“Every night since we could remember father, or mother if he was away, had read a chapter in the Bible and had prayers. After father died Theodore had read the chapter and mother had prayed, if it was only a word or two, till the very last night she lived. She had said she hoped we would try and do as near as we could as we always had when she and father were with us, so Theodore thought we’d better have prayers; that they’d want us to. He read the chapter—I don’t see how he did it—and said he thought we could say the Lord’s prayer, anyway, and we kneeled down and began. But all at once it came over us like a great wave how everything was changed and always would be, and it broke us all up so we couldn’t go through with it.” And Ben’s voice choked and failed him at the recollection, while unchecked tears of sympathy ran down Posey’s cheeks.
“When Uncle John went away he told us to do the best we could and as soon as George was better and he could leave home he would come and help us settle everything up. There wasn’t so very much to do beside the everyday work except to gather the apples and harvest the corn. We had a big field of corn that year, but we managed to get it cut up and began to husk it. But it was slow work, for I was only a little shaver—not quite eleven years old, and Theodore isn’t strong like I am. It came on cold early that fall and we got pretty discouraged. One night there was a circle round the moon, and Theodore said he was afraid we were goin’ to have a snowstorm. That would make the husking harder, and we both felt real worried. But what do you think? When we went out in the field the next morning the corn was all husked and in heaps ready to draw in! It had been a moonlight night and the neighbors had all turned in and done it for us. They were all so good to us I shall never forget it of them.
“As soon as he could Uncle John came back, and then we sold the farm. We hated to, but he thought that was best, for though it was only a small one we were too young to manage it. When everything was settled there was eight hundred dollars apiece for Theodore and me. Uncle John put this out at interest for us, secured by mortgage so it should be safe, and took us home with him. But Uncle John isn’t rich by any means, and he has five children of his own, so though they are all kind as can be we didn’t want to live on him. For two years now, I’ve been driving this tin-cart summers. I get twenty dollars a month and my expenses, and I’ve a hundred dollars in the bank I earned myself. Winters I live at Uncle John’s and go to school. He won’t take anything for my board, but I buy dresses and things for Aunt Eunice and my cousins; they are so good to me I want to do what I can for them. With what I earn and the interest on my own money, as soon as I’m old enough I mean to buy a farm. I would like a store, but Uncle John thinks a farm is safer, and perhaps I’ll buy the old farm back.”
“How nice that would be!” cried Posey.
“Why, see here, Posey,” with the force of a sudden idea, “when I get a farm I shall need somebody to keep the house, and I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll marry you. Then you can have a home, too; we’re both orphans and haven’t either of us one now.”
Posey clapped her hands. “That will be splendid! I know I should just love to live on a farm, and I will learn to make butter, and do all the things they do on farms. But,” and her face sobered, “won’t your brother want to live with you?”
“No; Theodore doesn’t take to farming. He’s teaching now, a summer school up in Michigan. His plan is to go to college and then be a minister. He’ll make a tiptop one, too.”
“I think you ought to be a minister,” said Posey. “You talk good enough for one.”
“Me? Shucks,” and Ben gave a long whistle. “I ain’t good enough for a minister. Besides, I never could talk before folks as Theodore can. I wish you could hear him lead the Endeavor meeting. I tried to once, and my, I was so scared I didn’t know whether I was afoot or horseback.”
Posey’s eyes had grown wide. “Why, I thought it was only grown-up people who were Christians and dreadfully good, like old Deacon Piper and Mr. Hagood, who spoke in meetings.”