I was dumb with astonishment at first,—there was much food for reflection in the letter,—but what surprised me most was the absence of any allusion to Mr. Fairman's buying the farm. "Is that all?" I asked, with breathless incredulity.
It wasn't. Marion found another sheet marked, "Later."
"Joseph came in a few minutes ago and handed me one of those telegrams to read. Imagine my astonishment at finding he has bought Waydean for Henry! It seems that on our wedding-day he made up his mind to do this, and never said a word to me about it. If he had I certainly would have said he was too late. How fortunate, after all, that your bargain with Peter fell through. I think Joseph is more pleased to be able to make Henry a present of Waydean than about anything that has happened since we saw you last, and I can't tell you how glad I am. You see, Marion, Henry can go ahead with perfect confidence."
XIV A PASTORAL CALL
For nearly two years I had rigidly adhered to Marion's scheme of inexpensive farming, with the result that we refrained from spending money at a rate that should have enabled us to amass a fortune in course of time. The rent which I paid to Peter practically included a bonus to him for working his own land, but this was a mere trifle to the outlay that would have been necessary had I essayed the rôle of an ordinary amateur farmer. Thus, from the standpoint of economy I can cheerfully testify that the plan was a success, but at times its chafing restrictions irritated me almost to the point of rebellion, as when I heard Abner Davis insinuate that I was not a regular farmer. This feeling, however, gradually wore away, as I learned that Marion's plan not only meant a pecuniary saving, but also a freedom from many responsibilities and worries inseparable from the lot of the ordinary farmer. At all times I could rise superior to the devastations of potato-bugs and cut-worms, early and late frosts, hog-cholera, hail-storms, floods, droughts, and mortgage interest. It was this consideration that made me hesitate to adopt Aunt Sophy's suggestion that I should indulge myself by launching forth in the fatuous career of the irregular farmer who spends his fortune in the delightful pursuit of a phantom profit, but when I began to fully realize that we owned Waydean and that I had five thousand dollars in the bank, the prospect of farming on a larger scale became distinctly alluring. At this point I suddenly made the astounding discovery that Marion had entered upon a policy of absolute non-interference in the matter. Not only did she neglect to point out the proper course for me to take, but she also declined to express an opinion or make a comment upon anything even remotely connected with farming operations; nor would she explain her reasons for this extraordinary behavior, or admit that she had reasons. I could only guess that it was Aunt Sophy's letter which had influenced her to this complete inaction and apparent indifference to my agricultural operations.
It was then that I became aware how dependent I was upon my wife's judgment and how much I distrusted my own. Like a caged bird unwittingly made free, I felt bewildered and forsaken and vainly tried to be restored to favor. I am amenable to reason, to flattery, or to anything else that helps to make life pleasant and more worth living; not so with Marion. It is hopeless to attempt to change her purpose by external influences, and I soon gave up the thankless task of trying to extract an opinion from her that she was bound to keep to herself. It was while I was still in a state of mental bewilderment over her behavior that Peter Waydean came forward with what appeared to be a most reasonable proposition. While I had been puzzling over what I should do with the farm, it appeared that he, by a curious coincidence, was in a similar state of indecision about what he should do without it. He hadn't realized, he said, when he sold the place to Mr. Fairman, how attached he was to the old homestead or how bereft of occupation he would feel when he no longer cultivated the land that he had cropped for half a century. He could scarcely make me understand how gratified he was that I, and not a stranger, was now the owner; indeed, the idea had occurred to him that, considering our friendly relations as neighbors, we might make an arrangement, to our mutual advantage—ahem!—to work the land on shares.
I had but a vague idea of what working land on shares meant, and I had to ask him to explain the term. Instead of giving me a precise definition, he began by pointing out that if I worked the farm myself I would have the expense of keeping a hired man all the year round, as well as extra hands in the busy season; I would have a continued outlay for farm-stock, implements, feed and sundries. On the other hand, if we worked the land on shares, he would be willing to do all the work himself and provide everything necessary, if I were willing to pay him the three hundred dollars that it would cost me to keep a hired man.
"And the produce?" I asked warily, though I felt inclined to agree on the spot.