Produced by Mary Meehan and PG Distributed Proofreaders
1919
To the farmers, and their mothers, wives, and daughters, who have beenmy nearest neighbors and my best friends for the last fifteen years, andwho have taught me to love the country and the people in it, this quietstory of a farm is affectionately and gratefully dedicated.
"For Heaven's sake, Sally, don't say, 'Isn't it hot?' or, 'Did you everknow such weather for April?' or, 'Doesn't it seem as if the mud was justas bad as it used to be before we had the State Road?' again. It ishot. I never did see such weather. The mud is worse if anything. I'vesaid all this several times, and if you can't think of anything moreinteresting to talk about, I wish you'd keep still."
Sally Gray pushed back the lock of crinkly brown hair that was alwaysgetting in her eyes, puckered her lips a little, and glanced at herbrother Austin without replying, but with a slight ripple of concerndisturbing her usual calm. She was plain and plump and placid, as sweetand wholesome as clover, and as nerveless as a cow, and she secretlyenvied her brother's lean, dark handsomeness; but she was conscious of alittle pang of regret that the young, eager face beside her was alreadybecoming furrowed with lines of discontent and bitterness, and that theexpression of the fine mouth was rapidly growing more and more hard andsullen. Austin had been all the way from Hamstead to White Water thatday, stopping on his way back at Wallacetown, to bring Sally, who taughtschool there, home for over Sunday; his little old horse, never eitherstrong or swift, was tired and hot and muddy, and hung its unkempt headdejectedly, apparently having lost all willingness to drag thedilapidated top-buggy and its two occupants another step. Austin'smanner, Sally reflected, was not much more cheerful than that of hishorse; while his clothes were certainly as dirty, as shabby, and asout-of-date as the rest of his equipage.
"It's a shame," she thought, "that Austin takes everything so hard. Therest of us don't mind half so much. If he could only have a little bit ofencouragement and help—something that would make him really happy! If hecould earn some money—or find out that, after all, money isn'teverything—or fall in love with some nice girl—" She checked herself,blushing and sighing. The blush was occasioned by her own quiet happinessin that direction; but the sigh was because Austin, though he was wellknown to have been "rather wild," never paid any "nice girl" theslightest attention, and jeered cynically at the mere suggestion that heshould do so.
"How lovely the valley is!" she said aloud at last; "I don't believethere's a prettier stretch of road in the whole world than this betweenWallacetown and Hamstead, especially in the spring, when the river is sohigh, and everything is looking so fresh and green."
"Fortunate it is pretty; probably it's the only thing we'll have to lookat as long as we live—and certainly it's about all we've seen so far! Ifthere'd been only you and I, Sally, we could have gone off to school, andmaybe to college, too, but with eight of us to feed and clothe, it's nowonder that father is dead sunk in debt! Certainly I shan't travel much,"he added, laughing bitterly, "when he thinks we can't have even one hiredman in the future—and certainly you won't either, i