"And I imagine that people stop just to look in at it," Katherine spoke up.

"We might label it as having been the property of some great man," said the Professor.

"Oh, I know it's a joke with you, but it's not with us," his wife retorted. "I don't see any fun in a disgrace."

"Have you no respect for the aged?" he asked, trying to wink at his daughter, but she would not accept it. "Let us trail a vine about it and call it a ruined mill."

"That's a stab at me, mother," said the girl. "I am not permitted to have a sentiment."

"Well, I don't want any; I've had enough," the mother replied. "It's sentiment, sentiment ever since I can remember, and I'm sick of it."

"You want poetry, my dear," said the Professor. "Or at least you set store by it, for didn't you give Tennyson to the preacher?"

"I don't care if I did, I'm going to throw that old thing out. Wesley, when is your insurance due?"

"It is paid, madam, thanks be to the Lord. I sent the money off yesterday."

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to send it?"

"Oh, it was a mere trifle, and I forgot it."

"For pity sake! And where did you get the money?"

"I combed it out of the gra.s.s."

"Well, you'd better comb out some for us while you are combing. I've lived this way till I'm tired of it. Where did you get that money?"

"The gra.s.s was thick, and the gra.s.s was long, and the comb pulled heavy and slow."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself. That's all I've got to say."

"I'm afraid not."

"I'll talk just as much as I please."

"I'm afraid so. But let us all be cheerful now. Yesterday it was dark and misty, and now the sun is bright. Here, mamma, kiss me to my labor.

I haven't drawn at the weak sinews of my feeble salary, and you shall have enough to buy a new sofa."

"That's a good dear," she said, kissing him. "Don't let what I said worry you. I didn't mean it."

He whistled at the dog as he went out; he sang merrily as he walked along the road, with the sunrise on his face and the noontime in his heart.

CHAPTER XIII.

DORSEY.

It was Mitch.e.l.l's day to cook, and when Milford came in to dinner, the hired man told him that he had something of importance to tell.

"Out with it," said Milford.

"No, not till you eat. I never like to choke off a man's appet.i.te. I wouldn't like to have a man choke off mine. I'd be like old Matt Lindsey. The court said he must hang for murderin' a peddler. His lawyers took his case before the supreme bench. And after it had been argued one of 'em came down to the jail to see old Matt. Just about that time the jailer brought in his dinner. Old Matt said to the lawyer, 'Don't tell me till I've eat this stuff. Afterwards I mightn't be in the humor, and I don't want to miss a meal.' And it was a good thing he eat first."

"Well, is what you've got to say so bad as all that?"

"Not a hangin' affair, but it's bad enough. The fact is, you can make it just as bad as you want it."

"If it rests with me, I'll not make it very bad. I'll tell you that."

"But I'll be hanged if it hain't made you turn pale. Why, you're scared, Bill. Oh, it's not so bad. I'll tell you now, seein' that I've already choked off your appet.i.te. Why, there's a feller over at Mrs. Stuvic's that's too fresh. I was out by the windmill and your girl and a woman came along; and this feller was standin' off, not far away, talkin' to a chump that was with him, and he made a remark about the girl--won't tell you what it was, for a feller that's stuck don't like to hear such things repeated--I know I wouldn't. And I said to myself at the time, 'If Bill knowed that he'd mash your mouth.'"

"What sort of a looking fellow is he?" Milford quietly asked.

"Big feller. The hired man over there says his name's Dorsey. Just got here, I believe."

"All right. Did you fix the fence where the sheep broke in?"

"Somebody left the gap down. It's all right now."

"Did you wrap the collar so it won't hurt the horse's shoulder?"

"Yes, works all right, now. Haven't got enough to eat, have you?"

"Not very hungry to-day," said Milford as he walked out. The hired man called after him, but he did not stop. He took the straight road to Mrs.

Stuvic's. He saw Mrs. Blakemore coming out to the gate. She smiled upon him as he drew near. She said that she had just received a letter from George. He was in business again; a real estate firm had taken him as an experiment. He made a large sale the second day, and was now regularly employed at a good commission. It had made her very happy. She never would forget Mr. Milford; there was no doubt about it, he had inspired her husband with strength. Milford asked if a man named Dorsey were at the house. She said that she believed there was; he was at dinner. "If you want to see him, I'll tell Mrs. Stuvic," she said.

"I wish you would. Tell her I want to see him now. I haven't time to wait."

"I will. But isn't that glorious news from George? Oh, you don't know how low-spirited he was. Sometimes I thought he never would get up again. Don't you know that just a word, even though lightly spoken, may sometimes spur one to renewed action? Oh, it's undoubtedly a fact."

"Yes, words may sometimes be ashes, but often they are coals of fire.

Will you please--"

"Oh, that's a good sentiment. I must remember it and tell George. He'll be out again Sat.u.r.day evening. But I'll go and tell Mrs. Stuvic that you want to see--that's the man coming out now."

A strong-looking man came walking out toward the gate. Mrs. Blakemore stepped aside, and he was about to pa.s.s when Milford said: "Your name is Dorsey, I understand."

"That's it," the man replied, taking a toothpick out of his mouth.

"I'd like to see you a moment on business; over in the grove."

"What's your name?"

"Come over into the grove. I want to see you a moment. My name's Milford."

"Do you want to see me about a horse? I want to hire one. Is that it?"