ROGER DISCOVERS A NEW TYPE
Young Atwood rose with a very definite purpose on the following
morning. For his mother's sake he would be civil to their boarders,
but nothing more. He would learn just what they had a right to
expect in view of their business relations, and having performed
all that was "nominated in the bond," would treat them with such
an off-hand independence that they would soon become aware that he,
Roger Atwood, was an entity that could exist without their admiring
approval. He meant that they should learn that the country was
quite as large as the city, and that the rural peculiarities of
Forestville were as legitimate as those which he associated with
them, and especially with the young lady who had mistaken him for
the hired man. Therefore after his morning work in the barnyard
he stalked to the house with the same manner and toilet as on the
previous day.
But there were no haughty citizens to be toned down. They were all
sleeping late from the fatigues of their journey, and Mrs. Atwood
said she would give the "men-folks their breakfast at the usual
hour, because a hungry man and a cross bear were nigh of kin."
The meal at first was a comparatively silent one, but Roger noted
with a contemptuous glance that his sister's hair was arranged more
neatly than he had seen it since the previous Sunday, and that her
calico dress, collar, and cuffs were scrupulously clean.
"Expecting company?" he asked maliciously.
She understood him and flushed resentfully. "If you wish to go
around looking like a scarecrow, that's no reason why I should,"
she said. "The corn is too large for the crows to pull now, so if
I were you I would touch myself up a little. I don't wonder that
Miss Jocelyn mistook you for Jotham."
"It's well," retorted Roger, with some irritation, "that your
Miss Jocelyn has no grown brothers here, or you would come down
to breakfast in kid gloves. I suppose, however, that they have
insisted on a tidy and respectful waitress. Will you please inform
me, mother, what my regulation costume must be when my services
are required? Jotham and I should have a suit of livery, with two
more brass buttons on my coat to show that I belong to the family."
"I think that a little more of the manner and appearance of a
gentleman would show your relationship better than any amount of
brass," remarked his mother quietly.
Roger was almost through his breakfast, and so, at no great loss,
could assume the injured part. Therefore with a dignity that was
somewhat in marked contrast with his rather unkempt appearance he
rose and stalked off to the cornfield again.
"Umph," remarked Mr. Atwood sententiously, as he rose and followed
his son. This apparently vague utterance had for his wife a definite
and extended meaning. She looked annoyed and flurried, and was in
no mood for the labors of preparing a second breakfast.
"The men-folks had better not roil me up too much," she said to
her daughter. "If your father had said No! out and out, I wouldn't
have brought strangers into his home. But he kinder wanted me
to have their money without the bother of having them around. Now
one thing is settled--he must either help me make it pleasant for
these people, or else tell them to leave this very day."
"And how about Roger?" asked Susan, still under the influence of
pique.
"Oh, Roger is young and foolish. He's a-growing yet," and the
mother's severe aspect relaxed. He was her only boy.
Mr. Atwood, brought face to face with the alternative presented
by his practical wife, succumbed with tolerable grace. In truth,
having had his grumble out, he was not so very averse to the
arrangement. He was much like old Gruff, their watch-dog, that was
a redoubtable growler, but had never been known to bite any one.
He therefore installed himself as his wife's out-of-door ally and
assistant commissary, proposing also to take the boarders out to
drive if they would pay enough to make it worth the while. As for
Roger, he resolved to remain a farmer and revolve in his old orbit.
Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred were listless and depressed, and time hung
heavily on their hands. They were in that condition of waiting and
uncertainty which renders cheerful or systematic occupation wellnigh
impossible. They daily hoped that a letter would come assuring them
that Mr. Jocelyn had secured a position that would change all their
future for the better, but the letters received recorded futile
efforts only, and often despondency; but occasionally there would
come a letter full of vague, sanguine hopes that first produced
elation and then perplexity that nothing came of them. His wife
found his dejection contagious. If she had been with him she would
have made strenuous efforts to cheer and inspirit, but without
an unselfish woman's strongest motive for action she brooded and
drooped. Belle's irrepressible vivacity and the children's wild
delight over the wonders of the fields and farmyard jarred upon
her sore heart painfully. She patiently tried to take care of them,
but in thought and feeling she could not enter into their life as
had been her custom. Belle was too young and giddy for responsibility,
and Mildred had many a weary chase after the little explorers. In
spite of his clearly defined policy of indifference, Roger found
himself watching her on such occasions with a growing interest. It
was evident to him that she did not in the slightest degree resent
his daily declaration of independence; indeed, he saw that she
scarcely gave him any thoughts whatever--that he was to her no more
than heavy-footed Jotham.
"She does not even consider me worth snubbing," he thought, with
much dissatisfaction, about a week subsequent to their arrival.
In vain, after the labors of the day, he dressed in his best
suit and sported a flaming necktie; in vain he dashed away in his
buggy, and, a little later, dashed by again with a rural belle at
his side. He found himself unable to impress the city girl as he
desired, or to awaken in her a sense of his importance. And yet he
already began to feel, in a vague way, that she was not so distant
TO him, as distant FROM him.
Belle soon formed his acquaintance, asking innumerable questions
and not a few favors, and she found him more good-natured than she
had been led to expect. At last, to her great delight, he took her
with him in his wagon to the post-office. The lively girl interested
and amused him, but he felt himself immeasurably older than she.
With a tendency common to very young men, he was more interested
in the elder sister, who in character and the maturity that comes
from experience was certainly far beyond him. Belle he understood,
but Mildred was a mystery, and she had also the advantage of being
a very beautiful one.
As time passed and no definite assurances came from her father,
the young girl was conscious of a growing dissatisfaction with the
idle, weary waiting to which she and her mother were condemned. She
felt that it might have been better for them all to have remained
in the city, in spite of the summer heat, than thus to be separated.
She believed that she might have found something to do which would
have aided in their support, and she understood more clearly than
her mother that their slender means were diminishing fast. That
she could do anything at a country farmhouse to assist her father
seemed very doubtful, but she felt the necessity of employment
more strongly each day, not only for the sake of the money it might
bring, but also as an antidote to a growing tendency to brood over
her deep disappointment. She soon began to recognize that such
self-indulgence would unfit her for a struggle that might be extended
and severe, and was not long in coming to the conclusion that she
must make the best of her life as it was and would be. Days and
weeks had slipped by and had seen her looking regretfully back at
the past, which was receding like the shores of a loved country to
an exile. Since the prospect of returning to it was so slight, it
would be best to turn her thoughts and such faint hope as she could
cherish toward the vague and unpromising future. At any rate she
must so occupy herself as to have no time for morbid self-communings.
Her first resource was the homely life and interests of those
with whom she dwelt. Thus far she had regarded them as uncongenial
strangers, and had contented herself with mere politeness toward
them. In her sad preoccupation she had taken little note of their
characters or domestic life, and her mother had kept herself even
more secluded. Indeed the poor lady felt that it was hardly right
to smile in view of her husband's absence and misfortune, and she
often chided Belle for her levity; but Belle's life was like an
over-full fountain in spring-time, and could not be repressed.
In her deep abstraction Mildred had seen, but had scarcely noted,
certain changes in the farmhouse that would have interested and
pleased her had her mind been at rest. Almost unconsciously she had
revealed her love of that which is pretty and inviting; therefore
Susan, not content with being neat, was inclined to brighten
her costume by an occasional ribbon, and to suggest comparisons
between her fresh and youthful bloom and an opening flower that she
would fasten in her hair as the summer day declined. So far from
resenting this imitation of her own habits and tastes, Mildred at
last recognized the young girl's awakening perceptions of womanly
grace with much satisfaction. Even poor Mrs. Atwood exhibited a
tendency to emerge from her chronic and rather forlorn condition
of household drudge. For years she had known and thought of little
else save sordid work, early and late. The income from the small
farm permitted no extra help except on rare occasions, and then was
obtained under protest from her husband, who parted with a dollar
as he would with a refractory tooth. His strong and persistent will
had impressed itself on his family, and their home life had been
meagre and uninviting; the freedom and ease that he and Roger
were so loath to lose, consisting chiefly in careless dress and a
disregard of the little refinements and courtesies of life.
It was with some self-reproach that Mildred admitted that for
nearly a month she had practically ignored these people, and that
she was becoming selfish in her trouble; and yet, not so much from
a sense of duty, as from a kindling zest in life, she began to take
an interest in them and their ways. She was still far too young
for her spirit to lose its spring, even under a continuous weight
of misfortune. Her nature was not morbid, but sunny and wholesome,
and when with the children and Belle unexpected smiles would brighten
her face like glints of sunshine here and there on a cloudy day.
Deep as had been her wounds, she found that there were moments when
she half forgot their pain, and an instinct of self-preservation
taught her that it would be best to forget them as far as possible.
When the thought of trying to refine the somewhat rude household
in which she dwelt occurred to her, she discovered that the work
was already well begun, for the chief condition of success was
present--the disposition to do as she would like. The Atwoods soon
surmised that the family was in trouble of some kind, and were able
to distinguish between pride of caste and a sorrowful preoccupation.
It was scarcely in Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred's nature to speak otherwise
than gently and kindly, and so without trying they disarmed their
hosts and won their sympathy. Notwithstanding their dejection and
lassitude, they maintained the habits of their lives, and unwittingly
gave Mrs. Atwood and her daughter a vague impression that neatness,
attractiveness, and order were as essential as good morals.
At first Roger had dressed more roughly than ever, in order to
assert his right to his old ways, but as Mildred did not protest
even by a glance, he next took pains to show her that he had "good
clothes" if he chose to wear them. This fact she also accepted without
the faintest interest, and so at last he was rather nonplussed.
He was not accustomed to being politely ignored, and since he felt
a growing interest in this new type of girl, he had an increasing
desire to make her aware of his existence. "Hang it all," he would
mutter, "I'm no more to her than Jotham and the other farm animals.
What can a fellow do to make her look at him as if she saw him?
She's very kind and polite and all that; she'd as soon hurt the
brindle cow as me, but this fact is not very flattering. However,
I'll find you out, my lady, and you too shall learn that the one
whom you now regard as an object merely has a will and a way of
his own."
Therefore it may be guessed that in Roger Mildred might discover
more docility and plastic readiness than she desired. Only old Mr.
Atwood and Jotham seemed incorrigible material; but she did not
despair even of them, and resolved to set about reclaiming this
family from barbarism at once.