"Why, papa wishes to hire Bill—" It was natural to say Bill because it was Bill they always hired, although George was the older; but since we know why George was never offered, we return to her. "I should say William," she corrected awkwardly, and with an effort she cast it out of her mind and went on: "So if—if you think you could—a—use him, or would care to give him the job," she was annoyed with the fact that Bill was halfwitted, and it confused her, which explains the slight catches in her voice. But bravely she continued, "That is, if you have not already given some one else the job, you could speak to papa, and he would be pleased, I'm sure." She ended with evident relief; but the thought that had confused her, being still in her mind, her face was dark with a confusion that he did not understand.
Hoping to relieve the annoyance he could see, although not understanding the cause of it, he spoke up quickly.
"I have not hired a man, and have no other in sight; so your suggestion, Miss, regarding your brother meets with my favor. I will endeavor therefore, to see your father today if possible, if not, later, and discuss the matter pro and con."
He had made it so easy for her, and she was overly gracious as she attempted to have him understand in some manner that her brother was afflicted. So her effort this time was a bit braver, notwithstanding as anxious, however, as before.
"Oh, papa will be glad to have my brother work for you, and I wish you would—would please not hire any other until you have talked with him." She paused again as if to gather courage for the final drive.
"You will find my brother faithful, and honest, and a good worker; but—but—" it seemed that she could not avoid the break in her voice when she came to this all embarrassing point, "but sometimes—he—he makes mistakes. He is a little awkward, a little bunglesome in starting, but if you would—could exercise just a little patience for a few days—a day, I am sure he would please you." It was out at last. She was sure he would understand. It had cost her such an effort to try to make it plain without just coming out and saying he was halfwitted. She was not aware that in concluding she had done so appealingly. He had observed it and his man's heart went out to her in her distress. He remembered then too, although he had on their first meeting forgotten that he had been told all about her brothers, and had also heard of her.
"You need have no fear there, Miss Stewart," he wilfully lied. "I am the most patient man in the world." He wondered then at himself, that he could lie so easily. His one great failing was his impatience, and he knew it. Because he did and felt that he tried to crush it, was his redeeming feature in this respect. But the words had lightened her burden, and there was heightening of her color, as she spoke now with unfeigned delight:
"Oh, that is indeed kind of you. I am so glad to hear you say so. Bill is a good hand—everybody likes him after he has worked a while. It is because he is a little awkward and forgetful in the beginning that worries my father and me. So I'm glad you know now and will not be impatient."
In truth while she did not know it, Jean was pleased with the prospect. He had not lived two years in the country, the new country, without having experienced the difficulty that comes with the usual hired man. The class of men, with the exception of a homesteader, who came to the country for work usually fell into the pastime of gambling and drinking which seemed to be contagious, and many were the griefs they gave those by whom they were employed. And Jean Baptiste, now that she had made it plain regarding her brother, had something to say himself.
"There is one little thing I should like to mention, Miss Stewart," he said with apparent seriousness. She caught her breath with renewed anxiety as she returned his look. In the next instant she was relieved, however, as he said: "You understand that I am baching, a bachelor, and the fare of bachelors is, I trust you will appreciate, not always the best." He paused as he thought of how she must feel after having seen the way he kept his house, and hoped that she could overlook the condition in which she knew he kept it. But if he was embarrassed at the thought of it, it was not so with her. For her sympathy went out to him. She was conscious of how inconvenient it must be to bach, to live alone as he was doing, and to work so hard.