"Pshaw! Looks like good stock, that calf does; 's if 't might make a nice steer, but 'twon't never be a cow to give milk. 'Tain't that kind of a calf; and after all, raisin' young cattle is a power of work. They run over fences an' fall into hollers, an' Mis' Stott she used to say, sometimes, she didn't know but they did eat their own heads off; meanin' their keep cost more than they was wuth—time they was ready for killin'. If I was you, Dorothy, I'd fat that calf up, quick's I could, then sell him to the butcher for veal," further advised this practical youth.
"O you horrid boy! You—you—I never saw anybody who could dash cold water on people's happiness as you can! You—you're as hateful as you can be!" cried Dorothy, venting all her disappointment in anger against him.
Now it happened that that same morning, at Seth Winters's office, the untutored farm boy had seen and envied the ease of manner with which handsome Herbert Montaigne had won his way into the favor of Mrs. Calvert and had instantly made friends with Dorothy. Then and there, something sharp and bitter had stolen into Jim's big heart and had sent him speeding out of sight—eager to hide himself and his uncouthness from these more fortunate folk, whose contrast to himself was so painful. Dorothy—why, even Dorothy—had, apparently, been captivated by the dashing Herbert to the utter neglect of her former friend; and, maybe, that was what had hurt the most. Incipient jealousy had stung Jim's nobler nature and now made him say with unconscious wistfulness:
"I'm sorry, girlie. You—you didn't think so—always."
The girl had turned her back upon him, in her indignation, but at the altered tone she faced about, while a swift recollection of all that she owed to him sent the tears to her eyes and her to clasp her arms about his neck and kiss him soundly, begging:
"O Jim! forgive me! I didn't mean—I forgot. You never can be horrid to me. I don't like to have my things made fun of—I never was given a calf before—I—Kiss me, Jim Barlow, and say you do!"
To the bashful lad this outburst was more painful than jealousy. His face grew intensely red and he did not return the kiss. On the contrary he very promptly removed her clinging arms, with his protesting:
"Pshaw! What ails you, Dorothy?"
Then he forced himself to look towards Mrs. Chester and to return to the real business of the moment. Fortunately, that lady was not even smiling. She was too accustomed to her child's impulsiveness to heed it, and she had resolved to act upon the principle that "half a loaf is better than no bread." In other words, she would improve this chance of getting some fit quarters for the pig, which had roused and begun to make its presence evident. She scarcely even heard Jim's attempted explanation:
"You see, Mis' Chester, 'twas Mis' Calvert that took me up an' set out to make a man of me. I disappointed her fust time she trusted me, and I've got to stay long enough to show I ain't so wuthless as I seemed. I've got to. More'n that, the gardener she's had so long is so old an' sot in his ways he don't get more'n half out the soil 't he'd ought to. I'm goin' to show him what Maryland folks can do! That truck o' his'n? Why, bless your heart, he couldn't sell it to Lexington Market, try his darnedest: nor Hollins', nor Richmond, nor even Ma'sh Market—where poor folks buy. Huh! No, I can't leave. But I'll come work for you-all every minute I can get, without neglectin' Mis' Calvert."