He had just gone when an old woman wearing a cheap breakfast shawl over her gray head, a dress of dingy solid black calico and a pair of old, heavy shoes approached from the door in the rear.
“I got yore summons, Mr. Mayhew,” she said in a thin, shaky voice. “Peter, my husband, was so downhearted that he wouldn’t come to town, an’ so I had to do it. So you are goin’ to foreclose on us? The mule an’ cow is all on earth we’ve got to make the crop on, and when they are gone we will be plumb ruined.”
The face of the old merchant was like carved stone.
“You got the goods, didn’t you, Mrs. Stark?” he asked harshly.
“Oh, yes, nobody hain’t disputin’ the account,” she answered plaintively.
“And you agreed faithfully if you didn’t pay this spring that the mule and cow would be our property?”
“Oh, yes, of course! As I say, Mr. Mayhew, I’m not blamin’ you-uns. Thar hain’t a thing for me an’ Peter to do but thrust ourselves on my daughter and son-in-law over in Fannin, but I’d rather die than go. We won’t be welcome; they are loaded down with childern too young to work. So it’s settled, Mr. Mayhew—I mean ef we drive over the mule an’ cow thar won’t be no lawsuit?”
“No, there won’t be any suit. I’d let this pass and give you more time, Mrs. Stark, but a thing like that can’t be kept quiet through the country, an’ there are fifty customers of ours over your way who ’ud be running here with some cock-and-bull story and we’d be left high and dry with the goods to pay for in market and nothing to show for it. We make our rules, Mrs. Stark, and they are clearly understood at the time the papers are signed.”
“Never you mind, Mrs. Stark, I’ll fix that all right.” It was Nelson Floyd who was speaking, and with a face full of pity and tenderness he had stepped forward and was offering to shake hands.
The little woman, her lips twitching and drawn, gave him her trembly hand, her eyes wide open in groping wonder.