"Nigh on to a year. I knew it would come some day. She's slaved night and day to keep us goin', since I could remember. It's time Abel an' me was doin' somethin', beside diggin' an' cartin. We never could raise enough to learn a trade."
He dropped his chin on his hand, and sat looking fixedly, but not gloomily, into the fire. His mother could not overhear him, but I thought Jane did,—she put so much vigor into her rubs on the washboard, and spoke more tenderly to old Mrs. Steadman. Jane was a bustling, pleasant, low-spoken girl: I think I mentioned her before.
"The truth is," said Matt, presently jerking out a nervous laugh, "we've all our lives kept draggin' on, waitin' for a great stroke of luck. My father did: he allays thought another year would bring it, and another. He's dead now: he dug an' carted to the last; and here's his sons—men without learnin', in the old rags they wore when they was boys—diggin' an' cartin' just the same. See mother there? That old gown's her best. Often think there's not a lady in the land would look like mother, if she'd laces an' silks to wear; and she shall have them, by"——with a tremendous oath. "There's Jane,"—after a long silence, the color fading out of his face,——"Jane and I are like other people. We"——stopping short.
"Yes," I nodded, gravely.
"Well, could I help it? I couldn't see her, and——But we never can marry, this way of ongoin'. I mean to stand from under, and clear a way for myself. I'm tryin' to be a carpenter, and have stuck to it pretty steady these two years, gettin' a job now and then from the farmers. They like to help a fellow through," with a smile. "I'll marry Jane yet, and put mother where she ought to be."
"That's the true talk, anyhow, Matt."
He flushed again.
"Well," getting up and taking down the stable-lantern from the wall, "it's been the curse of the Steadmans, waitin' for dead men's shoes. That's so!"
An hour later Abel came in, and after lounging about awkwardly touched me on the arm.
"I'd like you to come up 'loft, Mr. Humphreys."