on
certain subjects.”
His eyes were fastened on Barbara, narrowly watching her.
“He’s tried it once or twice; but I called his bluff each time. He
hasn’t been here lately, has he?”
“No,” said Barbara faintly.
“Well, he’d best keep his distance; that’s all.”
He turned quickly at sound of a boyish whoop from behind.
“Oh, hello, Jimmy!” he said carelessly. “How’s your majesty’s highness
to-day?”
“I’m pretty well, ’xcept that bof my front teef are loose,” replied the
little boy seriously. “I can’t eat corn or apples, ’cept wiv my side
teef.”
“Don’t you think it’s about time you taught that boy to speak the
English language, Barbara? It’s _teeth_ and _with_, my boy. Don’t let
me hear you make that babyish blunder again.”
The child hung his head, his face flushing to a shamed scarlet under
his thatch of yellow hair.
“I’m going to try,” he said manfully.
“Want to take a ride with me, old man?” asked David. “Your sister says
she can’t.”
Jimmy looked up eagerly into Barbara’s face for the coveted permission.
“I’m going to drive over to the fair,” pursued David. “I’d like to take
my best girl along pretty well; but you’ll do, Jimmy.”
Barbara hesitated, her eyes averted.
“Of course, if you’re afraid to trust him with me——” mocked David.
“I’ve a tolerably fast horse here, and I’m supposed to be a reckless——”
“It isn’t that,” she interrupted hurriedly. “He may go, if he’d like
to.”
Jimmy burst into a shout of joy.
“I guess I’d better brush my hair,” he exulted, “and put on my best
clo’es! Shall I, Barbara?”
“You’re well enough as you are,” David said peremptorily. “Jump in,
boy, and we’ll be off!”
She stood watching them as they drove away, the little boy’s yellow
hair blowing about his rosy face.
“Good-bye, Barbara!” he shouted. “We’re going awful fast!”
David’s attention seemed centred upon his horse. He did not once look
at the girl, as she waved her hand in token of a cheerful good-bye.