"So, so! you beast!" roared the old man as he finally cornered the
shrinking, nearly frantic creature.
"Don't you want to look at the garden?" asked Mrs. McLane of
Howard; and they went out among the vegetables and berries.
The bees were coming home heavily laden and crawling slowly
into the hives. The level, red light streamed through the trees,
blazed along the grass, and lighted a few old-fashioned flowers
into
red ai~d gold flame. It was beautiful, and Howard looked at it
through his half-shut eyes as the painters do, and turned away with
a sigh at the sound of blows where the wet and grimy men were
assailing the frantic cows.
"There's Wesley with your trunk," Mrs. McLane said, recalling him
to himself.
Wesley helped him carry the trunk in and waved off thanks.
"Oh, that's all right," he said; and Howard knew the Western man
too well to press the matter of pay.
As he went in an hour later and stood by the trunk, the dull ache
came back into his heart. How he had failed! It seemed like a bitter
mockery now to show his gifts.
Grant had come in from his work, and with his feet released from
his chafing boots, in his wet shirt and milk-splashed overalls, sat at
the kitchen table reading a newspaper which he held close to a
small kerosene lamp.
Pages:
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129