THREE days later, towards sundown, as Pole was about to enter Floyd & Mayhew's store, the old man came from! behind one of the counters and, with a smile of welcome, caught his arm and drew him to the edge of the sidewalk.
“I am not much of a hand to talk on any subject, Pole,” he said. “But there is something I've got to say to you, and it comes from the heart.”
“Well, ef it ain't a dun I'll be glad to hear it,” Pole smiled. “When I fust catched sight of you, it flashed over me that ef I didn't make another payment on that debt you'd have to take my farm. But I'm gettin' on my feet now, Mr. Mayhew, an'—”
“I'll never bother you on that score,” the merchant said, impulsively. “I was just about to tell you that I am deeply grateful for what you did for Nelson. Oh, he's told me all about it!” The old man held up his hand and stopped Pole, who was on the point of decrying his part in the matter in question. “Yes, he told me all you did, Baker, and I don't actually believe any other man in the whole state could have worked it so fine; and the boy's coming back here, Pole, has been my financial salvation. I couldn't have kept on here, and it would have killed me to see the old business fall to pieces.”
“You bet, I'm glad he's back, too,” Pole returned. “An' he's happy over it, ain't he, Mr. Mayhew?”
“Ah, there's the trouble, Baker!” the old man sighed. “It looks like, with all that has come his way of late, that he would be satisfied, but he isn't—he simply isn't. Baker, I think I see what's lacking.”
“You think you do, Mr. Mayhew?” Pole leaned forward anxiously.
“Yes, I believe it's due to Nathan Porter's daughter. God knows she's the very girl for him. She's one woman that I admire with all my heart. Nelson's got sense; he sees her good qualities, and wants her, but the report is out that her and Hillhouse are courting down at Cartersville. The preacher's had two weeks' extension on his vacation, and they tell me he is cutting a wide swath. Folks down there are raving over his bright sermons, and naturally that will flatter and influence a woman's judgment. Besides, I really believe the average woman would rather marry a mountain circuit-rider on three hundred a year than a man in easy circumstances in any other calling.”
“I don't know as to that,” Pole said, evasively. “Nobody kin pick an' choose fer a woman. Ef I had a dozen gals I'd keep my mouth shet on the husband line. That's old man Dickey's policy, over at Darley; he has ten gals that he says has married men in every line o' business under the sun. The last one come to 'im an' declared she wanted to marry a tight-rope walker that was exhibitin' in the streets. That sorter feazed the old chap, and he told the gal that her husband never could rise but jest so high in the world an' was shore to come down sooner or later, but she was the doctor an' to go ahead. Eventhatmarriage turned out all right, fer one day the chap, all in stars an' spangles an' women's stockin's, fell off'n of a rope forty feet from the ground. He struck a load o' hay an' broke his fall, but on his way down he seed the sale sign of a grocery across the street an' bought the business, an' now Dickey's gettin' his supplies at wholesale prices.”
Turning from the old man, Pole passed the clerks and a few customers in the store and went back to Floyd's desk, where his friend sat writing.
“Got yore workin' gear on I see,” he observed, with a smile. “You look busy.”
Floyd pointed to a stack of account-books on the desk and smiled. “The old man got these in an awful mess,” he said. “But I am getting them straight at last.”
“How's business?” Pole asked.
“In the store, pretty good,” Floyd answered; “but as for my own part, I'm busy on the outside. I closed a nice deal yesterday, Pole. You remember the offer I made Price for his plantation, furnished house, and everything else on the place?”
“You bet.”
“Well, he came to my terms. The property is mine at last, Pole.”
“Gee whiz! what a purty investment! It's a little fortune, my boy.”
“Yes, it's the sort of thing I've wanted for a long time,” Floyd returned. “Most men have their hobbies, and mine has always been to possess a model farm that I could keep up to the highest notch of perfection for my own pleasure and as an inspiration to my neighbors.”
“Bully, bully place, Nelson! You'll always be proud of it.”
“There's only one drawback,” said Floyd; “you see, it will never suit me to live there myself, and so I've got to get a sharp manager that I can trust.”
“Ah yes, you bet you have!” Pole declared.
“And such a man is hard to find, Pole.”
“Huh, I should think so!” the farmer answered. “Captain Duncan told me he fell behind three thousand dollars in one year all on account of his manager being careless while nobody was there to watch 'im.
“He never paid his man enough,” Nelson said. “I shall not follow that plan. I'm going to pay my superintendent a good, stiff salary, so as to make it interesting to him. Pole, there is only one man alive that I'd trust that place to.”
Pole stared in a bewildered way. Floyd was leading him beyond his depth.
“You say thar ain't, Nelson?” was all he could say.
“And that man is you, Pole.”
“Me? Good Lord, you are plumb cracked—you are a-jokin', Nelson.”
“No, I never was more serious in my life. If I can't get you to take that place in hand for me, I shall sell it to the first bidder. Pole, I'm depending on you. The salary is three thousand a year, rent of the house free, and all the land you want for your own use thrown in.”
“Three thousand! Geewhilikins,” Pole laughed.
“I'd be a purty lookin' chump drawin' that much of any man's money.”
“You'll draw that much of mine,” Floyd said, looking him straight in the eye, “and you will make me the best financial return for it of any man in the world.”
“That's ridiculous, Nelson, you are plumb, stark crazy!” Pole was really frowning in displeasure over he hardly knew what.
“No, I'm not crazy, either,” Floyd pursued, laying his hand on the farmer's shoulder. “You've often said that I have a good head for business, well—that's exactly what's causing me to make you this proposition.”
“You are a liar, an' you know it!” Pole growled. “You know you are a-doin' it beca'se you want to help me'n' my family, and, by the holy smoke, I won't let you. Thar! I'm flat-footed on that!I won't let you. Friendship is one thing an' takin' money from a friend is some'n' else. It's low down, I'm here to tell you. It's low down, even ef a body is on the ragged edge o' poverty, fer ever' man ort to work fer hisse'f.”
“Look here, Pole, I get out of patience with you sometimes,” Floyd said, earnestly. “Now, answer this: don't you know that if youdidaccept my offer that you would not let my interests suffer wilfully?”
“Of course I do, damn it!” Pole retorted, almost angrily. “Ef I was workin' fer you inanycapacity I'd wear my fingers to the bone to do what was right by you.”
“Well, there you are!” Floyd cried, triumphantly. “Wouldn't I be a pretty fool not to try to employ you, when not one man in ten thousand will be that conscientious? You've answered yourself, Pole. I'm going to have you on that job if I have to double the pay.”
“Well, you won't git me, that's certain!” Pole retorted. “You are offerin' it to me fer no other reason than that we are friends, an' I'll be damned ef I take it.”
“Look here, Pole Baker,” Floyd smiled, as he left his high stool, locked his arm in that of his companion, and drew him to the open door in the rear. “You have several times given me lectures that have done me more solid good than all the sermons I ever heard, and it's my time now.”
“All right, shoot away!” Pole laughed. “The truth is, I feel derned mean about some o' the things I've said to you when I look back on 'em.”
“Well, you've shown me many of my biggest faults, Pole, and I am going to dangle one of yours before your eyes. I've seen you, my friend, take money that your reason told you was needed by your wife and children, whom you love devotedly, and, in a sort of false pride, I've seen you spend it on men of the lowest order. You did it under the mistaken notion that it was your time to treat. In other words, you seemed possessed with the idea that you owed that crowd more than you did that tender, trusting little woman and her children.”
“Damn it, you needn't remind me of that, Nelson Floyd! I know that as well as any man alive!” Pole's face was full, and his voice husky with suppressed emotion.
“I know you know it, Pole, and here is something else you'll have to admit, and that is, that you are this minute refusing something that would fairly fill your wife with happiness, and you are doing it under the damnably false notion that such deals should not be made between friends. Why, man, friends are the only persons who ought to have intimate business relations. It is only friends who can work for mutual benefit.”
“Oh, I can't argue with you,” Pole said, stubbornly, and he turned suddenly and walked down through the store to the front. Floyd was watching him, and saw him pause on the edge of the sidewalk, his head down, as if in deep meditation. He was a pathetic-looking figure as he stood with the red sunset sky behind him, his face flushed, his hair thrown back from his massive brow.
Taking his hat, Floyd went out and took him by the arm, and together they strolled down the street in the direction of Pole's farm. Presently Floyd said: “Surely you are not going to go back on me, Pole. I want you, and I want you bad.”
“Thar's one thing you reminded me of in thar at the desk,” Pole said, in a low, shaky voice, “and it is this: Nelson, the little woman I married hain't never had one single hour o' puore joy since the day I tuck 'er from her daddy's house. Lord, Lord, Nelson, ef I could—ef Ijest couldgo home to 'er now an' tell 'er I'd got a lift in the world like that the joy of it 'ud mighty nigh kill 'er.”
“Well, Pole”—Floyd suddenly drew him around till they stood face to face—“you do it. Do you hear me?You do it. If you don't, you will be taking an unfair advantage of a helpless woman. It's her right, Pole. You haven't a word to say in the matter. The house will be vacant to-morrow. Move her in, Pole; move the little woman in and make her happy.”
The eyes of the two men met. Pole took a deep, lingering breath, then he held out his hand.
“I'll go you, Nelson,” he said; “and ef I don't make that investment pay, I'll hang myself to the limb of a tree. Gee whiz! won't Sally be tickled!”
They parted; Floyd turned back towards the village, and Pole went on homeward with a quick, animated step. Floyd paused at the roadside and looked after him through the gathering dusk.
“He's happy, and so will his wife be,” he said to himself. “But as for me, that's another matter. She's going to marry Hillhouse. Great God, how strange that seems! Cynthia and that man living together as man and wife!”
IT was almost dark when Pole reached his humble domicile. The mountain air was cool, and through the front window of the living-room he saw the flare of a big, cheerful fire. He went into the house, but his wife was not in sight. Looking into the bedroom, he saw the children sound asleep, their yellow heads all in a row.
“God bless 'em!” he said, fervently. “I reckon the'r mammy's down at the barn.” Going out at the back-door, he went to the cow-lot, and then he heard Sally's voice rising above the squealing of pigs and the cackling of hens. “So, so, Lil! can't you behave?” he heard her saying. “I git out o' all patience. I can't keep the brat out. I might as well give up, an' yet we'vegotto have milk.”
“What's the matter, Sally?” Pole called out, as he looked over the rail-fence.
“Why, I can't keep this fool calf away,” she said, turning to him, her tin pail in her hand, her face red with vexation. “The little imp is stealin' all the milk. He's had enough already to bust 'im wide open.”
Pole laughed merrily; there was much stored in his mind to make him joyous. “Let me git at the dern little skunk,” he said; and vaulting over the fence with the agility of an acrobat, he took the sleek, fawnlike creature in his strong arms and stood holding it against his breast as if it were an infant. “That's the way to treat 'im?” he cried. And carrying the animal to the fence, he dropped it on the outside. “Thar, you scamp!” he laughed; “you mosey around out here in the tater-patch till you l'arn some table manners.”
Sally laughed and looked at her husband proudly. “I'm glad you come when you did,” she said, “fer you wouldn't 'a' had any milk to go on yore mush; me'n' the childem have had our supper an' they are tucked away in bed.”
“Let me finish milkin',” Pole said. “An' you go in an' git my mush ready.” He took the pail and sat down on an inverted soap-box. “I'll make up fer that calf's stealin' or I'll have old Lil's bag as flabby as an empty meal-sack.”
In a few minutes he followed Sally into the kitchen where she had his simple supper ready for him. When he had eaten it, he led her into the living-room and they sat down before the fire. It was only for a moment, though, for she heard little Billy talking in his sleep and sprang up and went to him. She came back to her chair in a moment.
“The very fust spare money I git,” she said, “I'm goin' to have panes o' glass put in that window in thar. I keep old rags stuffed in the holes, but the rain beats 'em down, and hard winds blow 'em out. It don't take as much fire-wood to keep a tight house warm as it does an open one like this.”
“Sally, we ought to live in a great big fine house,” he said, his eyes on the coals under the red logs.
“I say!” she sneered. “I've been afeard some'n' mought happen to drive us out o' this 'un. Pole, to tell the truth, I've been worryin'.”
“You say you have, Sally?”
“Yes, I worry all day, an' sometimes I wake up in the night an' lie unable to sleep fer thinkin'. I'm bothered about the debt you owe Floyd & Mayhew. It's drawin' interest an' climbin' higher an' higher. I know well enough that Nelson wouldn't push us, but, Pole, ef he was to happen to die, his business would have to be settled up, an' they say Mr. Mayhew hain't one speck o' mercy on pore folks. When it was reported that some'n' had happened to Nelson a while back, I was mighty nigh out o' my head with worry, but I didn't tell you. Pole, we've got to git free o' that debt by some hook or crook.”
“I think we kin manage it,” Pole said, his eyes kindling with a subtle glow.
“That's the way you always talk,” Mrs. Baker sighed; “but that isn't payin' us out.”
“It comes easy to some folks to make money,” Pole said, with seeming irrelevance; “an' hard to others. Sally, did you ever—have you ever been on Colonel Price's plantation?”
“Many and many a time, Pole,” Mrs. Baker answered, with a reminiscent glow in her face. “When I was a girl, he used to let our crowd have picnics at his big spring, just below the house, and one rainy day he invited some of us all through it. It was the only time I was ever in as fine a house as that an' it tuck my breath away. Me'n' Lillie Turnbull slipped into the big parlor by ourselves and set down an' made out like we lived thar an' was entertainin' company. She'd rock back an' forth in one o' the big chairs an' pretend she was a fine lady. She was a great mimic, an' she'd call out like thar was servants all around, an' order 'em to fetch 'er cool water an' fan 'er an' the like. Poor Lillie! the last I heard of her she was beggin' bread fer her childern over at Gainesville whar Ned was killed in an' explosion at the cotton-mill whar he'd finally got work.
“I jest started to tell you,” Pole said, “that Nelson Floyd bought that plantation to-day—bought it lock, stock, an' barrel—house, furniture, hosses, implements—everythin'!”
“You don't say!” Mrs. Baker leaned forward, her eyes wide in surprise.
“Yes, he tuck it in out o' the wet with part o' the money he made on that Atlanta deal. An' do you know, Sally, I was right thar in the back end o' his store an' heard 'im contract with a man to manage it fer 'im. The feller is to git three thousand dollars a year in cash—two hundred an' fifty dollars a month, mind you, an' also the use of the big furnished house, an' as much land fer himself as he needed, the use of the buggies an' carriage an' spring-wagon an' barn—in fact, the whole blamed lay-out. He axed me about hirin' the feller an' I told 'im the dem skunk wasn't wuth his salt, but Nelson would have his way. He engaged 'im on the spot.”
“Who was the man, Pole?” there was just a shade of heart-sick envy in the tired countenance of the woman.
“Oh, it was a feller that come up from Atlanta about three days ago,” Pole answered, with his usual readiness. “It seems that him an' Nelson was sorter friends, an' had had dealin's in one way an' another before.”
“Has this—this new man any wife?” Mrs. Baker inquired, as a further evidence of secret reflections.
“Yes—a fine woman, and nice childem, Sally. He seemed to be the only scrub in the bunch.”
Mrs. Baker sighed. “I guess he's got some'n' in 'im,” she said, her eyes cast down, “or Nelson Floyd, with his eye for business, wouldn't 'a' give 'im a mansion like that to live in an' all them wages. He must be an educated man, Pole.”
“No he ain't,” Pole smiled; “he barely kin read an' write an' figure a little; that's all. Sally, the feller's a-settin' right here in this room now. I'm the manager o' that big place, Sally.”
She laughed as if to humor him, and then she raised her eyes to his. “Pole,” she said, in a cold, hard voice, “don't joke about a thing like that. Somehow I don't believe that men who joke about doin' well, as es ef the like was clean out o' the'r reach, ever do make money; it's them that say what one kin do another kin that make the'r way.”
“But I wasn't jokin', little woman.” Pole caught her hand and pressed it. “As God is my judge, I'm the man, an' you' an' me an' the childern are a-goin' to move into that fine house right off.”
For a moment she stared into his face incredulously, and then gradually the truth dawned upon her.
“Oh, Pole,” she cried. “I can't stand it—it willkillme!” and with a great sob the little woman burst into tears. He tried to stop her, his rough hand on her frail, thin back, but her emotion swept through her like a storm. Suddenly she raised a wet, glowing face to his, and, with her sun-browned hand pressed tightly on her breast, she cried: “It hurts; it hurts right here—oh, Pole, I'm afraid it will kill me!”
In a few moments she was calmer, and as she sat in the red fire-light all aglow with her new happiness, she was a revelation to him. Not for years had he seen her look that way. She seemed young again. The marks of sorrow, poverty, and carking fear had dropped from her. Her eyes had the glisten of bedewed youth, her voice the vibrant ring of unquenchable joy. Suddenly she stood up.
“What you goin' to do?” he asked.
“To wake the childern an' tell 'em,” she said.
“I don't believe I would, Sally,” he protested.
“But I am—Iam!” she insisted. “Do you reckon I'm goin' to let them pore little things lie thar an' not know it—not know it till mornin'?”
He let her have her way, and walked out on the little porch and slowly down to the barn. Suddenly he stretched out his hands and held them up towards the stars, and took a deep, reverent breath.
“I wish I'd l'arnt to pray when I was a boy,” he said, lowering his arms. “Somehow I feel like I've at last come through. I've come from the shadow of the Valley of Death out into God's eternal light. Then I'd like to put in a word at the Throne fer Nelson. Ef I knowed how to say it, I'd beg the Almighty to turn Hillhouse down. Hillhouse kin git 'im another one, but Nelson never kin—never in this world! He hain't got that look in the eyes. He's got a case o' woman as bad as I have, an' that's sayin' a lots.”
Pole turned and slowly retraced his steps. Going in and sitting down by the fire again, he heard his wife's voice rising and falling in a sweet monotone. After a while she ceased speaking and came back to the fire.
“So you had to wake 'em,” he said, tenderly, very tenderly, as if his soul had melted into words.
“I tried, Pole, but I couldn't,” she made answer. “I shuck 'em an' shuck 'em. I even tuck little Billy up an' rolled 'im over an' over, but he was too dead tired to wake. So I give up.”
“But I heard you talkin',” Pole said, wonderingly.
“Yes, I had to talk to somebody, Pole, an'—well, I was a-tellin' 'em. They was asleep, but I was a-tellin' 'em.”
She sat down by him. “I ain't a-goin' to close my eyes to-night,” she went on, softly; “but what does it matter? I reckon thar won't be no sleepin' in heaven, an' that's whar I am right now, Pole.”
She put the side of her flushed face down on his knee and looked into the fire.
THE following evening about eight o'clock Floyd walked over to Baker's house. He found his friend seated alone before a big fire of red logs. “Hello! Come in, Nelson,” Pole called out, cordially, as he saw the young man through the open door-way. “Come in an' set down.”
The young merchant entered and took a vacant chair.
“How's your wife, Pole?” he asked.
“Huh, crazy, crazy—crazy as a bed-bug!” Baker laughed. “You'd think so ef you could see 'er. She spent all the evenin' at yore plantation, an' come home beamin' all over with what she's seed an' her plans.” The farmer jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “She's in thar packin' up scraps now. She knows we can't leave till day after to-morrow, but she says she wants to be doin' some'n' towards it, even ef she has to pack an' unpack an' pack again. My boy, she's the happiest creature God ever—I mean thatyouever made, dern you. She has yore name on 'er tongue every minute in the day. You know she's always said she had as many childem as she wanted”—Pole laughed impulsively—“but she says now she'd go through it all ag'in ef she knowed it 'ud be a boy so she could call it after you.”
“Well, I certainly would take it as a great honor,” Floyd said. “Your children are going to make great men, Pole. They show it in their heads and faces.”
“Well, I hope so, Nelson.” Pole suddenly bent his head to listen. “That's Sally talkin' now,” he said, with a knowing smile. “She sometimes talks about all this to 'erse'f, she's so full of it, but she ain't talkin' to 'erse'f now. You kin bet yore bottom dollar she ain't, Nelson. I say she ain't an' I mean it, my boy.”
“Some one's in there, then?” said Floyd.
Pole looked steadily into the fire, not a muscle of his face changed. “Somebody come back from Cartersville this mornin',” he said, significantly.
Floyd's heart gave a big jump. “So I heard,” he said, under his breath.
“Well, she's in thar now. She'd heard we was goin' to move an' come over jest after supper. She was plumb happy to see Sally so tickled. I didn't mean to eave'drop, but I went in the entry jest now to hang up my bridle an' couldn't help it. It was so purty, I could 'a' listened all day—Sally puttin' on, an' tellin' 'er she'd send the carriage over fer 'er to spend the day, an' that Cynthia must be shore an' send in 'er cyard at the door so thar 'ud be no mistake, an' so on.”
Floyd made no response. He was studying Pole's face, digging into it with his eyes for something he felt lay just beneath the unruffled surface.
“Then I heard some'n' else,” Pole said; “an' I'm goin' to feel mean about totin' it to you, beca'se women has a right to the'r secrets, an' who they pick an' choose fer the'r life-mates ort to be a sacred matter, but this is a thing I think you have a right to be onto.”
“What is that, Pole?” Floyd seemed to be holding his breath. He was almost pale in his great suspense.
“Why I heard Cynthia deny up an' down flatfooted that she was engaged to Hillhouse. Lord, you ort to 'a' heard her snort when Sally told 'er it had been the general belief about here ever since her an' him went off to Cartersville. She was good mad. I know that fer I heard Sally tryin' to pacify 'er. I heard Cynthia say all of a sudden: 'My mother put that report into circulation. I know it now, and she had no right to do it.'”
Floyd breathed more freely, a gleam of hope was in his eyes, his face was flushed. He said nothing.
Pole suddenly drew his feet back from the fire. “Don't you want a drink o' fresh water, Nelson?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” Floyd said.
“Well, I do. Keep yore seat. Since I left off whiskey I'm a great water-drinker.”
Pole had been gone only a minute when Floyd heard light steps in the entry leading to the kitchen. He sprang up, for Cynthia stood in the door-way.
“Why—why,” she stammered, “Mr. Baker told me some one wanted to see me. I—I had no idea that you—”
“I want to see you bad enough, God knows, Cynthia,” Floyd found himself saying, “but I did not tell him so. That, you know, would not be respecting the message you sent me.”
“The message?” she said. “I'm sure I don't understand you.”
“I mean the message you sent me by your mother,” Floyd explained.
“But I didn't send you any message,” Cynthia said, still mystified, as she stared frankly into his eyes.
“I mean the—the night I came for you,” Floyd pursued, “the night I was so presumptuous as to think you'd run away with me.”
“Oh, did she—did my mother tell you—” Cynthia was beginning to understand. “Did she say that I—”
“She told me you said you wanted me never to bother you again.”
The girl lowered her head, the fire lighted up her face as she stood, her eyes on the rough floor. She was silent a moment as if in deep thought, then she looked into his eyes again. “I begin to see it all now,” she said. “I wondered why you—how you could have treated me that way after—after all you'd said.”
“Cynthia, what do you mean? Do,dotell me!” He leaned closer to her—she could feel his quick, excited breath. “Surely you could not believe I'd have left if you hadn't wished it. Oh, little girl, I have been the most miserable man alive over losing you. I know I am unworthy of you—I always shall be that—but losing you has nearly killed me. Your mother told me that awful night that you not only wanted me to let you alone, but that you were going to marry Hillhouse.”
Cynthia gave him a full, frank glance. “Nelson,” she said, “my mother made up most of what she told you that night. I did promise not to run away with you—she made me do that. You have no idea what she resorted to. She determined to thwart us. She made me believe her mind was wrong and that she would kill herself if I left.”
“But you went to her yourself, dear,” Floyd said, still in the dark, “and told her of our plans.”
“No, I didn't, Nelson. She overheard our talk the week before. She followed me out to the grape-arbor and heard every word of it.”
“Oh, I see—I see!” exclaimed Floyd; “she was at the bottom of it all.”
“Yes, her mind was frightfully upset. She came to me this morning and cried and told me that she had heard so many nice things about you of late that she was afraid she had wronged you. She thinks now that her mind was really unbalanced that night. I believe it myself, for no thoroughly sane person could have played the part she did. She persuaded herself that your intentions were not pure and she felt justified in taking any step to save me.”
“Oh, I remember now,” said Floyd. “She could easily have misunderstood my meaning that night, for I was in such a state of nervous excitement that I did not go into details as to my plans. After I left you I remembered, too, that I had not offered you a beautiful ring that I'd bought for you in Atlanta. It's in my trunk in my room. Even after I'd lost all hope of ever winning you, I could not bear to part with it.”
“Oh, Nelson, did you get me a ring?” She leaned towards him in childlike eagerness. “What kind of one was it?”
“The prettiest, whitest diamond I could buy in Atlanta,” Floyd said, almost holding his breath in suspense. “Oh, Cynthia, you say your mother kept you from meeting me that night. If you had come what would have been your decision?”
Cynthia's color rose; she avoided his hungry eyes as she looked down into the fire. The house was very still, and Pole Baker's voice suddenly rose into audibility.
“I tell you, I've jestgotto have a kiss,” he said, “and I'm goin' to have it right this minute! Do you reckon I'm goin' to stand here idle an' them two in thar—”
“Pole, Pole, stop! Let me alone—behave yore-se'f!” cried Mrs. Baker. There was a shuffling of feet then all was quiet.
Floyd leaned towards Cynthia till his lips almost touched her pink ear. “If you had met me that night what would have been my fate?” he asked, tremblingly.
Cynthia hesitated a moment longer, then she looked straight into his eyes and said, simply: “I was ready to go with you, Nelson. I'd thought it all over. I knew—I knew I'd be unhappy without you. Yes, I was ready to go.”
“Thank God!” Floyd cried, taking her hands and holding them tenderly. “And Hillhouse, you are not engaged to him, then?”
“Oh no. He was very persistent at Cartersville, but I refused him there for the last time. There is a rich old maid in the town who is dead in love with him and admires his preaching extravagantly. He showed me his worst side when I gave him his final answer. He told me she had money and would marry him and that he was going to propose to her. Do you think I could have lived with a creature like that, after—after—”
She went no further. Floyd drew her into his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder, his eyes feasting on her beautiful flushed face.
“After what?” he said. “Say it, darling—say it!”
“After knowing you,” she said, turning her face so that he could not see her eyes. “Nelson, I knew all along that you would grow to be the good, strong man you have become.”
“You made me all I am,” he said, caressingly. “You and Pole Baker. Darling, let's go tell him.”
Floyd walked home with Cynthia half an hour later and left her at the door. She went into her mother's room, and, finding the old woman awake, she told her of the engagement.
There was no light in the room save that of the moonbeams falling through the windows. Mrs. Porter sat up in her bed. For a moment she was silent, and Cynthia wondered what she would say.
“I'm glad, very glad,” Mrs. Porter said, huskily. “I was afraid I'd ruined all your chances. I see my mistake now. I misjudged him. Cynthia, I reckon my mind was really upset. I took a wrong view of the whole thing, and now”—the old woman's voice broke—“and now I suppose you and he will always hate me.”
“Oh, mother, don't talk that way!” Cynthia sat down on the bed, put her arm about her mother, and kissed her. “After all, it was for the best. I didn't want to marry that way—this will be so much more satisfactory.”
“That's certainly true,” said Mrs. Porter, slightly mollified. “I was wrong, but, in the long run, it is better as it is.”
The next morning after breakfast Mrs. Porter told Nathan the news as he stood out under an apple-tree sharpening a wooden tooth for his big triangular harrow.
“I knowed she'd yank 'im,” he chuckled. “He certainly was the king-fish o' these matrimonial waters, an' with all the fishin'-poles along the bank, it jest tuck Nathan Porter's clear-headed daughter to jerk the hook into his gills. But you mighty nigh spiled it with yore everlastin' suspicions an' the long-legged galoot that you kept danglin' 'fore the'r eyes.”