“You’ll have to take the trail in the morning, Leslie, and see what you can do,” he said, as he went away.
The cows broke out of the corral that night, and it took so long to hunt them up, get them back into the corral, and milk them, that it was quite the middle of the day when I was ready to start out on my unwelcome business. Try as I might to convince myself to the contrary, the effort to borrow money seemed to me, somehow, akin to beggary. In my heart I had a cowardly wish that Joe had been on hand to take my place, but I kept all such reflections to myself. I had changed my print dress for the worn old riding habit of green serge, and was about starting for the barn to get Frank, when Jessie remarked:
“While you are hunting for a chance to borrow money, I’ll be earning some. If I can finish this work to-day—it’s Annie Ellis’ wrapper—I’ll have two dollars to add to the fund. Why, Leslie, I’d pretty nearly sell the dress off my back to raise money to-day!”
“Well, I know I’d do that, with half the reason for it that we have now. Dresses are a bother, anyway”—my habit was too short and too tight, not having kept pace with my growth—“but, all the same, I hate to see you working so hard. You’ve really grown thin and pale lately,” I added.
“It won’t be for long; I’ll soon be through with it now—” Jessie was beginning, when a cheerful voice from the doorway echoed her words:
“No; it won’t be for long! That’s a comfort, ain’t it?”
We both started. We had been so engrossed that we had heard no one approaching, and, even if we had, we could scarcely have been less startled, for the man leaning comfortably against the door-jamb was Jacob Horton. It had been many weeks since he had, to our knowledge, set foot on our premises.
“Good morning, Miss Jessie and Leslie,” he began affably. “Nice morning, ain’t it? I’ve been living in this valley going on eight year, and I don’t recollect as ever I see a nicer mornin’ than this is.”
He put one foot upon the door sill—a suggestive attitude—but neither of us invited him to enter. He was not easily daunted, however. The hand that rested against the door-jamb was still bandaged, and, as I made out with a swift glance, a button was still missing from his coat. It was the coat that he had worn on the night that he had ostensibly salted the cattle in the far pasture. From his point of observation Mr. Horton, turning slightly, threw an admiring glance around. The glance seemed to include the outer prospect as well as the inner.