A great guffaw of laughter reduced poor Angie to tears; and Jennie had to go over and comfort her. It was all right for her to ask that, and they ought not to laugh at Angie, so there! Now, you’re all right, and let’s talk about the new schoolhouse, and so forth. Jennie brought the smiles back to Angle’s face, just in time to hear Jim tell the people amid louder cheers that he had been asked to go into the rural-school extension work in two states, and had been offered a fine salary in either place, but that he wasn’t even considering these offers. And about that time, the children began to get sleepy and cross and naughty, and the women set in motion the agencies which moved the crowd homeward.
Before a bright wood fire—which they really didn’t need, but how else was Jim’s mother to show off the little fireplace?—sat Jim and Jennie. They had been together for a week now—this being their home-coming—and had only begun to get really happy.
“Isn’t it fine to have the fireplace?” said Jennie.
“Yes, but we can’t really afford to burn a fire in it—in Iowa,” said Jim. “Fuel’s too everlastingly scarce. If we use it much, the fagots and deadwood on our ‘glebe-land’ won’t last long.”
“If you should take that Oklahoma position,” said Jennie, “we could afford to have open wood fires all the time.”
“It’s warmer in Oklahoma,” said Jim, “and wood’s more plentiful. Yes”—contemplatively—“we could, dear.”
“It would be nice, wouldn’t it?” said Jennie.
“All right,” said Jim briskly, “get me my writing materials, and we’ll accept. It’s still open.”
Jennie sat looking into the fire oblivious of the suggestion. She was smiling. Jim moved uneasily, and rose.