Bravely he kept his word. At sunrise he was already on his way to the marsh, and by the middle of the morning a single sensation encompassed his entire mind: it was that ditching was the hardest, dirtiest, forlornest work that ever fell to a farmer’s lot. He dragged one heavily-booted foot after the other from the ooze, leaned on his spade, and offered himself five minutes’ rest. He looked wearily along the prolongation of the line of the ditch already completed, and wondered how many hundred days the entire improvement would require. Before he decided, his calculations were disturbed by the sound of the family dinner-bell. He looked at the sun, which was his only timepiece while at work, and wondered what could have befallen the hitherto faithful family clock. Again the bell sounded, and when he looked in the direction of the house he saw, on the brow of the hill behind the orchard, his mother waving her apron to him. Something was the matter: what could it be? a tramp?—a persistent lightning-rod man? He hurried toward the house, and soon saw that his mother was waving also something that looked like a handkerchief and then like a piece of paper. A little nearer, and he heard his mother shouting,—
“Father’s writ! We’ve got a letter!”
Phil ran nearly all the way up the hill; he had not performed that difficult feat since he and another boy had raced up, in coasting-time, in wild strife as to which should capture a popular girl and take her down on his sled. A letter from his father was indeed an unusual event, for the old man had not been away from home before, except when on jury-duty in the county town, in many years, yet from the old lady’s manner it seemed the letter must contain something unusual. As he reached the hilltop his mother placed the sheet in his hand, saying,—
“I thought mebbe you’d better see it at once.”
Phil took it, and read aloud as follows:
“Dear Old Girl:
“Your husband is about as usual, though the well-water in this town ain’t fit for decent cattle to drink. I’ve seen some of the sights, and wished more than once that I had you along: if things turn out as they look, though, I’ll bring you down in style yet. I’ve run against the folks that looked at our south ridge with a view to making a cottage village, and, as luck would have it, they knew Mr. Tramlay, who’s rolled up his sleeves and done his best to help clinch things and make a good thing out of it for me. I need Phil; Mr. Tramlay wants him too; and I wish you’d tell him to pack his bag and get back here as soon as he can. The boys can take care of the animals, and there’s nothing else on the farm but can wait till I get back.
“The Lord be with you all, so no more at present, from
“Your loving husband,
“Reuben.”
“P.S.—That gal ain’t no more engaged than I am.”