“Oh, Polly, that would be a fine thing. We could go together, and I could furnish a man’s work if not his judgment. Oh, Polly, you have thought of the right thing!”
“Ye see, I’m much in your fix, Nancy, and I’ve been wonderin’ what would I do, an’ ye see it’ll be doin’ a turn for ye all at the same time I’m betterin’ mesel’. Now, I’ll tell ye what’s to be done: ye’ll get yer father to take up a bit of land; ye’ll have to go with him to see that he does it all straight an’ true, an’ we’ll build a bit of a cabin and live as commojus as a litter o’ pigs.”
Agnes laughed. “I’d like to live a little better than that.”
“Sure, then, I’m not sayin’ we’ll not live cleaner.”
“And when we get our share of the Muirhead place, you can keep the cabin. Oh, I must tell you all about the Muirheads.”
Polly listened attentively to the tale. “Ye’ll be havin’ a puir chanst av gettin’ it,” she said, “for the law, I’m thinkin’, ’ll give it to the son if so be there’s no will. Ye’d better put the notion out of yer head, Nancy. We’ll stand by one another, an’ if my Jimmy comes back, I’ll no object to goin’ annywhere he may be choosin’.”
Agnes thought the chances of Jimmy’s coming back were no better than the chances of getting the Muirhead property, but she did not say so, though for all that Polly mourned the loss of her husband, she was outwardly the same fun-loving, jolly creature. She entered into the new scheme with much zest, and pushed it so vigorously that before six weeks were gone, Agnes found herself established in a comfortable little abode on the other side of the river from the Muirhead place, but not very far from the M’Cleans. Every one of the neighbors gave a willing hand to the log-rolling, the house-raising, and the getting of the two families settled. Fergus Kennedy, in his mild way, seemed to enjoy it all, though the dread of Indians seemed to overpower him now and then, and then he became pitifully dependent upon Polly and Agnes. He worked at whatever task they set him, and as Polly was a master hand at managing, the little clearing soon took on an inhabited look. The children tumbled about on the puncheon floor, the big chimney-place showed a cheerful fire over which pots of various sizes bubbled and steamed, Polly’s spinning-wheel whirred in the corner to Agnes’s busy tread, and the whole place in an incredibly short space of time gave the appearance of thrift and energy.
Archie M’Clean came over, whenever he could spare the time, and Dod Hunter’s eldest son, Jerry, admiring Polly’s energy and wit, made frequent excuses to drop in to see how they were getting along, to help with the garden, or to bring in a haunch of venison or a wild turkey. Every one recognized the fact that Fergus Kennedy was not an efficient protector, but no one doubted the fact that Polly was. Agnes, auburn haired, blue eyed, fair skinned, was undeniably a girl to be admired by the stalwart young frontiersmen, and when she set out with Polly to any of the rude entertainments the settlement afforded, there was never a lack of an escort. It was a great event when a little log meeting-house was erected by these pious Scotch-Irish, and the going to meeting meant as much to the younger people as to their elders, though perhaps not in quite the same way. The children, to be sure, rather dreaded the rigid discipline of sitting still through exceedingly long prayers and still longer sermons, but this exercise of self-control was to their advantage, and they liked the psalms, which because of the scarcity of psalm-books were lined out by Joseph M’Clean, who was precentor. The psalms were sung with great heartiness by young and old to the “Twelve common tunes,” though singing-masters farther east were beginning to introduce newer ones, thereby causing some dissension.
It was one Saturday afternoon that Archie appeared more spruced up than usual. His hair was sleeked down with bear’s oil, and his hunting-shirt was adorned with embroidery done with porcupine quills. Polly saw him coming and laughed. “Faith, but ye beeta look fine, Archie,” she cried. “It’s no the Sabbath yet, but yer rigged up to the nines, and strut like a turkey-gobbler.”
Archie flushed under his sunburn, but he answered Polly’s sally with, “It’s no so far from the Sabbath Polly, an’ ye’d better be catechising the children, so they’ll know what’s the chief end o’ man when the new meenister visits ye.”