The face of the old merchant was like carved stone.
“You got the goods, didn't you, Mrs. Stark?” he asked, harshly.
“Oh yes, we 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'd be runnin' here with some cock-and-bull story, and we'd be left high and dry, with 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 hand, her eyes wide open in groping wonder.
“I don't understand, Nelson—Mr. Floyd—you mean—”
“I mean that I'll have your entire account charged to me and you can take your time about paying it—next fall, or the next, or any time it suits you. I'll not press you fer it, if you never pay it. I passed your place the other day and your crop looks very promising. You are sure to get out of debt this coming fall.”