"How's that?"

"Oh, he sorter had it in for father before he even married Orlean. He didn't come into the family like _I_ did."

Mildred and her mother regarded each other as Glavis went on thoughtfully.

"Yes, Baptiste is a good fellow, and I have always rather liked him. But he has always had it in for father; has never treated him as I have....

If he would have, I'm sure we would not be the bone of this scandal."

"It seems that this enmity between your 'father' and Baptiste, begun way back in the southern part of this state, when Baptiste was a small boy...."

"I've heard something concerning that, but of course he oughtn't hold such things against a man when he has grown up."

"You seem to hold Baptiste in fault for everything, when it's common knowledge, from what I can hear, Glavis," argued Mildred's mother, "that the Elder went up there and just broke Orlean and Baptiste up; made her sign his name to a check for a big sum of money--and a whole lot of other things. How do you account for or explain that?"

"Well, Baptiste could have settled this without all that. If he'd come and seen me before starting this suit," Glavis was evasive, "I would have had him and Orlean meet and reason their differences out together."

"Why have _you_ waited so long to take such action, Glavis? You had years almost to have gotten them together--to have been at least fair to Baptiste. As it is, you have treated--all of you--Baptiste like a dog, like a dog. And because he tried to settle an affair like it ought to have been settled, you just ground him--pride and all--right into the ditch."

Glavis winced under the fusillade with which the elder lady of the house bombarded him.

"And now after you do him all the injury you can, you cry about him making a scandal! Just because he didn't come around again a whining like the dog you have tried to make him, you profess to be shocked at his conduct. Moreover, you had Orlean to give away the farm he gave her, and from what I can hear, to the man that tried every way known to law to beat her out of it and failed. And at Baptiste's expense!"

Glavis was very uncomfortable. He shifted uneasily, while his handkerchief was kept busy mopping the perspiration from his brow.

"I heard that the Reverend just scored the man about trying to beat poor Orlean out of her place: Preached a great sermon on the evil and intriguing of the white race, and just gave that man, a banker, the devil. Then upon top of that he comes down here to Chicago and sends your 'father' the money to come here from Cairo to sell him the place that Baptiste was man enough to trust her with for nothing. I can't figure out where any of you have any cry coming."

"Well," said Glavis, rising, "I want to see Baptiste anyhow. If you see him, tell him to come over to the house."

"No, Glavis, I have nothing to do with it, and I oughtn't to be gossiping as I have been; but I have known Baptiste since he was a little boy, and I just can't help protesting--as I have always heretofore protested, about the way you people have treated him."

"Well, I guess Baptiste hates all of us enough to make up."

"Baptiste has nothing against any one in that house over there but your 'father.' But there would be no use in my telling him to call over there. No use at all, for let me tell you," she said, following him to the door; "The day of Baptiste beholding unto you for his wife is past.

I don't think he wants Orlean any more, and don't blame him after what she has allowed to happen to him through her lack of womanhood.

Nawsiree, Baptiste didn't come into Chicago this time crying, he came here like _a man_, and it's the _man_ in him with which you'll have to fight now."

"Oh, well, I don't know," said Glavis, taking a little courage, "I don't think he is so wise after all. Any man that will sue a man like father for ten thousand dollars, wouldn't seem so wise."

"Well," returned the elder lady, "Perhaps you had _better_ wait until you see a lawyer."

CHAPTER X

A DISCOVERY--AND A SURPRISE

Jean Baptiste called by to see the Merrills before leaving the city, and took Mildred and her mother one afternoon to a matinee at the Colonial theatre. It was a musical repertoire, and a delightful entertainment.

Before one of the numbers was to appear, the director of the orchestra came upon the stage and announced:

"Ladies and gentlemen: If I may have your kind attention, I wish to announce that the next number is an extraordinary specialty. Miss Inez Maryland, the young prima donna who has made considerable of a reputation by her beautiful singing in the last year, will this afternoon sing in an introduction, a song that is destined by the critics to be one of the most popular of recent production." Whereat, he stepped to one side, and led upon the stage, a charming blonde who was greeted profusely.

"I am glad to have you meet Miss Maryland, who will now sing the discovery of the season, _O, My Homesteader_, by Miss Agnes Stewart."

In the moment Jean Baptiste did not quite recall the name, or rather, he did not connect it with an instance in his life; but as the sweet mezzo soprano voice, combined with the strains of the orchestra, floated out over the audience, the years gone by, to him were recalled. He listened to it with a peculiar and growing enchantment, and the night he had lain upon the ground and would have frozen, but for the now composer, came fresh again into his mind.

"Beautiful."

"Wonderful."

"Grand!" came to his ears from over all the theatre and then followed the storm of applause. Again and again did the singer have to return to satisfy the audience before her, and when the crowds poured into the street at the close of the performance, every one seemed to be humming the tune that had that afternoon began its initial success.

As it would take nine months or a year for the suit to come to trial, Jean resumed his efforts in the book business, and was able by borrowing a little, to meet the interest and taxes on the foreclosed property, and was given the customary year's extension.

He traveled now from town to town, from city to city, and found agents for his book, and was able in a small way to recuperate his finances. He hired an engine to plow all his land that was not prepared, besides renting a little more, and also took a flier in wheat. The war abroad had been going on a year, and he conceived that if it "happened" to rain at the right time he _might_ get a crop and redeem his land. At least, he could lose only what he put into it by risking the same, so he took the chance. So with all he could get hold of until the last days of October of that year, he put it into winter wheat on his land, and succeeded in getting over 700 acres seeded.

And everywhere he went, the people were playing and singing _O, My Homesteader_. Never, whether it was fifty times a day, or one, could he seem to tire of hearing it. At the stores he saw hundreds of copies of it, and in every home it was. And always it took him back to his youthful days in the land where he had gone with the great hope. And then one day he saw a picture of her. It was in a musical review. It spoke at length of her, and of the simple life she had lived. That she was a product of the prairies and a wonderful future was in store for her because of the fact that her work was original.

So the winter passed and springtime came again with all its beauty, and he continued in his book business. He made a trip to Gregory and Winner to see what the prospects were again in the Northwest. The winter for the wheat, he was cheered to learn, had been ideal; but the spring was dry, and that was not to the wheat's advantage. However, he had the best prospects he had had for years, and he returned to the book business with renewed hope.

And now we are compelled by the course of events to return to certain characters who were conspicuous in the early part of our story.

When Jack Stewart left the farm he had rented near the property of Jean Baptiste and went West and took a homestead and had George and Bill and Agnes to do likewise, he was obsessed with a dream that riches had come to him at last. Agnes was delighted with the prospects, also, and so they looked forward to a great future in the new land.

But there was something that troubled Jack Stewart, and for days when alone he would shake his head and cry: "Dang it. Dang it! I oughtn't to have let it go that far, dang it!" But he had kept what was now the cause of his worry to himself so long that he would not bring himself to confess it even to Agnes after what had occurred. But never did he forget Jean Baptiste, and to Agnes he would mention him quite often.

"By the way, my girl," he said one day when they were settled on their claims, staying mostly on his, of course, for the prospects were hopeful. "Do you know that I never did learn who saved me from that foreclosure. No, sir, I never did! I paid the note and was so glad that it was paid, that I tore it up and forgot the whole matter.

"Now _who_ do you reckon it was that interceded for me?"

She paused and looked up from her sewing, and then bent over it again, as she said:

"Jean Baptiste."

"Jean Baptiste!" he exclaimed incredibly.

"It was him."

"Why the stinkin' rascal, he never told me!"

She was silent.

"And it was him that came to my assistance," the other mused reflectively. "Well, now since I come to recall him, it was just like him to do something like that and keep it to himself. Well, well, I do say!" He paused then, and looked down at the toe of his boot. Suddenly he looked up, and concentrated his gaze on Agnes.

"And _you knew_ it all the time. He told you."