Sleet set in before the supper was over. It was almost nine o’clock before the social event of the season was over and the lights in the school-house were ready to be turned off. The weather had moderated and the sleet had become a rain. The walking was bad. Slush with pools of water had filled the road.
Old Squire Stout had come over with his three-seated “carry-all”.
“I’ll carry you and Beth home,” he said to Eliza. “You’uns folks is farthest out and you hain’t got no men folks with you. You’d better ride along.”
“I should like to. Beth’s so tired that she can barely keep on her feet.”
They were ready to start when Mrs. Burtsch came out of the school-house with her basket over her arm. “I most forgot my potato-kettle,” she explained. “I never could get along without that.”
“Oh, is that you, Livia,” cried the squire in his way. “Better climb in and we’ll carry you home. Always room for one more. Crowd in somewhere. Let the youngsters sit on the floor.”
Mrs. Burtsch was about to comply when she saw that the only seat not already crowded to its full capacity, was occupied by Eliza and the squire’s wife. They had moved closer to make room for her.
“Not to-night, but I thank you kindly just the same, squire. I’ll keep to Shank’s mare yet awhile. I’ll trot on alone and I’ll be sure to be in good company.”
“Suit yourself, Livia,” said the squire, touching his whip to the flanks of the off horse. “It’s a right fool thing to walk two miles on a night like this when you could just as well ride. But I hain’t no way responsible for your foolishness. You always was plumb set in your ways.”
Later events proved that Mrs. Burtsch was foolish. Sam Houston brought the news to Eliza. Sam and his wife had the best intentions in the world. They were “chock-full” to the throat with fine theories about how to run a farm and anything else that came up for discussion. They meant to put their theories into practice, but somehow they never got around to it. He knew when sauer-kraut should be made and just how it should be made. He got as far in working it out as to have his cabbage piled on the back porch with bran sacks over it to keep it from freezing. His “working germ” took a vacation there. The week following the sauer-kraut supper, he came around to Eliza’s back door. He was careful to “stomp” the snow from his boots before he entered the kitchen.