Eunice. Margaret M. Robertson
broad path, considering ways and means of planning how the very most could be accomplished during the fortnight of her stay.
“It will take most of my time; but I am glad I came, and I shan’t oversleep another day. For, whatever Eunice may say, she is not strong.”
The garden could not be neglected. Half their living came from the garden and the adjoining fields, where their pretty brown cow was patiently searching among the last year’s tufts of grass for some sweeter morsel. The pretty creature came to the fence to be petted and praised, and her mistress did not disappoint her.
“How much do you suppose your cow understands of all you’re sayin’ to her?” said a voice at her elbow.
Fidelia started.
“Oh, she understands! Good morning, Jabez;” and she held out her hand to a tall loose-jointed lad, with a sunburnt, boyish, but very pleasant face, who had come up the hill from the meadow unseen by her.
“You look well,” said he, after a moment’s examination of her face.
“Thank you,” said Fidelia, laughing.
“I mean, you don’t look sick,” said he.
“Why should I? What have you been doing this winter?”
“I have been at school. We had a new teacher—a chap from Amherst—one who has to teach and pay his own way. Yes, I got along pretty well—studied hard, if you can believe it.”
“Well, what have you done?”
“Oh, a little Latin and history of the United States! I could pass on that now, I guess. And I’ve got through the first three books of Euclid, and in Algebra I got through quadratic equations.”
She had spoken in a cool, indifferent way, but his eyes sparkled as he looked up.
“Well done, Jabez! I am glad. I must examine you some day.”
“Come on!” cried Jabez, throwing down the hoe he had been carrying. “I’m ready. Examine all you want to.”
“Oh, I don’t mean just this minute, but some time before I go! How is your grandmother these days?”
“She’s pretty well. And that makes me think that I promised her to help churn; I’ll have to be going. I came up to talk a little to Miss Eunice and you about the garden. I don’t suppose she’ll do much in it this year, since you won’t be here.”
“I shall help to make it while I am at home, if the weather will let me. But your help will be needed after. Come and speak to my sister.”
They went into the house, and found Eunice preparing to make the bread which she had mixed early in the morning. Fidelia set the rocking-chair for her sister, and took the making of the bread into her own hands.
“About the garden, Miss Eunice? What are you going to do about it?” said Jabez.
“I shall want some help, I suppose—a good deal of help. Can I depend on you, Jabez?”
“Well, I’ve been talking a little with grandpa about what I want to do this summer. He wants me to work along with Mr. Grimes for a spell. You know, Fidelia, Grimes has got grandpa’s farm on shares this year, and he would like to hire me.”
“Well, and why not?”
“I can do better—that’s about it.”
“And what do you wish to do?”
“Well, that’s just what I want to talk about.”
“I shall be glad to have your help when you can be spared,” said Eunice.
Jabez seemed to have a difficulty in sitting quietly in his chair. He fidgeted about, and let his hoe fall, and then picked it up and carried it out into the porch; then laid his cap on the floor, and straightened himself up, and said gravely—
“Look here, Miss Eunice, I guess it won’t hurt anybody just to have a little talk about it. I want you to let me have your garden this summer—on shares if you say so; but I’d rather pay rent for it.”
“Why, Jabez, you surprise me!” said Eunice gently.
Fidelia laughed.
“Go on, Jabez. Tell us all about it.”
“Well, I will. In the first place, I want to show grandpa that I can do something; and, in the second place, I want to make some money this summer. I think I see my way clear to do both, if things happen right.”
“And what do you want money for?” asked Fidelia.
“Oh, well, I guess ’most everybody wants money! But look here now. I have not told grandpa yet—it wouldn’t help me with him, but I’d as lief tell you two as not. Supposin’ we have Mr. Fuller here again next winter, I’m willing to go to school here, and do chores for Miss Eunice and at grandpa’s next winter, as I have this winter. But if he doesn’t come here, I’m going to Scranton Academy. And if I do go, I expect I’ll have to help pay my own way.”
Fidelia nodded and smiled.
“But your grandfather? You must consult him, Jabez,” said Miss Eunice, gravely.
“I mean to—after a spell. But it isn’t best to worry him with too many new ideas at once. Now see here, Miss Eunice—this is the whole concern. There was a lot of city company in our town last summer, and the cry among them was for fresh fruit and garden sass. There’s going to be more of them here this summer, down the street in the hotel, and over at the Corners, and all around. This part of the state’s got to be quite popular with city folks, and I should like to have the chance to supply them early.”
“But do you know anything about a garden?” asked Fidelia, greatly interested.
“Well, yes. Grandpa has kept me pretty close to work in ours. I’ve been down to the judge’s some, too; and Sandy Scott, his gardener, has given me a good many hints, and has promised to see to my work a little. I am not afraid, not a mite. And if you’ll let me have your garden, grandpa’ll let me have his, I guess; and between the two I can make something, I know.”
“I should have to think about it first, Jabez.”
“Oh, yes. I am not in a hurry for a day or two.”
“And I shouldn’t like to do anything that your grandfather might object to. I should have to talk with him about it.”
“And what about your grandmother’s churn in the meantime?” Fidelia added.
“That’s so! I’d ’most forgot it. I must hurry up. Here’s the doctor!”
Fidelia was gently patting the loaf she had just put into the pan as the doctor came in.
“Good morning, Miss Eunice! Fidelia, that is after all the true woman’s work. ‘Loaf-maker’—or is it loaf-giver?—is the true derivation of ‘lady,’ they say. But I hope you have nearly done. Her mother could not spare Susie to come up this morning, so I promised I would send you down.”
“I should like to go, but—”
“Cannot you spare her, Miss Eunice? You can walk, Fidelia, you know, and when I come back from the Corners I’ll bring your sister down with me, if she will let me; and Susie shall drive you both home in the evening.”
When the doctor had driven off, Jabez once more looked in at the door.
“There is no particular hurry, Miss Eunice. Only I’ve had my hot-beds all agoing three weeks ago, and I’d like to know as soon as ever you’ve made up your mind.”
“To-morrow, perhaps, I’ll let you know about it,”