“I take off my hat to you, Miss Leslie”—he suited the action to the word—“and I thank you for teaching me anew the truth of the old saying: ‘True hearts are more than coronets, and simple worth than Norman blood.’”
He replaced his hat with a sweeping bow, touched the black horse lightly with a spurred heel, and was gone. The tears were in my eyes as I watched the little swirl of dust raised by his horse’s hoofs settle back to place. I had not deserved praise, but it was something to feel that others understood how hard and distasteful was this bitter task, and I was glad to remember that he had not added to my humiliation by offering to buy my melons. I meant to sell them all before returning home now, and I did, but it was a long day’s work, and when I reached home I had only five dollars to show for it. “He” had been chiefly absent from home, and I had booked many promises.
Jessie and Ralph met me at the gate as I drove up. Jessie was interested and anxious.
“Why, you have sold all the melons!” Jessie exclaimed, glancing into the wagon-box, and narrowly escaping being knocked over by Guard, as he sprang down from the seat. “You have had good luck, Leslie.”
“Good luck doesn’t mean ready money in this case, Jessie, and that is what we need. There’s just about one more load of melons, and to-morrow we’ll take them out to the storage camp.”
“That may be a good plan,” Jessie admitted reflectively, “but it’s a long drive.”
“Yes, we must get an early start, and we must not forget to oil the wagon wheels,” I said, but I did not mention my meeting with Mr. Rutledge.