“We’ll give it back, then,” cried William, his face clearing; “the whole blamed farm!”
Sarah Ellen frowned. She shook her head slowly, then paused, a dawning question in her eyes.
“You don’t suppose--William, could we?” she cried with sudden eagerness.
“Well, we can try mighty hard,” retorted the man grimly. “But we’ve got to go easy, Sarah Ellen,--no bungling. We’ve got to spin some sort of a yarn that won’t break, nor have any weak places; and of course, as far as the real work of the farm is concerned, we’ll still do the most of it. But the place’ll be theirs. See?--theirs! Working out--good Heavens!”
It must have been a week later that Jeremiah burst into his wife’s room. Hester sat by the window, bending over numberless scraps of blue, red, and pink calico.
“Put it up, put it up, Hester,” he panted joyously. “Ye hain’t got to sew no more, an’ I hain’t neither. The farm is ours!”
“Why, Jeremiah, what--how--”
“I don’t know, Hester, no more than you do,” laughed Jeremiah happily; “only William says he’s tired of runnin’ things all alone, an’ he wants me to take hold again. They’re goin’ ter make out the papers right away; an’ say, Hester,”--the bent shoulders drew themselves erect with an air of pride,--“I thought mebbe this afternoon we’d drive over ter Huntersville an’ get some shoes for you. Ye know you’re always needin’ shoes!”
The Long Road
“Jane!”