"Now, Betty! But I might have known you would come—you're always on hand for any 'doin's.' Though don't you dare to give your own generosity free rein. This is strictly a case 'of the people, by the people, for the people.' Blue-blooded aristocracy and full purses aren't 'in it,'" warned the smith, in an alarm that was more real than feigned, knowing that his impulsive old friend could spoil the pleasure of many by exceeding them in giving.
"Oh! I shall take care. I've only sent one team, a couple of men—one the gardener, the other a carpenter who was working on the place, and—Do you know, Seth Winters, you barrier-destroying old 'Socialist!'—that the man positively refused to take pay for his day's labor, even though he can ill afford to lose his time? 'No, ma'am,' said this aristocrat of the saw and plane, 'I claim the right to do a decent turn to a neighbor, same as another.' Rich or poor it doesn't appear to make a bit of difference—give them a chance at this sort of thing and they all lose their heads."
Seth laughed. Such "Socialistic" principles as these were the ones he advocated, not only by word but by his whole noble life. For him wealth had but one purpose—the bettering of these other folk to whom wealth had not been given. Then he asked:
"What of Jim Barlow? Is he one of the 'men' you furnished for the day?"
"Will you believe me—he is not? When that young Herbert Montaigne rode around this morn-thing, before breakfast, to say that his father was sending two men with a mowing machine and that he, Herbert, was going to ride on the horse-rake himself, Jim was talking to me. He was full of enthusiasm and earnest to explain that nothing in our own home garden should suffer because of his taking this day off. He would work overtime to make up—as if I would let him! But as soon as Herbert came, just as enthusiastic himself, down goes my James's countenance to the very bottom of despair. What I love about that boy is his naturalness!" exclaimed this lively old lady, irrelevantly.
"Keep to the subject in hand, please, Cousin Betty. The reason of Jim's gloom perplexes me. I should have thought he would have been——"
"Oh! he was; he did; he must have been, he should have been, he would have been—all the tenses in the grammar you choose. If it hadn't been for my precious little Dorothy. That small maid——"
She paused so long and seemed so amused that again he spoke:
"For her sake alone I should think he would be pleased to find others ready to befriend her."
"In a way, of course, he is, though man-like, or boy-like, he'd very much rather do the befriending than have such a handsome young fellow as Herbert take it out of hand. That lad was just fetching! He'd dressed the part to perfection. Had on a loose white flannel blouse knotted with a blue tie—his color: his denim knickers might have been the finest riding trousers; and his long boots—I fancy there was more money went to the cost of them than you'd spend on yourself in a year. And all to make himself fair in the eyes of a little maid like Dorothy. But blood will tell. My Dolly——"