It was the evening after her return from Richmond that she sought out Jabez Smith in his accustomed seat on the back porch. He glanced at her wonderingly as she resolutely brought the low rocker forward, planted it near his chair, and sat down.
“Nice evenin’, ain’t it?” he observed, hitching one leg over the other and puffing his pipe uneasily, for he had developed a great shyness of her.
“Yes, it is a nice evening,” she assented, laughing to herself, for she felt that she knew this man through and through. “I’ve come to make my report, Mr. Smith.”
“Report?” he repeated.
“Yes—about Tommy Remington. He’s been working hard for almost a year, and has made wonderful progress. You wanted us to find out if he had the making of a scholar in him. Well, he has. He is fine enough to take almost any polish.”
Jabez grunted and looked out at the hillside.
“His father has consented, too,” she continued resolutely, “and Mr. Bayliss has secured him a scholarship, so you see we’ve performed our part of the bargain.”
“An’ now y’ want me t’ do mine,” he said. “Well, Jabez Smith never went back on a barg’in, an’ he ain’t a-goin’ t’ break thet record now.”
He took a great wallet from an inside pocket and slowly counted out a pile of bills.
“I was ready fer y’,” he said, and handed her the money. “I guessed you’d be a-comin’ after me afore long. There’s three hunderd dollars. An’ here’s th’ note; now don’t y’ fergit this is business—not a bit o’ sentiment about it. You git him t’ sign his name t’ th’ note, an’ then bring it back t’ me.”