Marion was melted, and no regular farmer was ever more grateful to see the welcome rain after a scorching drought than I was to see her tears. She was melted, and yet, strange to say, I could not get her to assure me that I was forgiven, and I am so constituted that I cannot be content without warm assurances to that effect.
Months went by, and we regained our happiness to an amazing extent; indeed, if Marion had not still refused to confirm it, I would have supposed that I was completely forgiven, for she sometimes went so far as to smile in recalling my conversation with the minister. I no longer worried over her refusal to express an opinion about the farm, for I had made up my mind to have nothing to do with Peter, and to grow potatoes, and potatoes, and yet more potatoes. I had a strong instinct that potatoes would be trumps. Seed was cheap, though labor came high. Joe Wrigley was the only available man, and though he had previously been eager to work for me at a dollar and a half a day, his terms went up to two dollars when I tried to hire him for the season. I thought his wholesale price should be lower than the retail one, but I had to agree to his terms. Day after day he ploughed and harrowed and planted, until I called a halt on the first of July with about one-third of the farm in potatoes. Throughout the summer I bore the jocular allusions of my experienced neighbors to the potato farm, replying only with a shrewd and complacent smile; later, I was flattered to notice that knowing glances of amusement were conspicuously absent when I entered the post-office at mail time, and that my casual remarks were treated with grave consideration. Later still, when the price went up to a dollar and a half a bag, and the prospect that I would have a large crop became a certainty, I was able to indulge in exultant calculations of my probable profits. These delightful anticipations were slightly marred by Marion's persistent lack of enthusiasm, and the fact that when I asked her if she could ever forgive me she always replied that she hoped to be able to before winter. There was something so pointed and yet elusive in this remark that I could not fathom her meaning, and it was not until I noticed that whenever I mentioned potatoes a peculiar tight expression appeared about her mouth that I could guess she was reserving her forgiveness until my promise was redeemed.
One day in the beginning of October I wrote a brief note to the minister. Now I had never seriously considered the possibility of ignoring the promise I had made during my lapse of identity, but I will confess that it was with a pang I prepared to redeem it, for I loved every one of those conical heaps that dotted my fields, with a passionate first love that I knew I could never feel again. Indeed, if I could have preserved them from decay, I would rather have left the pyramids where they stood, as a lasting monument to the genius of the city man who raised more than two thousand dollars worth of potatoes at a cost of less than one thousand, but with iron resolution I determined to keep to the letter of my promise. Of course, I might have done so in a private and incidental manner, but I frankly admit that I believe if a man chooses to be noble and generous he ought to be so in a manner that gives him the most enjoyment and furnishes the most telling example to others.
On the morning of the twenty-first of October the Fairmans arrived to spend with us the first anniversary of their wedding, and not a small part of the pleasure of seeing them again was, to me, the delighted admiration they expressed on making a tour of the pyramids. Aunt Sophy was so exuberant over my success, and her husband so frankly astonished when he rapidly calculated the value of the crop in dollars and cents, that I had much difficulty in retaining my usual modest and unassuming manner. Even Marion, despite a certain inflexible set to her mouth that I detected under her company expression, couldn't help looking regretfully pleased.
We had a most enjoyable dinner, sitting so long over the table that Paul excused himself and went out to play, but it was only a short time until he came running back with the petrifying news that there was a funeral entering the gate. There was a simultaneous rush to the front windows, and out on the road we all saw a long line of democrats beginning to move slowly through our gate. Between the trees, at the head of the procession, we caught fleeting glimpses of a professional silk hat and a suit of black clothes.
"Henry!" cried Marion, with a little shriek. "You wouldn't—let them—bury——?"
"Well, I don't know. If it's a Waydean—and the custom——"
"Henry!" shrieked Aunt Sophy, clasping Marion in her arms.
"Really," began Mr. Fairman, "I—I—"