| “Reub Markham, Dr., per Roxy Gildersleeve. | ||||
| To | 5 | pounds | cinnamon, 40c., | $2 00 |
| “ | 2 | “ | raisins (layer), 20c., | 40 |
That Mr. Reub Markham swore, must also be set down against him. He drove home in a red rage. Through the open school-house door, little Roxy Gildersleeve saw him pass; but her merry young heart boded no ill. Her mouth was tingling pungently with the fine cinnamon, and in her pocket yet were eight moist, fat, sugary raisins, to be slipped in her mouth one by one, four during the geography lesson, four during the spelling lesson.
As it happened, Mr. Gildersleeve was cultivating corn in a field that fronted the highway. He and his wealthier neighbor were not on the best of terms. A line fence and an unruly ox had made trouble. Mr. Gildersleeve had sued Mr. Markham, and beat him; and Mr. Gildersleeve didn’t take any pains now to look up as he saw who was coming.
But Mr. Markham drew up his horses.
“Hello, Gildersleeve!”
“Hello yourself, Mr. Markham!”
“I say, what you sending your young uns down to the store after things, and charging them to me for? Mighty creditable that, Tom Gildersleeve!”
“Getting things and charging them to you!” Gildersleeve stopped his horse. “What do you mean, Markham?”
“You better go down and ask Hampshire. If you 061don’t, you may get it explained in a way you won’t fancy!”
He whipped up his horses and drove off, leaving Mr. Gildersleeve standing there, gazing after him as if he had lost his senses. After a moment he unhitched his horse from the cultivator, mounted him, and rode off toward the village.