“Roger has bottom,” he said at last, “and he's as strong as a lion. He and Fox will make a good team, and the roads will be solid in three days, if it don't rain.”
“Why, you don't mean,”—she commenced.
“Yes, mother. You were not for buying him, I know, and you were right, inasmuch as there is always some risk. But it will make a difference of two barrels a load, besides having a horse at home. If I plough both for corn and oats next week,—and it will be all the better for corn, as the field next to Carson's is heavy,—I can begin hauling the week after, and we'll have the interest by the first of April, without borrowing a penny.”
“That would be good,—very good, indeed,” said she, dropping her knitting, and hesitating a moment before she continued; “only—only, Gilbert, I didn't expect you would be going so soon.”
“The sooner I begin, mother, the sooner I shall finish.”
“I know that, Gilbert,—I know that; but I'm always looking forward to the time when you won't be bound to go at all. Not that Sam and I can't manage awhile—but if the money was paid once”—
“There's less than six hundred now, altogether. It's a good deal to scrape together in a year's time, but if it can be done I will do it. Perhaps, then, you will let some help come into the house. I'm as anxious as you can be, mother. I'm not of a roving disposition, that you know; yet it isn't pleasant to me to see you slave as you do, and for that very reason, it's a comfort when I'm away, that you've one less to work for.”
He spoke earnestly, turning his face full upon her.
“We've talked this over, often and often, but you never can make me see it in your way,” he then added, in a gentler tone.
“Ay, Gilbert,” she replied, somewhat bitterly, “I've had my thoughts. Maybe they were too fast; it seems so. I meant, and mean, to make a good home for you, and I'm happiest when I can do the most towards it. I want you to hold up your head and be beholden to no man. There are them in the neighborhood that were bound out as boys, and are now as good as the best.”