Miss Billy was on the side of the house stirring the virgin soil with an axe preparatory to putting in her pansies. Theodore came jauntily out of the door, his hat and shoes well brushed and shaking out a clean handkerchief.
"Well!" exclaimed Miss Billy reproachfully, "I thought you were going to help me to-day."
"Would that I could!" said Theodore, waving the handkerchief gracefully at her. "But Mistress Billy, gaze upon my shoes."
"I see they are your patent leathers. I should think you would wear your others Saturday."
"That's the beginning of the story," said Theodore, lowering his voice confidentially. "These are my all,—and hush, Billy,—these are busted. I've got exactly nineteen cents in the world, but I've recorded a vow to buy my own clothes and schoolbooks, hereafter. I'll not ask father for another cent of money. Therefore I go hence to seek a job."
"Well, go on then, and good luck to you," said Miss Billy, taking up the axe again. "But this soil—" and she made a savage chop at the ground with each word, "—is—just—all—stones—and—clay."
As Theodore departed, the hammering in the Hennesy yard waned and the melody lifted again.
"When Maguire's little lad had the fever so bad
That no one would dare to go near him,
This maiden so brave said, 'Perhaps I can save,
At least I can comfort and cheer him.'"
Miss Billy's face brightened, and throwing down the axe she went to the fence and stood looking over at the panorama which unfolded itself.
The Hennesy house, in years past, had evidently done duty as a store. It was a dilapidated old brick building, set crookedly on its lot, with two disproportionately large front windows in the lower half, and a big deep-set front door. Above the second story the house terminated abruptly in a flat tin roof without ornamentation of any kind. In the rear of the lot there were a barn, a wagon shed, and a chicken house, all shedding various coats and colours of whitewash, and all in the last stages of disrepair. Scattered promiscuously about the yard were broken wagon wheels, wood-racks, chickens, pine wood, and old tin cans,—while a lame horse, a boy, a leaning pump, a dilapidated clothes-reel and two wobbly puppies further graced the scene. Grass, flower or shrub there was none,—but there was mud,—plenty of it; mud wet and mud dried. And the deep ruts in the ground, together with the broken wheels lying around, and the strong barny smell pervading the place, gave testimony that Mr. Hennesy followed "teaming" for a living.