One morning, cold almost beyond endurance, she awoke to find that in some mysterious manner a large pile of chopped wood lay in her dooryard. How it came there she did not know, nor would she use it until she found by the sled tracks in the snow that it had been hauled from her own piece of timber land. Again, in the night time, someone rebuilt a section of fence that had been torn down by the wind. She was grateful to the good neighbors, but there was a feeling of resentment growing out of the knowledge that people were pitying her. So when Harve Crose drove up one afternoon with a load of pumpkins for the stock, she declined to accept them. But she could not sit up of nights, tired and cold as she was, to drive away those who stole in surreptitiously and befriended her. She could not so much as thank these indefatigable friends.
Her heart and courage sank to the bottom one morning when she arose to learn that during the night the wind had blown the straw-thatched roof from her cowshed and the two poor beasts were well-nigh dead from exposure. She sat down and cried, nor could Mrs. Crane comfort her. To replace that roof was a task to try the strength and endurance of the hardiest man; for her it seemed beyond accomplishment.
Nevertheless, she set about it as soon as the cows were transferred to the crowded barn. The roof, intact, lay alongside the pen, the straw scattered to the winds. There was but one way to replace the timbers, and that was to take them apart and reconstruct the roof, piece by piece. She had battered several rough-hewn supports from their position and was surveying the task before her with a sullen expression in her eyes. The vigorous exercise had put a hot glow in her cheeks, and, as she stood there in the snow, her ax across her shoulder, as straight as an arrow, she was a charming picture. A biting atmosphere chilled the breath as it came from her red, full lips, wafting it away, white and frosty. The man who vaulted the fence behind her and came slowly across the barn lot felt his heart beat fiercely against the rough oilskin jacket. The girl did not see him until she turned at the sound of his hoarse voice.
"That ain't no work fer you," he was saying.
She found herself looking into the hostile eyes of 'Gene Crawley. There was real anger in the man's face; he looked contemptuously at the girl's slim figure, then at the wrecked house, then slowly down at his big, mittened hands. Justine gasped and moved back a step.
"I ain't agoin' to hurt you, Missus Sherrod," he said, quickly. "I'm goin' to help you, that's all."
"I do not require your assistance," she said, coldly. "Why do you come here, 'Gene, when you know I despise to look at you? Why do you persist in annoying me? Is it because my husband isn't here to protect me?"
"We won't argy about that ag'in," he answered, slowly. "You cain't put that roof on the shed an' I kin, so that's why I'm here. I was jes' goin' past when I seen you out here slashin' away with that ax. Thinks I, I'll not 'low her to do that nasty job, an' so I jes' clumb over the fence an'—an'—well, ef helpin' you out of a hard job is annoyin' you, Justine, you'll have to put up with it, that's all; I'm goin' to put that roof on, whether you want me to er not. You're damn—I'm sorry I said that—but you're mighty near froze. Go in by the fire an' I'll 'tend to this."
"I insist that you are not to touch a hand to this lumber. I cannot pay you for the work and I will not accept——"
"Don't say a word about pay. You k'n have me arrested ef you want to fer trespass, er you k'n go in an' git that shotgun of your'n an' blaze away at me, but I'm not goin' to let you kill yourself workin' out here on a job like this."