Again there seemed to be a hidden meaning in her words. "When I meet my father?" Amy repeated slowly.
Anna grew confused. "Yes—I—we—you know John has been trying to sell for a long time; we want to go back to Cleveland; and to-day he learned that a buyer was coming from Boyd City to—"
Amy's face grew white as she rose, trembling, to her feet. "My father," she gasped—"coming here?"
Anna took the frightened girl in her arms—"There, there, dear, don't be afraid. All will be for the best, I am sure. John and I will stand by you and you shall go with us if you wish. But I am sure your father will be glad to take you home with him; and you ought to go; you know you ought; not for your family's sake alone, but for his, you know."
And so they talked as the shadows grew, until in the twilight John came from the field with his tired team, when they went into the house to prepare the evening meal.
* * * * *
Adam Goodrich had by no means forgiven his beautiful daughter for the blow dealt his pride, though one would not easily detect from his manner that there was anything but supreme self-satisfaction in the life of this worthy member of the Jerusalem Church. Mrs. Goodrich's health was broken, but she still remained the same society-loving, fashion-worshipping woman, who by her influence and teaching had ruined her child. It never occurred to the mother that Amy's conduct was the legitimate outcome of her training or associates, but she looked at it always as a weakness in the girl; and Frank, true son of his father, never mentioned his sister but with a curl of his lip, and lived his life as though she had never existed. The family still attended church once each week, still contributed the same amount to the cause, and still found fault with Cameron for his low tastes and new-fangled methods; while they laughed at the new Association as a dream of fools and misguided enthusiasts.
Adam had long wanted to add a good farm to his possessions, and after some correspondence with the agent who had advertised the Barton property, he boarded the train one bright day, to pay a visit of inspection to his contemplated purchase. Reaching the little city of Zanesville in the evening, he spent the night at a hotel. In the morning he called upon the agent, and the two were soon whirling along the road behind a pair of wiry little ponies.
The drive of eight or ten miles passed very pleasantly between the real estate man and his prospective customer in such conversation as gentlemen whose lives are spent in the whirl of the money world indulge in between moments of activity.
At last they neared the farm, and bringing the ponies to a walk, the agent began pointing out the most desirable features of the property: the big barn, the fine timber land in the distance, the rich soil of a field near by, the magnificent crop of corn, the stream of water where cattle stood knee-deep lazily fighting the flies, and the fine young orchard just across the road from the house.