“Must there be a new survey made?”
“So Mr. Wilson says; he says that it will be the same, in the eye of the law, as if no entry had ever been made.”
“The eye of the law must be half blind, then!” I exclaimed, indignantly. “As if the survey already made and paid for, was not good enough, and when we know that a new one would only follow the same lines!”
“That’s just what I said to Mr. Wilson. He said that surveyors had to have a chance to earn their living, and this way of doing business was one of the chances,” Jessie replied, dropping her head dejectedly on her hand.
“Well; don’t let’s worry about it, Jessie dear, we must keep on hoping, as father used to say. He used to say, you know, that no one was ever really poor until he had ceased to hope. We will do our best and God will look out for the rest, I guess. I don’t believe He intends to let our home be taken from us. He wouldn’t have given us such good men for witnesses if He had.”
“Yes, they are good. If we were only able to borrow a little more money now I should feel quite safe. If we could just borrow money enough to—”
“Woe unto him that goeth up an’ down de lan’ seeking fur t’ borrow money! Borrowed money, hit stingeth like an adder; hit biteth like a surpunt! Hit weaves a chain what bin’s hit’s victims han’ an’ foot! Hit maketh a weight what breaks his heart, amen!”
In the interest of our conversation we had, for the nonce, forgotten Joe, who was quietly toasting his ragged shoes before the fire, until his voice thus solemnly proclaimed his presence.
“Dat’s w’at ole Mas’r Gordon, yo’ chillen’s gran’fadder, used fur t’ say, an’ hit’s true. Hit’s true! He knowed; Good Heaven, didn’t he know!”
There was the tragedy of some remembered bitter suffering in the old man’s voice, and, recalling father’s stern determination to endure all things, to lose all things, if need be, rather than to become a borrower, I felt that the misery hinted at in old Joe’s words had been something very real and poignant in the days of those Gordons, now beyond all suffering.