18 Kate takes the bit in her teeth. The Hackman was obliging, for after delivering the mail and some parcels he took Kate to her home. While she waited for him, she walked the ravine bank planning about the mill which was now so sure that she might almost begin work. Surely she might as soon as she finished figuring, for she had visited the courthouse in Hartley and found that George's deeds were legal and in proper shape. Her mind was filled with plans which this time must succeed. As she approached the house she could see the children playing in the yard. It was the first time she had ever been away from them. She wondered if they had missed her. She was amazed to find that they were very decidedly disappointed to see her, but a few pertinent questions developed the reason. Their grandmother had come with her sister. She had spent her time teaching them that their mother was cold and hard and abused them by not treating them as other children were treated. So far as Kate could see they had broken every rule she had ever laid down for them, eaten until their stomachs were out of order and played in their better clothing until it would never be nice again, while Polly shouted at her approach, Give me the oranges and candy, I want to divide them. Silly, said Kate, this is too soon, I've no money yet, it will be a long time before I get any, but you shall each have an orange, some candy, and new clothing when I do. Now run see what big fish you can catch. Satisfied the children obeyed and ran to the creek. Aunt Ollie, worried and angered, told Adam to tell his father that mother was home and for him to come and take her and grandmother to Walden at once. She had not been able to keep Mrs. Halt from one steady round of mischief, but she argued that her sister could do less with her on guard than alone, so she had stayed and done her best, but she knew how Kate would be annoyed so she believed the best course was to leave as quickly as possible. Kate walked into the house, spoke to both women, and went to her room to change her clothing. Before she had finished, she heard George's voice in the house, demanding, Where's our millionaire lady, I want to look at her. Kate was very tired, slowly relaxing from intense nerve strain. She was holding herself in check about the children. She took a tighter grip and vowed she would not give Mrs. Halt the satisfaction of seeing her disturbed and provoked if she killed herself in the effort at self-control. She stepped toward the door. Here, she called in a clear voice, the tone of which brought George swiftly. What was he worth anyway, he shouted. Oh, millions and millions, said Kate sweetly. At least I think so. It was scarcely a time to discuss finances in the face of that horrible accident. George laughed.  Think you can keep a thing like that still? The cats and the dogs and the chickens of the whole country know about the deeds the old land-king had made for his sons, and how he got left on it. Served him right, too. We could hear Andrew swear and see Adam beat his horse clear over here. That's right, go ahead, put on airs. Tell us something we don't know, will you? Maybe you think I wasn't hanging pretty close around that neighborhood myself. Spying, cried Kate. Looking for timber, he sneered, and never in all my life have I seen anything to beat it. Sixteen hundred and fifty acres of the best land in the world. Your share of land and money together will be every cent of twelve thousand. Oh, I guess I know what you've got up your sleeve, my lady. Come on, shell out. Let's all go celebrate. What did you bring the children? Kate was rapidly losing patience in spite of her resolves. Myself, she said, from their appearance and actions goodness knows they needed me. I have been to my father's funeral, George, not to a circus. Hump, said George, and home for the first time in seven years.  Even if my father burned with them, she asked, George, you make me completely disgusted. Make hypocrite, he scoffed. You know you're tickled silly. Why, you will get ten times as much as you would if those deeds hadn't been burned. I know what that estate amounts to. I know what that land is worth. I'll see that you get your share to the last penny that can be rung out of it. You bet I will. Things are coming our way at last. Now we can build the mill and do everything we planned. I don't know as we will build a mill. With your fifteen thousand we could start a store in Hartley and do bigger things. The thing for you to do right now is to hitch up and take Aunt Olly and your mother home, said Kate, I'll talk to you after supper and tell you all there is to know. I'm dusty and tired now. Well, you needn't try to fix up any shenanigan for me, he said. I know to within five hundred dollars of what your share of that estate is worth, and I'll see that you get it. No one has even remotely suggested that I shouldn't have my share of that estate, said Kate. While he was gone, Kate thought intently as she went about her work. She saw exactly what her position was and what she had to do. Their talk would be disagreeable, but the matter had to gone into and gotten over. She let George talk as he would while she finished supper and they ate. When he went for his evening work she helped the children scale their fish for breakfast, and as they worked she talked to them sanely, sensibly, explaining what she could, avoiding what she could not. She put them to bed. Her heart almost sickened at what they had been taught and told. Kate was in no very propitious mood for her interview with George. As she sat on the front porch waiting for him, she was wishing with all her heart that she was back home with the children to remain forever. That of course was out of the question, but she wished it. She had been so glad to be with her mother again, to be of service, to hear a word of approval now and then. She must be worthy of her mother's opinion, she thought, just as George stepped on the porch, sat on the top step, leaned against a pillar, and said, Now go on, tell me all about it. Kate thought intently a second. Instead of beginning with leaving Friday morning, I was at the courthouse in Hartley this morning, she said. You needn't have done that, he scoffed. I spent most of the day there Monday. You bet folks shelled out the books when I told them who I was and what I was after. I must say, you folks have some little reason to be high and mighty. You sure have got the dough. No wonder the old man hung on to the deeds himself. He wasn't so far from a king all right, all right. You mean you left your work Monday and went to the courthouse in Hartley and told who you were, and spent the day nosing into my father's affairs before his sons had done anything?  While you needn't get so high and mighty, he said, I propose to know just where I am about this. I propose to have just what is coming to me, to you, to the last penny, and no Batesman will manage the affair, either. Suddenly Kate leaned forward. I foresee that you fixed yourself up for a big disappointment, she said. My mother and her eldest son will settle my father's estate, and when it is settled I shall have exactly what the other girls have. Even if I still think it is wise, I shall at once go to work building the mill. Everything must be shaved to the last cent, must be done with the closest economy, I must come out of this, with enough left to provide us a comfortable home. Do that from the first prophets of the mill, he suggested. I'm no good at counting chickens before they're hatched, said Kate. Besides the first prophets from the mill, as you very well know, if you would ever stop to think, must go to pay for logs to work on, and there must always be a good balance for that purpose. No, I reserve enough from my money to fix the home I want, but I shall wait to do it until the mill is working, so I can give all my attention to it, while you are out looking up timber. Of course I can do all of it perfectly well, he said, and it's a man's business. You'll make me look like fifty cents if you get out among men and go to doing a thing no woman in this part of the country ever did, why it will look like you don't trust me. I can't help how it will look, said Kate. This is my last and only dollar. If I lose it, I am out for life. I shall take no risk. I've no confidence in your business-ability and you know it. It need not hurt your pride, a particle, to say that we are partners, that I'm going to build the mill, while you're going to bring in the timber. It's the only way I shall touch the proposition. I will give you two hundred dollars for the deed and abstract of the ravine. I'll give your mother eight hundred for the lot and house, which is two hundred more than it is worth. I'll lay away enough to rebuild and re-furnish it, and with the remainder I'll build the dam, bridge, and mill, just as quickly as it can be done. As soon as I get my money, we'll buy timber for the mill, and get it sawed and dried this winter. We can be all done and running by next June. Kate, how are you going to get all that land sold and the money in hand to divide up that quickly? I don't think it can ever be done. Land is always sold on time, you know, he said. Kate drew a deep breath. This land isn't going to be sold, she said. Most of the boys have owned their farms long enough to have enabled them to buy other land and put money in the bank. They're going to form a pool and put in enough money to pay the girls the share they have agreed to take, even if they have to borrow it, as some of the younger ones will. But the older ones will help them, so the girls are to have their money in cash in three months. I was mighty glad of the arrangement for my part, because we can begin at once on our plans for the mill. And how much do the girls get, he asked darkly. Can't say just yet, said Kate. The notes and mortgages have to be gone over, and the thing figured out. It will take some time. Mother and Adam began yesterday. We shall know in a few weeks. Once to me like a cold-blooded bait-steel, he cried. Who figured what was a fair share for the girls? Who planned that arrangement? Why didn't you insist on the thing going through court, the land being sold, and equal divisions of all the proceeds? Now, if you'll agree not to say a word until I finish, I'll show you the figures, said Kate. I'll tell you what the plan is, and why it was made, and I'll tell you further that it is already recorded and in action. There are no minor errors. We could make an agreement and record it. There was no will. Mother will administer. It's all settled. Wait until I get the figures. Then slowly and clearly she went over the situation, explaining everything in detail. When she finished, he sat staring at her with a snarling face. You signed that, he demanded. You signed that. You threw away at least half you might have had.  Are you mad? Are you stark-staring mad? No, I'm quite sane, said Kate. It is you who are mad. You know my figures, don't you? Those were the only ones used yesterday. The whole scheme was mine, with help from Mother to the extent of her giving up everything except the home farm.  Now stop, said Kate. Stop right there. I've done what I think is right and fair and just, and I'm happy with the results. Decently, all stay and build the mill. Say one, only one more of the nasty, insulting things in your head, and I'll go in there and wake up the children, and we will leave now and on foot. Confronted with Kate and her ultimatum, Georgia rose and walked down to the road. He began pacing back and forth in the moonlight, struggling to regain command of himself. He had no money. He had no prospect of any until Aunt Ollie died and left him her farm. He was, as he expressed it, up against it there. Now he was up against it with Kate. What she decided upon and proposed to do was all he could do. She might shave prices and cut and skimp and haggle to buy material and put up her buildings at the least possible expense. She might sit over books and figure herself blind.  Only as breathing there came to him a scheme whereby he could buy at the very lowest figure he could extract. Then he would raise the price to Kate enough to make him a comfortable income besides his share of the business. He had not walked the road long until his anger was all gone. He began planning the kind of horse he would have to drive, the buggy he would want, and a box in it to carry a hatchet, a square, measures, an auger, other tools he would need, and by Jove it would be a dandy idea to carry a bottle of the real thing. Many a farmer, for a good cigar and a few swallows of the right thing, would warm up and sign such a contract as could be got in no other manner, while he would need it on cold days himself. George stopped in the moonlight to slap his leg and laugh over the happy thought, by George, Georgie, my boy, he said, most days will be cold, won't they? He had no word to say to Kate of his change of feeling in the matter. He did not want to miss the chance of tweeting her at every opportunity he could invent with having thrown away half her inheritance, but he was glad the whole thing was settled so quickly and easily. He was now busy planning how he would spend the money Kate agreed to pay him for the ravine, but that was another rosy cloud she soon changed in color, for she told him if he was going to be a partner he could put in what money he had as his time was no more valuable than she could make hers teaching school again. In other words, he could buy his horse and buggy with the price she paid for the location, so he was forced to agree. He was forced to do a great many things in the following months that he hated, but he had to do them or be left out of the proposition altogether. Mrs. Bates and Adam administered the Bates estate promptly and efficiently.  Mrs. Bates had to make so many trips to town before the last paper was signed and the last transfer was made, that she felt she could not go any further, so she did not. Nancy Ellen had reached the point where she would stop and talk a few minutes to Kate if she met her on the streets of Hartley, as she frequently did now, but she would not ask her to come home with her because she would not bring herself in contact with George Holt. The day Kate went to Hartley to receive and deposit her check and start her bank account, her mother asked her if she had any plan as to what she would do with her money. Kate told her in detail. Mrs. Bates listened with grim face. You better leave it in the bank, she said, and use the interest to help you live, or put it in good farm mortgages where you can easily get ten percent. Kate explained again and told how she was doing all the buying, how she would pay all the bills, and keep the books. Kate was no use. Mrs. Bates sternly insisted that she should do no such thing. In some way she would be defrauded. In some way she would lose the money. What she was proposing was a man's work. Kate had most of her contract signed and much material ordered. She could not stop. Sadly she saw her mother turn from her, declaring as she went that Kate would lose every cent she had, and when she did she need not come hanging around her. She had been warned. If she lost she could take the consequences. For an instant Kate felt that she could not endure it, then she sprang after her mother. Oh, but I won't lose, she cried. I'm keeping my money in my own hands. I'm spending it myself. Please, mother, come and see the location and let me show you everything." Too late now, said Mrs. Bates grimly. The thing is done. The time to have told me was before you made any contracts. You're always taking the bid in your teeth and going ahead. Well, go. But remember, as you make your bed, so you can lie. All right, said Kate, trying to force a laugh. Don't you worry, next time you get into a tight place and want to borrow a few hundreds, come to me. Mrs. Bates laughed derisively. Kate turned away with a faint sickness in her heart, and when half an hour later she met Nancy Allen, fresh from an interview with her mother, she felt no better, far worse, in fact. When Nancy Allen certainly could say what was in her mind with free and forceful directness. With deaf tongue and nimble brain, she embroidered all Mrs. Bates had said and prophesied more evil luck in three minutes than her mother could have thought of in a year. Kate left them with no promise of seeing either of them again, except by accident, her heart and brain filled with misgivings. "'Must I always have a fly in my ointment?' she wailed to herself. I felt this morning this would be the happiest day of my life. I felt as if I were flying. Ye gods, but wings were never meant for me. Every time I take them, down I come kerflop, mostly in a gulf of dark despair, as the hymn-book says. Anyway, I'll keep my promise and give the youngsters a treat.' So she bought each of them an orange, some candy, and goods for a new Sunday outfit and comfortable school-clothing. Then she took the hack for Walden, feeling in a degree as she had the day she married George Holt. As she passed the ravine and again studied the location, her spirits arose. It was a good scheme. It would work. She would work it. She would sell from the yards to Walden and the surrounding country. She would see the dealers in Hartley and talk the business over, so she would know she was not being cheated in freight rates when she came to shipping. She stopped at Mrs. Holt's, laid a deed before her for her signature, and offered her a check for eight hundred for the Holt house and lot, which Mrs. Holt eagerly accepted. They arranged to move immediately, as the children were missing school. She had a deed with her for the ravine, which George signed in Walden, and both documents were acknowledged, but she would not give him the money until he had the horse and buggy he was to use, at the gate, in the spring. He wanted to start out buying at once, but that was going too far in the future for Kate. While the stream was low and the banks firm Kate built her dam, so that it would be ready for spring, put in the abutments, and build the bridge. It was not a large dam and not a big bridge, but both were solid, well constructed, and would serve every purpose. Then Kate set men hauling stone for the corner foundations. She hoped to work up such a trade and buy so much and so wisely in the summer that she could run all winter, so she was building a real mill in the Batesway, which way included letting the foundations freeze and settle over winter. That really was an interesting and comfortable winter. Kate and George both watched the children's studies at night, worked their plans finer in the daytime, and lived as cheaply and carefully as they could. Everything was going well. George was doing his best to promote the mill plan to keep Kate satisfied at home, to steal out after she slept and keep himself satisfied in appetite and some ready money in his pockets, one at games of chance, at which he was an expert, and at cards, which he handled like a master. CHAPTER XIX of A Daughter of the Land. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Daughter of the Land by Jean Stratton Porter. CHAPTER XIX As a Man Seweth. At the earliest possible moment in the spring, the building of the mill began. It was scarcely well under way when the work was stopped by a week of heavy rains. The water filled the ravine to dangerous height, and the roaring of the dam could be heard all over town. George talked of it incessantly. He said it was the sweetest music his ears had ever heard. Kate had to confess that she liked the sound herself, but she was fearful over saying much on the subject because she was so very anxious about the stability of the dam. There was a day or two of fine weather, then the rains began again. Kate said she had all the music she desired. She proposed to be safe, so she went and opened the sluice way to reduce the pressure on the dam. The result was almost immediate. The water gushed through, lowering the current and lessening the fall.  As he neared the dam, he decided that the reason he felt so badly was because he had missed hearing it all day, but he would have it to go to sleep by.  Even as he was doing it, the thunder peeled, lightning flashed, and high heaven gave him warning that he was doing a dangerous thing. But all his life he had done what he pleased, there was no probability that he would change then. He needed the roar of the dam to quiet his nerves. The same roar that put him to sleep awakened Kate. She lay wondering at it and fearing. She raised her window to listen. The rain was falling in torrents, while the roar was so awful, so much worse than it had been when she fell asleep, that she had a suspicion of what might have caused it. She went to George's room and shook him awake. Listen to the dam, she cried, it will go, as sure as fate.  He was half asleep, and too defiant from drink to take his usual course. Sure, he said, Swedish music ever hush, push me sleep. He fell back on the pillow and went on sleeping. Kate tried again to awaken him, but he struck at her savagely. She ran to her room, hurried into a few clothes, and getting the lantern started toward the bridge. At the gate she stepped into water. As far as she could see above the dam, the street was covered. She waded to the bridge, which was under at each end, but still bare in the middle, where it was slightly higher. Kate crossed it and started down the yard toward the dam. The earth was softer there, and she mired in places almost to her knees. At the dam the water was tearing around each end in a mad race, carrying earth and everything before it. The mill side was lower than the street. The current was so broad and deep, she could not see where the sluice was. She hesitated a second to try to locate it from the mill behind her, and in that instant there was a crack and a roar, a mighty rush that swept her from her feet and washed away the lantern. Nothing saved her but the trees on the bank. She struck one, clung to it, pulled herself higher, and in the blackness gripped the tree, while she heard the dam going gradually after the first break. There was no use to scream. No one could have heard her. The storm raved on. Kate clung to her tree with each flash of lightning trying to see the dam. At last she saw that it was not all gone. She was not much concerned about herself. She knew the tree would hold. Eagerly she strained her eyes toward the dam. She could feel the water dropping lower, while the roar subsided to a wild rush, and with flashes of lightning she could see what she thought was at least half of the dam holding firm. By that time Kate began to chill. She wrapped her arms around the tree, and pressing her cheek against the rough bark, she cried as hard as she could and did not care. God would not hear. The neighbors could not. She shook and cried until she was worn out. By that time the water was only a muddy flow around her ankles. If she had a light she could wade back to the bridge and reach home. But if she missed the bridge and went into the ravine the current would be too strong for her. She held with one arm and tried to wipe her face with the other hand. Cool to cry, she said, as if there were any more water needed here. Then she saw a light in the house and the figures of the children, carrying it from room to room, so she knew that one of them had awakened for a drink or with the storm and they had missed her. Then she could see them at the front door, Adam's sturdy feet planted widely apart, bracing him as he held up the lamp which flickered in the wind. Then she could hear his voice shouting, Mother! Finally Kate answered. Then she was sorry she had, for both of them began to scream wildly. There was a second of that. Then even the children realized its futility.  We got to get her! said Adam. We got to do it! He started with the light held high. The wind blew it out. They had to go back to relight it. Kate knew they would burn their fingers and she prayed they would not set the house on fire. When the light showed again at the top of her lungs she screamed, Adam! Set the broom on fire and carry it to the end of the bridge. The water isn't deep enough to hurt you. She tried twice. Then she saw him give Polly the lamp and run down the hall. He came back in an instant with the broom. Polly held the lamp high. Adam went down the walk to the gate and started up the sidewalk. He's using his head, said Kate, to the tree. He's going to wait until he reaches the bridge to start his light so it will last longer. That is baits, anyway. Thank God! Adam scratched several matches before he got the broom well ignited. Then he held it high and by its light found the end of the bridge. Kate called to him to stop and, plunging and splashing through mud and water, she reached the bridge before the broom burned out. There she clung to the railing she had insisted upon and felt her way across to the boy. This thin cotton night-shirt was plastered to a sturdy little body. As she touched him, Kate lifted him in her arms and almost hugged the life from him.  "'Part of it,' said Kate, sliding her feet before her, as she waited toward Polly in the doorway, did father shut the sluice Kate to hear the roar. It hesitated. The shivering body in her arms felt so small to her. "'I suspect he did,' said Adam. All day he was fussing after you stopped the roar. Then he added casually, the old fool oughta known better. I suspect he was drunk again.' "'Oh, Adam,' cried Kate, setting him on the porch. "'Oh, Adam, what makes you say that?' "'Oh, all of them at school say that,' scoffed Adam. "'Everybody knows it but you, don't they, Polly?' "'Sure,' said Polly, most every night. "'But don't you mind, mother, Adam and I will take care of you.' Kate fell on her knees and gathered both of them in a crushing hug for an instant. Then she helped them into dry nightgowns and to bed. As she covered them, she stooped and kissed each of them before she went to warm and put on dry clothes and dry her hair. It was almost dawn when she walked to George Holt's door and looked in at him, lying stretched in deep sleep. "'You may thank your God for your children,' she said. If it hadn't been for them, I know what I would have done to you.' Then she went to her room and laid down to rest until dawn. She was up at the usual time and had breakfast ready for the children. As they were starting to school, George came into the room. "'Mother,' said Polly, there is a lot of folks over around the dam. What shall we tell them?' Kate's heart stopped. She had heard that question before. "'Tell them the truth,' said Adam scornfully, before Kate could answer. Tell them that mother opened the sluice-way to save the dam and father shut it to hear it roar and it busted. "'Shall I, mother?' asked Polly. A slow whiteness spread over George's face. He stared down the hall to look. "'Tell them exactly what you please,' said Kate. Only you watch yourself like a hawk. If you tell one word not the way it was, or in any way different from what happened, I'll punish you severely.' "'May I tell them I held the lamp while Adam got you out of the water?' asked Polly. "'That would be true, you know.' George turned to listen, his face still whiter. "'Yes, that would be true,' said Kate. But if you tell them that, the first thing they will ask will be, where was your father? What will you say then?' "'Why, we'll say that he was so drunk we couldn't wake him up,' said Polly conclusively. We pulled him and we shook him and we yelled at him. Didn't we, Adam?' "'I was not drunk,' shouted George. "'Oh, yes you were,' said Adam. You smelled all sour, like it does at the saloon door.' George made a rush at Adam. The boy spread his feet and put up his hands, but never flinched or moved. Kate looking on felt something in her heart that had never been there before. She caught George's arm as he reached the child. "'You go on to school, little folks,' she said, and for mother's sake, try not to talk at all. If people question you, tell them to ask mother.  "'It is a bargain,' said Kate. How about you, Adam?' "'I will for that, too,' said Adam, but I'd like awful welds tell how fast the water went and how it poured and roared while I held the light and you got across. Gee, it was awful, mother, so black and so crashy and so deep, I'd like to tell. "'But you won't if I ask you not to,' queried Kate. "'I will not,' said Adam. Kate went down on her knees again. She held out her arms and both youngsters rushed to her. After they were gone, she and George Holt looked at each other an instant, then Kate turned to her work. He followed. "'Kate,' he began. "'No use,' said Kate.  If the children had not wakened with the storm and hunted me, I'd have had to stay over there until morning. If I could have clung to the tree that long.' First they rescued me, and then they rescued you, if you only but knew it. By using part of the money I had saved for the house I can rebuild the dam, but I am done with you, where partners no longer, not with business, money, or in any other way will I ever trust you again.  Instead, George put on his old clothing, crossed the bridge, and worked all day with all his might trying to gather building material out of the water, save debris from the dam, to clear the village street. At noon he came over and got a drink and a piece of bread. At night he worked until he could see no longer, and then ate some food from the cupboard and went to bed. He was up and at work before daybreak in the morning, and for two weeks he kept this up until he had done much to repair the work of the storm. The dam he almost rebuilt himself as soon as the water lowered to normal again. Kate knew what he was trying to do, and knew also that in a month he had the village pitying him and blaming her because he was working himself to death and she was allowing it. She doggedly went on with her work. The contracts were made, she was forced to. As the work neared completion her faith in the enterprise grew. She studied by the hour everything she could find pertaining to the business. When the machinery began to arrive, George frequently spoke about having timber ready to begin work on, but he never really believed the thing which did happen would happen until the first load of logs slowly crossed the bridge and began unloading in the yards. A few questions elicited from the driver, the reply that he had sold the timber to young Adam Bates of Bates Corners, who was out buying right and left and paying cash on condition the seller did his own delivering. George saw the scheme and that it was good. Also the logs were good while the price was less than he hoped to pay for such timber. His soul was filled with bitterness. The mill was his scheme. He had planned it all.  It was his mill, and all he was getting from it was to work with all his might and not a decent word from morning until night. That day, instead of working as before, he sat in the shade most of the time, and that night, instead of going to bed, he went downtown. When the mill was almost finished, Kate employed two men who lived in Walden, but had been working in the Hartley mill for years. They were honest men of much experience. Kate made the better of them foremen and consulted with him in every step of completing the mill and setting up the machinery. She watched everything with sharp eyes, often making suggestions that were useful about a placing of different parts as a woman would arrange them. Some of these the men laughed at. Some they were more than glad to accept. When the engine was set up, the big saw in place, George went to Kate. See here, he said roughly, I know I was wrong about the sluice gate.  But I have learned my lesson, I'll never touch it again. I've worked like a dog for weeks to pay for it. Now where do I come in? What's my job? How much is my share of the money, and when do I get it? The trouble with you, George, is that you have to learn a new lesson about everything you attempt. You can't carry a lesson about one thing in your mind and apply it to the next thing that comes up. I know you have worked, and I know why. It is fair that you should have something, but I can't say what just now. Having to rebuild the dam and with a number of incidentals that have come up, in spite of the best figuring I could do, I have been forced to use my money safe for rebuilding the house, and even with that I am coming out a hundred or two short. I'm strapped, and until money begins to come in I have none myself. The first must go toward paying the men's wages, the next for timber. If Jim Milton can find work for you, go to work at the mill, and when we get started I'll pay you what is fair and just. You may depend on that. If he hasn't worked for you, you'll have to find a job at something else. "'Do you mean that?' he asked, wonderingly. "'I mean it,' said Kate. "'After stealing my plan, and getting my land for nothing, you'd throw me out entirely?' he demanded. "'You entreated me to put all I had into your plan.  You were not even keeping up the taxes on it until I came and urged you to. The dam is used merely for water, the engine furnishes the real power, and if you are thrown out, you have thrown yourself out. You have had every chance.' "'You are going to keep your nephew on the buying job,' he asked. "'I am,' said Kate. "'You can have no job that will give you a chance to involve me financially.' "'Then give me Milton's place. It's so easy a baby could do it, and the wages you have promised him are scandalous,' said George.' "'Kate laughed.' "'Oh, George,' she said. "'You can't mean that. Of all your harebrained ideas that you could operate that saw is the wildest. Of course you could start the engine and set the saw running. I could myself. But to regulate its speed, to control it with judgment, you could no more do it than Polly. As for wages, Milton is working for less than he got in Hartley, because he can be at home and save his hack fair, as you know.' George went over to Jim Milton, and after doing all he could see to do, and ordering Milton to do several things he thought might be done, he said casually, "'Of course I am boss around this shack, but this is new to me. You fellows will have to tell me what to do until I get my bearings. As soon as we get to running, I'll be Yardmaster, and manage the selling and shipping. I'm good at figures, and that would be the best place for me.' "'You'll have to settle with Mrs. Holt about that,' said Jim Milton. "'Of course,' said George. "'Isn't she a wonder? With my help we'll soon wipe the Hartley mills off the map, and be selling till Grand Rapids will get her eye peeled. With you to run the machinery, me to manage the sales, and her to keep the books, we've got a combination to beat the world.' "'In the meantime,' said Jim Milton, dryly, "'you might take that scoop shovel and clean the shavings and blocks off this floor. Leave me some before the engine to start the first fire, and shovel the rest into that bin there, where it's handy. It isn't safe to start with so much loose, dry stuff lying around.' George went to work with the scoop shovel, but he watched every movement Jim Milton made about the engine and machinery. Often he dropped the shovel and stood studying things out for himself and asking questions. Not being sure of his position, Jim Milton answered him patiently and showed him all he wanted to know, but he constantly cautioned him not to touch anything or try to start the machinery himself as he might lose control of the gauge and break the saw or let the power run away with him. George scoffed at the idea of danger and laughed at the simplicity of the engine and machinery. There was little for him to do. He hated to be seen cleaning up the debris. Men who stopped in passing kept telling what a fine young fellow Bates was, what good timber he was sending in. Several of them told George frankly they thought that was to be his job. He was so ashamed of that he began instant improvisation. That was the way we first planned things, he said boastfully, but when it came to working out our plans we found I would be needed here till I learn the business and then I'm going on the road. I am going to be the salesman.  "'Wonder you remembered to put the orders in at all?' said Jim Milton, dryly. George glared at him. "'Well, just remember whom you take orders from,' he said pompously. "'I take them from Mrs. Holt and nobody else,' said Milton, with equal assurance, and I've yet to hear her say the first word about this wonderful traveling proposition. She thinks she will do well to fill home orders and ship to a couple of factories she already has contracts with. Sure you didn't dream that traveling proposition, George?' At that instant George wished he could slay Jim Milton. All day he brooded and grew sullen and ugly. By noon he quit working and went downtown. By supper time he went home to prove to his wife that he was all right. She happened to be coming across from the mill, where she had helped Milton lay the first fire under the boiler ready to touch off, and had seen the first log on the set carriage. It had been agreed that she was to come over at opening time in the morning and start the machinery. She was a proud and eager woman when she crossed the bridge and started down the street toward the gate. From the opposite direction came George, so unsteady that he was running into tree-boxes, then lifting his hat and apologizing to them for his awkwardness. Kate saw at a glance that he might fall any instant. Her only thought was to help him from the street to where children would not see him. She went to him and taking his arm started down the walk with him. He took off his hat to her also and walked with wavering dignity, setting his steps as if his legs were not long enough to reach the walk, so that each step ended with a decided thump. Kate could see the neighbors watching at their windows and her own children playing on the roof of the woodshed. When the children saw their parents, they both stopped playing to stare at them. Then suddenly, shrill and high, arose Adam's childish voice.  Polly joined him and they sang and shrilled and shrieked it. They jumped up and down and laughed and repeated it again and again. Kate guided George to his room and gave him a shove that landed him on the bed. Then to hush the children she called them to supper. They stopped suddenly as soon as they entered the kitchen door and sat, sorry and ashamed while she went around, her face white, her lips closed, preparing their food. George was asleep. The children ate alone as she could take no food. Later she cleaned the kitchen, put the children to bed, and sat on the front porch looking at the mill, wondering, hoping, planning, praying unconsciously. When she went to bed at ten o'clock, George was still asleep. He awakened shortly after, burning with heat and thirst. He arose and slipped to the back porch for a drink. Water was such an aggravation, he crossed the yard, went out the back gate, and down the alley. When he came back up the street, he was pompously, maliciously, dangerously drunk. Either less or more would have been better. When he came inside of the mill, standing new and shining in the moonlight, he was a lord of creation, ready to work creation to his will. He would go over and see if things were all right, but he did not cross the bridge, he went down the side street and entered the yard at the back. The doors were closed and locked, but there was as yet no latch on the sliding windows above the work bench. He could push them open from the ground. He leaned aboard against the side of the mill, set his foot on it, and pulled himself up, so that he could climb on the bench. That much achieved, he looked around him. After a time his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness so that he could see his way plainly. Muddled half-thoughts began to filter through his brain. He remembered he was abused. He was out of it. He remembered that he was not the buyer for the mill. He remembered how the men had laughed when he had said that he was to be the salesman. He remembered that Milton had said that he was not to touch the machinery. He had once slid from the bench and went to the boiler. He opened the door of the fire-box and saw the kindling laid ready to light to get up steam. He looked at the big log on the set carriage. They had planned to start with a splurge in the morning. Kate was to open the throttle that started the machinery. He decided to show them that they were not so smart. He would give them a good surprise by sawing the log.  He took matches from his pocket and started the fire. It seemed to his fevered imagination that it burned far too slowly. He shoved in more kindling, shavings, ends left from siding. This smothered his fire so he made trip after trip to the tinder-box, piling in arm-loads of dry, inflammable stuff. Then suddenly the flames leaped up. He slammed shut the door and started toward the saw. He could not make it work. He jammed and pulled everything he could reach. Soon he realized the heat was becoming intense and turned to the boiler to see that the fire-box was red-hut almost all over, white-hut in places. "'My God!' he muttered. "'Too hot! Got to cool that down!' Then he saw the tank and the dangling hose and remember that he had not filled the boiler. Looking down the hose he opened the water-cock, stuck in the nozzle, and turned on the water full force. Windows were broken across the street. Parts of the fire-box, boiler and fire, flew everywhere. The walls blew out, the roof lifted and came down, the fire raged among the new dry timbers of the mill. When her windows blew in, Kate was thrown from her bed to the floor. She laced on to second, then dragged herself up to look across the street. There was nothing where the low white expanse of roof had spread an hour before while a red glare was creeping everywhere over the ground. She ran to George's room and found it empty. She ran to the kitchen, calling him, and found the back door standing open. She rushed back to her room and began trying to put on her dress over her night-robe. She could not control her shaking fingers, while at each step she cut her feet on broken glass. She reached the front door as the children came screaming with fright. In turning to warn them about the glass, she stumbled on the top step, pitch-forward headlong, then lay still. The neighbors carried her back to her bed, called the doctor, and then saved all the logs in the yard they could. The following day, when the fire had burned itself out, the undertaker hunted assiduously, but nothing could be found to justify a funeral. A Daughter of the Land by Jean Stratton Porter CHAPTER XX FOR A GOOD GIRL For a week, Kate lay so dazed she did not care whether she lived or died. Then she slowly crept back to life, realizing that whether she cared or not she must live. She was too young, too strong, to quit because she was soul-sick. She had to go on. She had life to face for herself and her children. She wondered dully about her people. But as none of the neighbors who had taken care of her said anything concerning them, she realized that they had not been there. At first she was almost glad. They were forthright people. They would have had something to say. They would have said it tersely and to the point. Adam III had wound up her affairs speedily by selling the logs he had bought for her to the Hartley Mills, paying what she owed, and depositing the remainder in the Hartley Bank to her credit. But that remainder was less than one hundred dollars. That winter was a long, dreadful nightmare to Kate. Had it not been for Aunt Ollie, they would have been hungry some of the time. They were cold, most of it. For weeks Kate thought of sending for her mother or going to her. Then as not even a line came from any of her family, she realized that they resented her losing that much Bates money so bitterly that they wished to have nothing to do with her. Often she sat for hours staring straight before her, trying to straighten out the tangle she had made of her life. As if she had not suffered enough in the reality of living, she now lived over in day and night dreams, hour by hour, her time with George Holt, and gained nothing thereby. All winter Kate brooded, barely managing to keep alive and the children in school. As spring opened she shook herself, arose, and went to work. It was not planned, systematic, effective Bates work. Peace meal she did anything she saw needed the doing. The children helped to make garden and clean the yard. Then all of them went out to Aunt Ollie's and made a contract to plant and raise potatoes and vegetables on shares. They passed a neglected garden on the way, and, learning that the woman of the house was ill, Kate stopped and offered to tend it for enough cords of windfall wood to pay her a fair price, this to be delivered in mid-summer. With food and fire assured, Kate ripped up some of George's clothing, washed, pressed, turned, and made Adam warm clothes for school. She even achieved a dress for Polly by making a front and back from a pair of her father's trouser legs, and setting inside pieces a yoke and sleeves from one of her old skirts. George's under-clothing she cut down for both of the children, then drew another check for taxes and second-hand books. While she was in heartly in the fall paying taxes, she stopped at a dry-good store for thread, and heard a customer asking for knit admittance which were not in stock. After he had gone, she arranged with the merchant for a supply of yarn which she carried home, and began to knit into mittens such as had been called for. She used every minute of leisure during the day, she worked hours into the night, and soon small sums began coming her way. When she had a supply of teamsters' heavy mittens, she began on fancy-colored ones for babies and children, sometimes crocheting, sometimes using needles. Soon she started both children on the rougher work with her. They were glad to help, for they had a lively remembrance of one winter of cold and hunger, with no Christmas. That there were many things she might have done that would have made more money with less exertion, Kate never seemed to realize. She did the obvious thing. Her brain power seemed to be on a level with that of Adam and Polly. When the children began to carry home Christmas talk, Kate opened her mouth to say the things that had been said to her as a child, then tightly closed it. She began getting up earlier, sitting up later, knitting feverishly. Luckily, the merchant could sell all she could furnish. As the time drew nearer, she gathered from the talk of the children what was the deepest desire of their hearts. One day a heavy wind driving ice-coated trees in the backyard broke quite a large limb from a cherry tree. Kate dragged it into the woodhouse to make firewood. She leaned it against the wall to wait until the ice melted, and as it stood there in its silvery coat, she thought how like a small tree the branch was shaped and how pretty it looked. After the children had gone to school the next day, she shaped it with the hatchet and saw, and fastened it in a small box. This she carried to her bedroom and locked the door. She had not much idea what she was going to do, but she kept thinking. Soon she found enough time to wrap every branch carefully with the red tissue paper her red knitting wool came in, and to cover the box smoothly. Then she thought of the country Christmas tree she had seen decorated with popcorn and cranberries. She popped the corn at night, and the following day made a trip up the ravine, where she gathered all the bittersweet berries, swamp poly, and wild rose seed heads she could find. She strung the corn on fine cotton cord, putting a rose seed pod between each grain, then used the bittersweet berries to terminate the blunt ends of the branches and climb up the trunk. By the time she had finished this she was really interested. She achieved a gold star for the top from a box lid and a piece of gilt paper poly had carried home from school. With yarn ends and mosquito netting she whipped up a few little mittens, stockings, and bags.  Then she made some hard candy, and some fancy cookies with a few sticks of striped candy cut in circles and dotted on the top. She polished red, yellow, and green apples and set them under the tree. When she made her final trip to Hartley before Christmas, the spirit of the day was in the air. She breathed so much of it that she paid a dollar and a half for a stout sled, and ten cents for a dozen little red candles, five each for two oranges, and fifteen each for two pretty little books. Then, after long hesitation, added a doll for Polly. She felt that she should not have done this and said so to herself, but knew if she had it to do over she would do the same thing again. She shook her shoulders and took the first step toward regaining her old self-confidence. Shaw, big and strong as I am, and Adam getting such a great boy, we can make it, she said. Then she hurried to the hack, and was driven home barely in time to rush her bundles into her room before school was out. She could scarcely wait until the children were in bed to open the parcels. The doll had to be dressed, but Kate was interested in Christmas by that time, and so contemplated the spider wasted image with real affection. She never had owned a doll herself. She let the knitting go that night, and cut up an old waist to make white under-clothing with touches of lace and a pretty dress. Then Kate went to her room, tied the doll in a safe place on the tree, put on the books, and set the candles with pins. As she worked she kept biting her lips, but when it was all finished she thought it was lovely, and so it was. As she set the sled in front of the tree she said, There, little folks, I wonder what you will think of that. It's the best I can do. I've a nice chicken to roast. Now if only, if only Mother or Nancy Ellen would come, or write a line, or merely send one word by Tilly Nepple. Suddenly Kate lay down on the bed, buried her face in the pillow, while her shoulders jerked and shook in dry sobs for a long time. At last she arose, went to the kitchen, bathed her face, and banked the fires. I suppose it is the bait's way, she said, but it's a cold, hard proposition. I know what's the matter with all of them. They are afraid to come near me or show the slightest friendliness, for fear I'll ask them to help support us. They needn't worry. We can take care of ourselves. She set her tree on the living room table, arranged everything to the best advantage, laid a fire in the stove, and went to sleep Christmas Eve, feeling more like herself than she had since the explosion. Christmas morning she had the house warm, and the tree ready to light while the children dressed. She slipped away their everyday clothing and laid out their best instead. She could hear them talking as they dressed, and knew the change of clothing had filled them with hope. She hastily lighted the tree, and was setting the table as they entered the dining room. Merry Christmas, little people, she cried, in a voice they had not heard in a long time. They both rushed to her, and Kate's heart stood still as they each hugged her tight, kissed her, and offered a tiny packet. From the size and feeling of these, she realized that they were giving her the candy they had received the day before at school. Surprises were coming thick and fast with Kate. That one shook her to her foundations. They loved candy. They had so little. They had nothing else to give. She held them an instant so tightly they were surprised at her. Then she told them to lay the packages on the living room table until after breakfast. Polly opened the door, and screamed. Adam ran, and then both of them stood silently before the brave little tree, flaming red, touched with white, its gold star shining. They looked at it, and then at each other, while Kate, watching at an angle across the dining room, distinctly heard Polly say in an odd tone, Adam, hadn't we better pray? Kate lifted herself full height, and drew a deep breath. Well, I guess I can manage a little Christmas after this, she said, and maybe a fourth of July, and a birthday, and a few other things.  I believe I can make it. From that hour she began trying to think of something she could do that would bring returns more nearly commensurate with the time and strength she was spending. She felt tied to Walden because she owned the house, and could rely on working on shares with Aunt Ali for winter food. But there was nothing she could do there and take care of the children that would bring more than the most meager living. Still they were living, each year more comfortably. The children were growing bigger and stronger. Soon they could help at something, if only she could think what. The time flew, each day a repetition of yesterday's dogged, soul-tiring grind, until some days Kate was close to despair. Each day the house grew shabbier. Things wore out and could not be replaced. Poverty showed itself more plainly. So three more years of life in Walden passed, setting their indelible mark on Kate. Time and again she almost broke the spell that bound her, but she never quite reached the place where her thought cleared, her heart regained its courage, her soul dared take wing and try another flight. When she thought of it, I don't so much mind the falling, said Kate to herself, but I do seem to select the hardest spots to light on. Kate sat on the back steps, the sun shone, her nearest neighbor was spading in onion bed. She knew that presently she would get out the rake and spade and begin another year's work, but at that minute she felt too hopeless to move. Adam came and sat on the step beside her. She looked at him, and was surprised at his size and apparent strength. Someway he gave her hope. He was a good boy. He had never done a mean, sneaking thing that she knew of. He was natural, normal, mischievous, but he had not an underhand inclination that she could discover. He would make a fine-looking, big man, quite as fine as any of the bait's men. Even Adam III was no handsomer than the fourth Adam would be. Hope arose in her with the cool air of spring on her cheek and its wine in her nostrils. Then out of the clear sky she said it, Adam, how long are we going to stay in the beggar class? Adam jumped and turned surprised eyes toward her. Kate was forced to justify herself. Of course we give Aunt Ollie half we raise, she said, but anybody would do that. We work hard, and we live little if any better than Jason's, who have the county trustee in three times a winter. I'm big and strong, you're almost a man. Why don't we do something? Why don't we have some decent clothes, some money for outwork, and—Kate spoke at random—a horse and carriage. A horse and carriage, repeated Adam, staring at her. Why not, said Kate, casually? But how? cried the amazed boy. Why earn the money and buy it, said Kate, impatiently. I'm about fed up on earning cabbage and potatoes and skirmishing for wood. I'd prefer to have a dollar in my pocket and buy what we need. Can't you use your brain and help me figure out a way to earn some money? I mean to pretty soon now, but I thought I had to go to school a few years yet, he said. Of course you do, said Kate. I must earn the money, but can't you help me think how? Sure, said Adam, sitting straight and seeming thoughtful, but give me a little time. What would you, could you do? I taught before I was married, said Kate. But methods of teaching change, so I'd have to have a normal term to qualify for even this school. I could put you in Polly with Aunt Ali this summer, but I wouldn't, not if we must freeze and starve together. Because of Grandma, asked the boy. Kate nodded. I borrowed money to go once, and I could again, but I have been away from teaching so long, and I don't know what to do with you children. The thing I would like would be to find a piece of land somewhere, with a house, any kind of one on it, and take it to rent. Land is about all I really know. Working for money would be of some interest. I am so dead tired working for potatoes. Sometimes I see them flying around in the air at night. Do you know of any place you would like? asked Adam. No, I don't, said Kate. But I am going to begin asking, and I'm going to keep my eyes open. I heard yesterday that Dr. James intends to build a new house. This house is nothing, but the lot is in the prettiest place in town.  Seems to me I'll die if I have to work for potatoes any longer. I'm heart sick of them. Don't say a word to anybody, but, oh, Adam, think. Think hard. Can't you just help me think? You are sure you want land, asked the boy. It is all I know, said Kate. How do you feel about it? I want horses, and cows, and pigs, lots of pigs, and sheep, and lots of white hens, said Adam promptly. Get the spade and spade the onion bed until I think, said Kate. And that reminds me, we didn't divide the sets last fall. Somebody will have to go after them. I'll go, said Adam, but it's awful early. It'll snow again. Let me go after school Friday and stay overnight. I'd like to go and stay overnight with Aunt Ollie.  You keep Polly and let me go alone. Sure I can. All right, said Kate. Spade the bed and let it warm a day. It will be good for it. But don't tell Polly you're going or she'll want to go along. Until Friday night, Kate and Adam went around in such a days of deep thought that they stumbled and ran against each other, then came back to their affairs suddenly, looking at each other and smiling understandingly. After one of these encounters, Kate said to the boy, You may not arrive at anything, Adam, but I certainly can't complain that you are not thinking. Adam grinned. I'm not so sure that I haven't got it, he said. Tell me quick and let me think, too, said Kate. But I can't tell you yet, said Adam, I have to find out something first. Friday evening he wanted to put off his trip until Saturday morning, so Kate agreed. She was surprised when he bathed and put on his clean shirt and trousers, but said not a word. She had made some study of child psychology. She thought making the trip alone was of so much importance to Adam that he was dressing for the occasion. She foresaw extra washing, yet she said nothing to stop the lad. She waved good-bye to him, thinking how sturdy and good-looking he was, as he ran out of the front door. Kate was beginning to be worried when Adam had not returned toward dusk Sunday evening, and Polly was cross and fretful. Finally they saw him coming down the ravine bank, carrying his small bundle of sets. Kate felt a glow of relief. Polly ran to meet him. Kate watched as they met, and saw Adam take Polly's hand. If only they looked as much alike as some twins do, I'd be thankful, said Kate. Adam delivered the sets, said Aunt Ollie and Grandma were all right, that it was an awful long walk, and he was tired. Kate noticed that his feet were dust-covered, but his clothes were so clean, she said to him, you didn't fish much. I didn't fish any, said Adam. Not like I always fish, he added. Had any time to think, asked Kate. You just bet I did, said the boy. I didn't waste a minute. Neither did I, said Kate. I know exactly what the prettiest lot in town can be sold for. Good! cried Adam. Fine. Monday Kate wanted to get up early and stick the sets, but Adam insisted that Aunt Ollie said the sign would not be right until Wednesday. If they were stuck on Monday or Tuesday they would all grow to top. My goodness, I knew that, said Kate. I am thinking so hard I'm losing what little sense I had. But anyway, mere thinking is doing me a world of good. I am beginning to feel a kind of rising joy inside, and I can't imagine anything else that makes it. Adam went to school, laughing. Kate did the washing and ironing, and worked in the garden getting beds ready. Tuesday she was at the same occupation, when about ten o'clock she dropped her spade and straightened, a flash of perfect amazement crossing her face. She stood immovable, save for swaying forward in an attitude of tense listening. Who, who? Kate ran across the yard, and as she turned the corner of the house, she saw a one-horse spring-wagon standing before the gate, while a stiff gaunt figure sat bolt upright on the seat, holding the lines. Kate was at the wheel looking up with a face of delighted amazement. Why mother, she cried, why mother? Go fetch a chair and help me down, said Mrs. Bates. This seat is getting tarnation hard. Kate ran after a chair and helped her mother to a light. Mrs. Bates promptly took the chair on the sidewalk. Just drop the fills, she said, lead him back and slip on the halter, it's there with his feet. Kate followed instructions, her heart beating wildly. Several times she ventured a quick glance at her mother, how she had aged, how lined and thin she was, but oh how blessed good it was to see her. Mrs. Bates arose and they walked into the house, where she looked keenly around, while her sharp eyes seemed to appraise everything as she sat down and removed her bonnet. Go fetch me a drink, she said, and take the horse one and then I'll tell you why I came. I don't care why you came, said Kate, but oh mother, thank God you are here. Now now, don't get head up, cautioned Mrs. Bates, water I said. Kate hurried to obey orders, then she sank on a chair and looked at her mother. Mrs. Bates wiped her face and settled in the chair comfortably. They is no use to waste words, she said. Kate, you're the only one in the family that has any sense, and sometimes you ain't got enough so you could notice it without a magnify in glass, but even so, you're ahead of the rest of them. Kate, I'm sick and tired of the nephelses and the whistlers and being bossed by the whole Enduran Bates tribe, sick and tired of it, so I just came after you. Came after me, repeated Kate stupidly. Yes, parrot, came after you, said Mrs. Bates. I told you you'd know great amount of sense. I'm speaking plain, ain't I? I don't see much here to hold you.  That's why I brought it, and come on home and take care of me the rest of my time. It won't be so long. I won't interfere much nor be much bother. I've kept the place in order, but I'm about-fashed. I won't admit it to the rest of them, but I don't seem to mind telling you, lady, that I am almost winded. Will you come? Of course I will, said Kate, a tide of effulgent joy surging up in her heart until it almost choked her. Of course I will, mother, but my children, won't they worry you?  Why, you little fool, I think likely it's the children I am pining for most, though I couldn't have stood it much longer without you. Will you get ready and come with me to-day? Yes, said Kate, if I can make it. There's very little here I care for. I can have the second hand man give me what he will for the rest, and I can get a good price for the lot to-day, if I say so. Dr. James wants it to build on. I'll go and do the very best I can, and when you don't want me any longer, Adam will be bigger and we can look out for ourselves. Yes, I'll get ready at once if you want me to. Not much of a haggler are you, Katie, said Mrs. Bates. Why don't you ask what rooms you are to have, and what I'll pay you, and how much work you'll have to do, and if you take charge of the farm, and how we share up? Kate laughed. Mother, she said, I have been going to school here with the master of life for a teacher, and I've learned so many things that really count, that I know now none of the things you mention are essential. You may keep the answers to all those questions. I don't care a cent about any of them. If you want me, and want the children, all those things will settle themselves as we come to them. I didn't use to understand you, but we got well enough acquainted at Father's funeral, and I do now. Whatever you do will be fair, just, and right. I'll obey you, as I shall expect Adam and Polly to. Well, for land's sakes, Katie, said Mrs. Bates, life must have been welten it to you good and proper. I never expected to see you as meek as Moses.  The ways in which he beat me no Bates would understand. I had eight years of them, and I don't understand them yet. But I am so cooked with them, that I shall be wild with joy if you truly mean for me to pack up and come home with you for a while.   Hold up your head, and say what you want and how you want it. Honestly, mother, I don't want a thing on earth but to go home with you and do as you say for the next ten years, said Kate. Stiffen up, cried Mrs. Bates, stiffen up. Don't be no broken reed, Katie. I don't want you dependent on me. I came to see if you would let me lean on you the rest of the way. I won't figure in that there was anything on this earth that could get you down. So as I was calculating, you'd be the very one to hold me up. Since you seem to be feeling unaccountably weak in the knees, let's see if we can brace them a little. Living with Pa so long must kind of given me a tendency toward nothing, a deed. I've got one here I had executed two years ago, and I was a-coming with it a long about now, when a little bird told me to come to-day. So here I am. Take that, Katie. Mrs. Bates pulled a long-sealed envelope from the front of her dress and tossed it in Kate's lap. Mother, what is this? Asked Kate in a hushed voice. Well, if you'd rather use your ears than your eyes, it's all the same to me, said Mrs. Bates. The boys always had a mortal itchin' to get their fingers on the papers in the case. I can't say I don't like the difference, and I've given you every chance, too, and you wouldn't demand, you wouldn't specify. Well, I'll just specify myself. I'm dead tired of the neighbors taking care of me, and all of the children stop and every time they pass, each one order in or insinuate in according to their lights as to what I should do. I've always had a pretty clear idea of what I wanted to do myself. Over forty years I sided with Pa to keep the peace. Now I reckon I'm free to do as I like. That's my side. You can tell me yours now. Kate shook her head. I have nothing to say. Just as well, said Mrs. Bates, rehashing don't do any good. Come back and come to-day, but stiffen up.  You take possession today. There's money in the bank to paper and paint and make any little changes you'd like, such as cutting doors or windows different places, floor in the kitchen new or the like. Take it and welcome. I got more than enough to last me all my days. All I ask of you is my room, my food, and your company. Take the farm and do what you pretty please with it. But mother, cried Kate, the rest of them. They tear me limb from limb. I don't dare take this. Oh, don't you? asked Mrs. Bates. Well, I still stand for quite a bit at Bates' corners, and I say you will take that farm and run it as you like. It is mine. I give it to you. We all know it wasn't your fault you lost your money, though it was a dose it took some of us a good long time to swallow. You are the only one out of your share. You settle things fine for the rest of them, and they all know it and feel it. You'll never know what you did for me the way you put me through Paws' funeral.  Now set us out a bite to eat, and let's be off. Kate slowly arose and handed back the deed. I'll be flying around so lively I might lose that, she said. You put it where you had it till we get to Hartley, and then I'll get a place in the bank vault for it. I can't quite take this in just yet, but you know I'll do my best for you, mother. Taint likely I'd be here else, said Mrs. Bates. And tea, Katie, a cup of good strong hot tea would fix me up about proper right now. Kate went to the kitchen and began setting everything she had to eat on the table. As she worked, Polly came flying in the door, crying, Mother, who has come? So Kate stepped toward the living-room to show the child to her grandmother, and as she advanced she saw a queer thing. Adam was sitting on his grandmother's lap. Her arms were tight around him.  Then the lad and the old woman laid their heads together and laughed almost hysterically. Well, if that isn't quick work, said Kate to herself. Then she presented Polly, who followed Adam's lead in hugging the stranger first and looking at her afterward.  Then Adam ran to tell the second hand man to come at one o'clock, and Dr. James that he might have the keys at three. They ate hurriedly. Kate set out what she wished to save. The children carried things to the wagon, she packed while they ran after their books, and at three o'clock all of them climbed into the spring wagon and started to Bates' corners. Kate was the last one in. As she climbed on the seat beside her mother and took the reins, she handed Mrs. Bates a small china mug to hold for her. It was decorated with a very fat robin, and on a banner floating from its beak was inscribed, for a good girl. CHAPTER XXI. LIFE SPOOMERANG. As they drove into Hartley, Mrs. Bates drew forth the deed. You were right about the bank being a safe place for this, she said. I've had it drowned the house for two years, and it's a fair nervous thing to do. I wish I'd had a sense to put it there and come after you the day I made it. But there's no use crying over spilled milk nor fussing with the grease spot it makes.  Kate passed the lines to her mother and climbed from the wagon. She returned with her confidence partly restored and a new look on her face. Her mother handed her two dimes. I can wait five minutes longer, she said. Now get two nice oranges and a dime's worth of candy. Kate took the money and obeyed orders. She handed the packages to her mother as she climbed into the wagon and again took the lines, heading the horse toward the old familiar road. Her mother twisted around on the seat and gave each of the children an orange and a stick of candy. There, she said, go and spoil yourselves past redemption. Kate laughed, but mother, she said, you never did that for us. Which ain't saying I never wanted to, so Mrs. Bates sourly.  It's a little too rough to strip childhood of everything. And so certain Bates ways are right that for the rest of my time I'm going to fly in the face of all creation to prove it. If God lets me live a few years more, I want the faces around me a little less discontenteder than those I've been used to. If God Almighty spares me long enough, I lay out to make sure that Adam and Polly will squeeze out a tear or two for Granny when she is laid away. I think you were right, mother, said Kate. It didn't cost anything, but we had a real pretty Christmas tree this year, and I believe we can do better next time. I want the children to love you, but don't buy them. Well, I'd hardly call an orange and a stick of candy trafficking in affection, said Mrs. Bates. They'll survive it without undermining their principles. I'll bound all yours either, Katie. Let's make a beginning today. Let's work what is right and healthy, a fair part of the day, and then each day, and Sunday especially, let's play and rest just as hard as we work. It's been all work and no play till we've been mighty dull boys at our house. I'm free to say that, Tanka, for a change before I die. Don't speak so often of dying, said Kate. You're all right. You've been too much alone. You'll feel like yourself as soon as you get rested. I guess I've been thinking about it too much, said Mrs. Bates. Amping so well as I might and not being used to it, it worries me. I got to buck up. The one thing I can't do is die, but I'm most tired enough to do it right now. I'll be glad when we get home. Kate drove carefully, but as fast as she dared with her load. As I neared Bates' corner, the way he became more familiar each mile. Kate forgot the children, forgot her mother, forgot ten years of disappointment and failure, and began a struggle to realize what was happening to her now. The line slipped down. The horse walked slowly. The first thing she knew, big, hot tears splashed on her hand. She gathered up the lines, drew a deep breath, and glanced at her mother, meeting her eye fairly. Katey tried to smile, but her lips were quivering. Glad Katey? Asked Mrs. Bates. Kate nodded. Me too, said Mrs. Bates. They passed the orchard. There's the house there, Polly. Katey cried, Adam. Why, Adam, how did you know the place? asked Kate, turning. Adam hesitated a second. Ain't you told us times are plenty about the house and the lilac and the snowball bush? Yes, and the cabardroses, added Polly. So I have, said Kate, mostly last winter when we were knitting. Yes, this will be home for all the rest of our lives. Isn't it grand? How will we ever thank Grandmother? How will we ever be good enough to pay her? Both children thought this a hint, so with one accord they rose and fell on Mrs. Bates's back and began to pay it once in coin of childhood. There, there, said Kate, drawing them away as she stopped the horse at the gate. There, there, you will choke Grandmother. Mrs. Bates pushed Kate's arm down. Mind your own business, will you? she said. Ain't so feeble that I can't speak for myself a while yet. In a daze Kate climbed down and ranted in a chair to help her mother. The children were boisterously half-eating Mrs. Bates up. Kate could both of them in her arms, with every outward evidence of enjoying her performance immensely. That was a very busy evening, for the wagon was to be unpacked. All of them were hungry, while the stock was to be fed, and the milk-king done. Mrs. Bates and Polly attempted supper. Kate and Adam went to the barn, but they walked very hurriedly, for Kate could see how feeble her mother had grown. One at last the children were bathed and in bed.  Kate reached over and took her mother's hand. There's no word I know in any language big enough to thank you for this, mother, she said, that the best I can do is make each day as nearly a perfect expression of what I feel as possible. Mrs. Bates drew away her hand and used it to wipe her eyes, but she said with her usual task of perversity, My Kate, your master's word is Agatha.  Kate laughed and gave up the thanks-question. Tomorrow we must get some onions in, she said. Have you made any plans about the farm-warp for this year yet? No, said Mrs. Bates. I was going to leave that till I decided whether I'd come after you this spring or wait until next. Since I decided to come now, I'll just leave your farm to you. Hand it to she, please. Mother, what will the children say? implored Kate. Hmph! You're about as well acquainted with them as I am. Take a shot at it yourself. If it will avoid a fuss, we might just say you had come to stay with me and run the farm for me and let them get used to your being here and bossing things by degrees, like the man that cut his dog's tail off an inch at a time so it wouldn't hurt so bad. But by inches or at one fell swoop it's going to heart, said Kate. Sometimes it seems to me, said Mrs. Bates, that the more we get hurt in this world the decenter it makes us. All the boys were hurt enough when par went, but every man of them has been a bigger, better man since. Instead of competing as I always did, Adam and Andrew on the older, the forehand of the ones took hold and helped the younger as you know them to, and it's done the whole family a world of good. One thing is funny. To hear Mary talk now you'd think she'd engineered the plan herself.  I leave it to you. Tell them or let them get it by degrees. It's all one to me. Tell me about Nancy Ellen and Robert, said Kate. Robert stands head in heartily. He gets bigger and broader every year. He's better looking than a man has any business to be, and I hear the hearty ladies give him plenty of encouragement in being stuck on himself, but I think he is true to Nancy Ellen and his heart is all in his work. No children. That's a burning shame. Both of them feel it. In a way and strictly between you and me Nancy is disappointment to me, and I doubt if she ain't been a mightful one to him. He had a right to expect a good deal of Nancy Ellen. She had such a good brain and a good body, and purty face. I may miss my guess, but it always strikes me that she falls short of what he expected of her. His coin money, but she hasn't spent it in the ways he would. Likely I shouldn't say it, but he strikes me as being just a little might too good for her. Oh, mother! said Kate. Now, do you look here? said Mrs. Bates. Suppose you was a man of Robert's brains and education and professional ability, and you made heaps of money, and no children came, and you had to see all you earned and stood for, and did in a community spent on the selfishness of one woman. How big would you feel? What end is that for the ambition and life-work of a real man? How would you like it? I never thought of such a thing, said Kate. Well, mark my words, you will think of it when you see their home, and her clothes, and see them together, said Mrs. Bates. She still loves pretty clothing so well, asked Kate. She is the best-dressed woman in the county and the best-looking, said Mrs. Bates. And that's all there is to her. I'm free to say, with her chances, I am ashamed of what she has, and hasn't made up herself. I'd rather stand in your shoes than hers, this minute, Katey. Does she know I'm here? asked Kate. Yes, I stopped and told her on my way out this morning, said Mrs. Bates. I asked them to come for Sunday dinner, and they are coming. Did you deliver the invitation by force? asked Kate. Now, none of your meddling, said Mrs. Bates. I got what I went after, and that was all I wanted. I've told her and told her to come to see you during the last three years, and I know she wanted to come, but she just had that stubborn bait streak in her that wouldn't let her change once her mind was made up. It did give us a pretty severe jolt, Kate, having all that Bates money burn up. I scarcely think it jolted any of you more than it did me, said Kate, dryly. No, I reckon it didn't, said Mrs. Bates. But there's no use hauling ourselves over the coals to go into that. It's past. I went out to face life bravely enough, and it throwed you a boom around that cut a circle, and brought you back where you started from. Our arrangements for the future are all made.  Those are mighty nice children of yours, Kate. I take to that voice of something amazing, and the girl is a nicest little old lady I've seen in many a day. I think we all like knitting and sewing together to the top of our bent." My, but I'm glad you like them, mother, said Kate. They're all I've got to show for ten years of my life. Not by long shot, Katey, said Mrs. Bates. Life has made a real woman of you. I kept watching you today, coming over, and I was proud of them, gee-hoo, of you. It's a debateful question whether you have thrown away your time and your money. I say you've got something to show for it that I wish to God the rest of my children had. I want you should brace your back and stiffen your neck and make things hum here. Get a carpenter first, fix the house the way it will be most convenient and comfortable. Then paint and paper and get what new things you like. In reason. Of course, in reason. And then I want you should get all of this clothes, so as to end noticeable difference between us and others when we come together here or elsewhere. Put in a telephone. They're mighty handy, and if you can scrape up a place. I washed in Nancy Allen's tub a few weeks ago. I never was wet all over at once before in my life, and I'm just itching to try it again. I say let's have it if it knocks a fair size hole in a $500 bill. And if we had to telephone right now, we could call up folks and order what we want without ever budging out of our tracks. Go up ahead, Katie.  It won't hurt my feelings a might if you can think of one or two things the rest of them haven't got yet. Can't you think of something that will lay the rest of them clear in the shade? I just wish you could. Now I'm going to bed. Kate went with her mother, opened her bed, pulled out the pins, and brushed her hair, drew the thin cover over her, and blew out the light. Then she went past the bed on her way to the door, and stooping, she kissed her mother for the first time since she could remember. Then she lied to the lamp, hunted a big sheet of wrapping paper, and sitting down beside a living room table, she drew a rough sketch of the house for hours she poured over it, and one at last she went to bed. On the reverse of the sheet she had a drawing that was quite a different affair, yet it was the same house with very few and easily made changes as a good contract could accomplish in a short time. In the morning she showed these ideas to her mother, who approved all of them, but she showed disappointment visibly. There's nothing but all the rest of them have, she said. I thought you could think up some frills that would be new and different. Well, said Kate, would you want to go to the expense of setting up a furnace in the cellar? It would make the whole house toasty warm. It would keep the bathroom from freezing in cold weather, and make a better way to heat the water. Now you're shouting, cried Mrs. Bates, that's it, but keep still. Don't you tell a soul about it, but go on and do it, Katie. Wade right in. What else can you think of?  I think myself this is enough for a start, but if you insist on more, there's a gas line passing us out there on the road, we could hitch on for a very reasonable sun and do away with lamps and cooking with water. Goodie for you, that's it, cried Mrs. Bates. That's the very thing.  Me and Polly will keep the house. In a month all of these changes had been made, and were in running order. The painting was finished, new furniture in place, a fair start made on the garden, while a strong, young-eyed man was not far behind here and with his plowing. Kate was so tired she almost staggered, but she was so happy she arose each morning refreshed, and accomplished work enough for three average women before the day was over. She suggested to her mother that she use her money from the sale of the Walden home to pay for what furniture she had bought, and that none of the others could feel that they were entitled to any share in it at any time. Mrs. Bates thought that a good idea, so much ill will, was saved among the children. They all stopped in passing, some of them had sharp words to say, which Katey instantly answered in such a way that this was seldom tried twice. In two months the place was fresh, clean, convenient, and in good taste. All of them had sufficient suitable clothing, while the farmwork had not been neglected enough to heart the value of the crops. In the division of labour, Adam and the hired man took the barn and fieldwork, Mrs. Bates and Polly the house, while Kate threw all her splendid strength wherever it was most needed. If a horse was sick, she went to the barn and doctored it. If the hay was going to get wet, she pitched hay. If the men had knocked time for the garden, she attended it and hoed the potatoes. For a change everything went right. Mrs. Bates was happier than she had ever been before, taking the greatest interest in the children. They had lived for three years in such a manner that they would never forget it. They were old enough to appreciate what changes had come to them, and to be very keen about their new home and life. Kate threw herself into the dream of her heart, with all the zest of her being. Always she had loved and wanted land. Now she had it. She knew how to handle it. She could make it pay as well as any Bates man, for she had man's strength in all her life she had heard men discuss and helped men apply man methods. There was a strong strain in her father's spirit of driving in Kate's blood. But her mother was so tired of it that whenever Kate had gone just so far the older woman had merely cautioned, now, now, Kate, to make Kate realize what she was doing and take a slower pace. All of them were well, happy, and working hard, but they also played at proper times and in convenient places. Kate and her mother went with the children when they finished in the meadowbrook, or hunted wild flowers in the woods, for polly's bed in the shade of the pear tree beside the garden. There were flowers in the garden now as weather's vegetables. There was no work done on Sunday. The children always went to Sunday school and the full term of the district school at Bates Corners. They were respected. They were prosperous. They were finding a joy in life. They never before had known, while life had taught them how to appreciate its good things as they achieved them. The first Christmas Mrs. Bates and Kate made a Christmas tree from a small sabine in the door-yard that stood while Kate wanted to set a flowering shrub she had found in the woods. Guided by the former year and with a few dollars they decided to spend, these women made a real Christmas tree with gifts and ornament over which Mrs. Bates was much more excited than the children. Indeed, such is the perversity of the children that Kate eyes widened and her mouth sagged when she heard Adam say in a half whisper to Polly, "'This might be pretty, but gee, Polly, there will never be another tree as pretty as ours last year.' While Polly answered, "'I was just thinking about it, Adam. Wasn't it the grandest thing?' The next Christmas Mrs. Bates advanced to a tree that reached the ceiling, with many candles, real ornaments, and an orange, stocking of candy and nuts, and a doll for each girl, and a knife for each boy of her grandchildren, all of whom she invited for dinner. Adam sat at the head of the table and Mrs. Bates at the foot. The tiniest tots that could be trusted without their parents ranged on the dictionary and the Bible of which the Bates family possessed a fat addition for birth records. No one had ever used it for any purpose until it served to lift her and his baby, Millie, on a level with her roast turkey and cranberry jelly. For a year before her party Mrs. Bates planned for it. The tree was beautiful, the gifts amazing, the dinner as Kate cooked and served it, a revelation with its big centre basket of red, yellow, and green apples, oranges, bananas, grapes, and flowers. None of them had ever seen a table like that. Then one dinner was over, Kate sat before the fire, and in her clear voice, with fine inflections, she read from the big book the story of the guiding star and the little children in the manger. Then she told stories, and they played games until four o'clock. And then Adam rolled all of the children into the big wagon-bed mounted on the sled-runners and took them home. Then he came back and finished the day. Mrs. Bates could scarcely be persuaded to go to bed. One at last Kate went to put out her mother's light, and see that her feet were warm and her covers tucked. She found her crying. Why, mother, exclaimed Kate in frank dismay, wasn't everything all right? I'm just so enduro and mad, so of Mrs. Bates, that I could amost scream and throw things now. Here I am, closer to the end of my string than anybody knows. Likely I'll not see another Christmas. I've lived the most of my life, and never know there was a time like that on earth to be had. There wasn't expense to which we couldn't easily have stored always. Now at the end of my tether, I go and do this for my grandchildren. To win their little shining faces, and me, they kept coming all day, the little sad, disappointed faces of you and Nancy Ellen, and Mary, and Hannah, and Adam, and Andrew, and Hiram, and all the others. Ever since he went, I've thought that one thing I couldn't do was to die and face Adam Bates. But today I am felt so scared of him. Seems to me he has got about as much to account for as I have. Kate stood breathlessly still, looking at her mother. Mrs. Bates wiped her eyes. I am so mortal-certain, she said, so I don't open up on him and take the first word. I think likely I've been defrauded out of more that really counts in this world than he has. Ain't that the heroly-poly of Hannah's too sweet?  And as she went out, she whispered in my ear, Do it again, Grandma. Oh, please do it again, and it's more likely I'll not get the chance no matter how willing I am. Kate, I'm going to leave you what of my money is left. I haven't spent so much, and while you live here, I wish each year you would have this same kind of a party and pay for it out of that money, and call it Grandmother's Party. Will you? I surely will, said Kate, and hadn't I'd better have all of them and put some little thing from you on the tree for them. You know how Hiram always was wild for cuff-buttons, and Mary could talk by the hour about a handkerchief with lace on it, and Andrew never yet has got that copy of Esop's fables he always wanted. Shall I? Yes, said Mrs. Bates. Oh, yes, and when you do it, Katey, if I don't chain me pretty close in on the other side, I think likely I'll be sticking round as near as I can get to you. Kate slipped a hot brick rolled in flannel to the cold old feet, and turning out the light, she sat beside the bed and stroked the tired head until easy-breathing told her that her mother was sound asleep. Then she went back to the fireplace, and sitting in the red glowed, she told Adam part of what her mother had said. Long after he was gone, she sat gazing into the slowly graying coals, her mind busy with what she had not told. That spring was difficult for Kate. Day after day she saw her mother growing older, feebler, and frailer, and as the body failed, upflamed the wings of the spirit, carrying her on and on, each day keeping her alive when Kate did not see how it could be done. With all the force she could gather each day Mrs. Bates struggled to keep going, denied that she felt badly, drove herself to try to help about the house and garden. Kate warned the remainder of the family what they might expect at any hour, but when they began coming in oftener, bringing little gifts and being unusually kind, Mrs. Bates endured a few of the visits in silence. Then she turned to Kate, and said after her latest callers, "'I wonder what, in the name of all possessed angels of folks, are they just itching to start my funeral? Can't they stay away until you send them word that the breath's out of my body?' "'Mother, you shock me,' said Kate. "'They come because they love you. They try to tell you so with the little things they bring. Most people would think they were neglected if their children did not come to see them when they were not so well.' "'Not so well?' cried Mrs. Bates. "'Folly, I am as well as I ever was. They needn't come snooping around trying to make me think I'm not. If they had done it all their lives well and good, it's no time for them to begin being cotton mouths now.' "'Mother,' said Kate gently, "'haven't you changed yourself about things like Christmas, for example? Maybe your children are changing, too. Maybe they feel that they have missed something they'd like to have from you and give back to you. Before it's too late. Just maybe,' said Kate. Mrs. Bates sat at bolt-up-right still, but her flashing eyes softened. "'I hadn't just thought of that,' she said. "'I think it's more than likely.' "'Well, if it's that way, I suppose I've got to button up my lip and stand it. It's about more than I can go, and I know that the first time I lose my grip-hold and smash up against Adam Bates and my settlement with him.' "'Mother,' said Kate, still more gently. "'I thought we had it settled at the time father went that each of you would be accountable to God not to know each other. I'm a wanderer in darkness myself when it comes to talking about God, but this I know. He is somewhere, and he is redeeming love. If father has been in the light of his love all these years, he must have changed more, far more than you have. He'll understand now how wrong he was to force ways on you he knew you didn't think right. He'll have more to account to you for than you will ever to him. And remember this only, neither of you is accountable save to your God.'" Mrs. Bates arose and walked to the door, drawn to full height, her head very erect. The world was at bloom-time. The evening air was heavily sweet with lilacs, and the widely branching old apple trees of the door-yard were loaded with flowers. She stepped outside. Kate followed. Her mother went down the steps and down the walk to the gate. Kate kept beside her in reach, yet not touching her. At the gate she gripped the pickets to steady herself as she stared long and unflinchingly at the red-setting sun dropping behind a white wall of bloom. Then she slowly turned, life's greatest tragedy lining her face, her breath coming in short gasps. She straddered her hands at each side as if to balance herself, her parting soul in her eyes and looked at Kate. "'Kathryn Eleanor,' she said slowly and distinctly, "'I'm going now. I can't fight it off any longer. I confess myself. I burned those tees. Every one of them. Per got himself a fire, but he had thrown them out of it. It was my chance. I took it. Are you going to tell them?' Kate was standing as tall and straight as her mother. Her hands extended the same, but not touching her. "'No,' she said. You were an instrument in the hands of God to right a great wrong. No. I shall never tell a soul while I live.  "'Well, we'll see about that right now,' said Mrs. Bates, lifting her face to the sky. "'Into thy hands, O Lord. Into thy hands.' Then she closed her eyes and ceased to breathe. Kate took her into her arms and carried her to bed. CHAPTER XXII somewhat of Polly If the spirit of Mrs. Bates hovered among the bloom-whitened apple-trees, as her mortal remains were carried past the lilacs and cabbage-rose-brushes through a rain of drifting petals, she must have been convinced that time had wrought one great change in the hearts of her children. They had all learnt to weep, while if the tears they shed were a criterion of their feelings for her, surely her soul must have been satisfied. They laid her away with simple ceremony, and then all of them went to their homes, except Nancy Ellen and Robert, who stopped in passing to learn if there was anything they could do for Kate. She was grieving too deeply for many words. None of them would ever understand the deep bond of sympathy and companionship that had grown to exist between her and her mother. She stopped at the front porch, and sat down, feeling unable to enter the house with Nancy Ellen, who was deeply concerned over the lack of taste displayed in Agatha's new spring hat. When Kate could endure it no longer, she interrupted. Why didn't all of them come? What for? asked Nancy Ellen.  But what was the use? asked Nancy Ellen. Adam had been managing the administrative business for mother, and paying her taxes with his. Of course, when she made a deed to you and had it recorded, they told him. All of us knew it for two years before she went after you, and the new furniture was bought with your money. So it's yours. What was there to have a meeting about? Mother didn't understand that you children knew, said Kate. Sometimes I thought there were a lot of things mother didn't understand, said Nancy Ellen. And sometimes I thought she understood so much more than any of the rest of us that all of us would have had a big surprise if we could have seen her brain. Yes, I believe we would, said Kate. Do you mind telling me how the boys and girls feel about this? Nancy Ellen laughed shortly. Well, the boys feel that you negotiated such a fine settlement of father's affairs for them that they owe this to you. The girls were pretty sore at first, and some of them are nursing their wrath yet. But there wasn't a thing on earth they could do. All of them were perfectly willing that you should have something after the fire, of course. Most of them thought mother went too far. I think so myself, said Kate. But she never came near me, or wrote me, or sent me even one word until the day she came after me. I had nothing to do with it. All of us know that, Kate, said Nancy Ellen. You needn't worry. We're all used to it, and we're all at the place where we have nothing to say. To escape grieving for her mother, Kate worked that summer as never before. Adam was growing big enough and strong enough to be a real help. He was interested in all they did, always after the reason and trying to think of a better way. Kate secured the best agricultural paper for him, and they read it nights together. They kept an account book, and set down all they spent, and balanced against it all they earned, putting the difference which was often more than they hoped for in the bank. So the years ran. As the children grew older, Polly discovered that the nicest boy in school lived across the road half a mile north of them, while Adam, after a real struggle in his loyal twin soul, aided by the fact that Henry Peters usually had divided his apples with Polly before Adam reached her, discovered that Millie York, across the road half a mile south, liked his apples best, and was as nice a girl as Polly ever dared to be. In a dazed way Kate learnt these things from their after-school and Sunday talk, saw that they nearly reached her shoulder, and realised that they were sixteen. So quickly the time goes when people are busy, happy, and working together. At least Kate and Adam were happy, for they were always working together. By tacit agreement they left Polly the easy housework, and went themselves to the fields to wrestle with the rugged work of a farm. They thought they were shielding Polly, teaching her a woman's real work, and being kind to her. Polly thought they were together because they liked to be, doing the farm work because it suited them better, while she had known from babyhood that for some reason her mother did not care for her as she did for Adam. She thought at first that it was because Adam was a boy. Later when she noticed her mother watching her every time she started to speak, and interrupted with the never-failing caution, Now be careful, think before you speak, are you sure? She wondered why this should happen to her always to Adam never. She asked Adam about it, but Adam did not know. It never occurred to Polly to ask her mother, while Kate was so uneasy, it never occurred to her that the child would notice or what she would think. The first time Polly deviated slightly from the truth, she and Kate had had a very terrible time. Kate felt fully justified. The child astonished and abused. Polly arrived at the solution of her problem slowly. As she grew older, she saw that her mother, who always was charitable to everyone else, was repelled by her grandmother, while she loved Aunt Olly. After still, Polly realized that she was a reproduction of her grandmother. She had only to look at her to see this.  By the time she was sixteen, Polly had arrived at a solution that satisfied her as to why her mother liked Adam better, and always left her alone in the house to endless cooking, dishwashing, sweeping, dusting, washing, and ironing, while she owed potatoes, pitched hay, or sheared sheep. Polly thought the nicer way would have been to do the housework together, and then go to the fields together. But she was a good soul, so she worked alone and brooded in silence, and watched up the road for a glimpse of Henry Peters, who liked to hear her talk, and to whom it mattered not a mite that her hair was lustrous, her eyes steel-coloured, and her nose like that of a woman he never had seen. In her way Polly admired her mother, loved her, and worked until she was almost dropping for Kate's scant, infrequent words of praise. So Polly had to be content in the kitchen. One day, having finished her work two hours before dinner time, she sauntered to the front gate. How strange that Henry Peters should be at the end of the field, joining their land. When he waved she waved back. When he climbed the fence she opened the gate. They met half-way under the bloomful shade of a red hall. Henry wondered who too many had seen leaving the whole gate were, and what they wanted, but he was too polite to ask. He merely hoped they did not annoy her. Oh, no, they were only some men to see mother about some business, but it was most kind of him to let her know he was looking out for her.  Of course not! The fields were no place for such a pretty girl. There was enough work in the house for her. This sister should not work in the field if he had a sister, and Polly should not work there if she belonged to him, no sirree. Polly looked at Henry with shining, young girl eyes, and when he said she was pretty, her blue-gray eyes softened, her cheeks pinked up, the sun put light in her hair nature had failed to, and lo and behold the marvel was wrought. Then little Polly became a thing of beauty. She knew it instantly because she saw herself in Henry Peter's eyes, and Henry was so amazed when this wonderful transformation took place in little Polly right under the red hawtery that his own eyes grew big and tender, his cheeks flooded with red blood, his heart shook him, and he drew to full height, and became possessed of an overwhelming desire to dance before Polly, and sing to her. He grew so splendid, Polly caught her breath, and then she smiled on him a very wondering smile over the great discovery, and Henry grew so bewildered he forgot either to dance or sing a preliminary. He merely, just merely reached out and gathered Polly in his arms, and held her against him, and stared down at her wonderful beauty, opening right out under his eyes. "'Little Beautiful!' said Henry Peter's in a hush, choking voice. "'Little Beautiful!' Polly looked up at him. She was every bit as beautiful as he thought her, while he was so beautiful to Polly that she gasped for breath. How did he happen to look as he did, right under the red hawt, in broad daylight? He had been hers, of course, ever since, shy and fearful, she had first entered Bates' corner school, and found courage in his broad, encouraging smile. Now she smiled on him the smile of possession that was in her heart. Henry instantly knew she always had belonged to him, so he grasped her closer and bent his head. When Henry went back to the plow, and Polly ran down the road with the joy of the world surging in her heart and brain, she knew that she was going to have to account to her tired, busy mother for being half an hour late with dinner, and he knew he was going to have to explain to an equally tired father why he was four-forwards short of where he should be. He came to book first and told the truth. He had seen some men go to the halts. Polly was his little chum, and she was always alone all summer, so he just walked that way to be sure she was safe. His father looked at him quizzically. "'So that's the way the wind blows,' he said. "'Well, I don't know where you could find a nicer little girl or a better worker. I'd always hoped you'd take to Millie York. If Polly is better, she can work three of Millie down—awful plane, though. This sacrilege came while Henry's lips were tingling with their first kiss, and his heart was drunken with the red wine of innocent young love. "'Why, Dad, you're crazy,' he cried. "'There isn't another girl in the whole world as pretty and sweet as Polly. Millie York—she can't hold a candle to Polly. Besides, she's been Adams as long as Polly has been mine.' "'God bless my soul,' cried Mr. Peters. "'How these youngsters do run away with us. And are you the most beautiful young man at Bates' Corners, Henry?  "'So you and Ma can get ready for a wedding, as soon as Polly says the word. I'm ready now.' "'So am I,' said Mr. Peters. "'And from the way Ma complains about the work I and you boys make her, I don't think she would object to a little help. Polly is a good, steady worker.' Polly ran, but she simply could not light the fire, set the table, and get things cooked on time, while everything she touched seemed to spill or slip. She could not think what or how to do the usual, for the very good reason that Henry Peters was a prince, and a knight, and a lover, and a sweetheart, and her man. She had just agreed to all this with her soul less than an hour ago under the red hall. No wonder she was late.  Then in came Kate. She must lose no time. The corn must be finished before it rained. She must hurry.  Kate stepped in and began to write things with practised hand. Disaster came when she saw Polly at the well, take an instant from bringing in the water, to wave in the direction of the Peters farm. As she entered the door, Kate swept her with a glance. Have to upset the bowl as usual, she said scathingly. Just as I think you're going to make something of yourself and be of some use, you begin moaning in the direction of that big, gangling, hank, Peters. Don't you ever let me see you do it again. You are too young to start that kind of foolishness. I bet a cow he was hanging around here and made you late for dinner. He did not. He didn't either, cried Polly, then stopped in dismay, her cheeks burning. She gulped and went on bravely. That is, he wasn't here, and he didn't make me late any more than I kept him from his work. He always watches when there are tramps and peddlers on the road because he knows I'm alone. I knew he would be watching, two men who stopped to see you, so I just went as far as the Hortree to tell him I was all right, and we got to talking. If only Kate had been looking at Polly then, but she was putting the apple, butter and cream on the table. As she did so, she thought possibly it was a good idea to have Henry Peters seeing that tramps did not frighten Polly. So she missed dawn on the face of her child, and instead of what might have been, she said, well, I must say that is neighborly of him.  I think Aunt Nancy Ellen will let you stay at her house after this, and go to the Hartley High School in winter so you can come out of it much better prepared to teach than I ever was. I had a surprise planned for you to-night, but now I don't know whether you deserve it or not. I'll have to think. Kate did not think at all.  Of course Polly should have her share in it. Left alone to wash the dishes and cook supper while her mother went into town, it was Polly who did the thinking. She thought entirely too much, thought bitterly, thought disappointedly, and finally thought resentfully, and then alas, Polly thought deceitfully.  Very well. She would be extremely careful that she was not seen. But before she slept, she rather thought she would find a way to let Henry know how she was being abused, and about that plan to send her away all the long winter to school. She rather thought Henry would have something to say about how his little beautiful was being treated. Here Polly looked long and searchingly in the mirror to see if, by any chance, Henry was mistaken, and she discovered he was. She stared in amazement at that pink, cheeked, shining-eyed girl she saw mirrored. She pulled her hair looser around the temples and drew her lips over her teeth. Surely Henry was mistaken. Little Beautiful was too moderate. She would see that he said, Perfectly Lovely the next time. And he did. End of Chapter 22