The Abandoned Farmer

by Sydney Herman Preston

"Well," I commented, drawing a long breath, "it's a good thing he stopped."

"And wasn't Marion clever to manage so well?" asked Aunt Sophy.

"She was indeed," I responded warmly. "I would have given up at five thousand."

Then Marion wondered who the man was, speaking as if he had ceased to exist, and so did Aunt Sophy. I was on the point of wondering also, when it struck me that I could not truthfully do so, and I merely said that as I knew Brooks pretty well he would probably mention the man's name to me, a statement that was unassailable even from Marion's pinnacle of morality, and one that helped me to keep my secret until after Aunt Sophy's departure.

It was well that I had completed my arrangements the day before, for I was so distraught by the ordeal I had passed through that I had difficulty even in remembering that I must hurry away to the station to meet Mr. Fairman, who was due to arrive on the ten o'clock train, and must be entertained by me until the minister appeared to perform the marriage ceremony at eleven. Not having an equipage of my own, I had hired the most presentable one to be found in the neighborhood, and the horse being warranted tractable by his owner, Joe Wrigley, I had no hesitation in driving to the station and back myself, although as a usual thing, if I have to be near a horse I prefer to be in a position where I can look him in the eye.

I had been rather irritated by William's behavior that morning, for he had disappeared for an hour after breakfast just when I most needed him, and when he did appear he explained that he had been busy in the smokehouse rigging up a scarecrow and hadn't heard me calling him. This excuse seemed plausible at the time, though I remembered afterwards it was not the season to scare crows, for he had got permission from Marion the day before to take a discarded sun-bonnet of hers and a pair of Paul's long rubber boots for the purpose, so I warned him to be at the gate to open it when I returned, and drove away. It was not until it was too late to turn back that I found the reins were sticky with grafting wax where William had held them, and that it had melted with the warmth of my hands and ruined my new gloves. It was while I was trying to scrape the wax off with my pocket knife that Peter Waydean stopped me to ask if I had seen a pig of his that had been missing since the day before. It was the first time I had seen him since our quarrel, so I answered briefly in the negative and drove on, but I noticed that he looked after me with surly suspicion, as if he thought I had it concealed under the seat.

Now when I returned half an hour later I was engrossed in conversation with Mr. Fairman, and I had forgotten all about Peter's quest. The horse was trotting along at a creditable pace; Mr. Fairman sat upright beside me in starched and immaculate apparel, trying to appear unconcerned about his approaching fate; I, flicking the animal in the most artfully casual manner to keep him going, had on my best company manners. Perhaps this phrase may suggest effort, constraint, artificiality, but I have been told by Marion that no one could possibly be more charming in manner than I, when I choose to be agreeable, but that when I—but there, I like to take the sweet without the bitter, and the rest is quite irrelevant. I was suave, genial, sympathetic; Mr. Fairman, in that blissfully exalted mood so natural to the occasion, had just drawn my attention to the idyllic beauty of Nature's autumn garb, when suddenly up from the dry ditch at the roadside stumbled Peter Waydean, a dishevelled, disreputable blot upon the scene. Frantically waving his arms, he shouted an invitation to me to stop and give him a chance to do me up. I had an idea that he called me a pig, but we were bowling along at such a rate that I couldn't be sure of his words, though there could be no doubt of his general intentions. For various reasons I did not attempt to stop, and my attention was immediately distracted from him by the sight of Marion's old sun-bonnet bobbing up and down in the ditch some distance ahead. If it had been hanging on a tree or lying on the roadside, I would have been quite surprised, but to see it travel along with unvarying speed and apparent dogged intention in a straight line along the inner side of the ditch seemed very like a miracle. That it could do so without legs was inconceivable; that legs could belong to it was marvellous, but if so, how many, what size and shape? I whipped up the horse, with a passing glance at Mr. Fairman. His eyes were riveted on the bonnet with eager wonderment; he had plainly forgotten for the moment that he was on his way to his wedding. As we neared the lower level of the road we were slightly ahead, and I checked the speed of the horse at the foot of a slope where the ditch ended; just in time, for like a dissolving view there dashed across the road directly in front of us the most grotesque object in the way of a quadruped that could be imagined. Its head was hidden in the sun-bonnet; the short fore-feet were completely encased in Paul's worn-out rubber boots; the body, instead of being hairy, was feathered like that of a Plymouth Rock hen; around the hind legs flapped a tiny pair of blue trousers—only a curly little tail remained to show it was a pig.

It came; it vanished. At the same instant Joe Wrigley's horse stood up very straight on his hind legs and then prepared to sit down on our laps. Without a word, Mr. Fairman leaned sideways and tried to climb head first over the wheel. I had just time to rescue him by seizing his coat-tails with one hand while I lashed the horse with the whip. The effect of that blow was electrical, for with a bound the animal sprang forward at a pace that first astonished, and then alarmed me. We passed the Waydean gate at racing speed, and in a fleeting glimpse of William as he stood there I saw a broad grin merge into open-mouthed horror, and I had the grim satisfaction of knowing that the enjoyment of his handiwork was swallowed up in remorse. In vain I tugged at the reins; the horse had the bit between his teeth, and the only effect was to slacken the traces and put the strain of drawing the vehicle on my arms. Perhaps if I had been alone I would have felt afraid and have resigned myself to disaster, but I was filled with a fierce resolve to save Mr. Fairman and see him safely married, as arranged.

He sat bolt upright now, his face pale and drawn as he gripped the seat with both hands. I had no breath to waste, so I remained silent until he said, in feeble gasps: "I think—perhaps—I'd better—get out."