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+Project Gutenberg's A Little Norsk; Or, Ol' Pap's Flaxen, by Hamlin Garland
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Little Norsk; Or, Ol' Pap's Flaxen
+
+Author: Hamlin Garland
+
+Release Date: June 18, 2007 [EBook #21850]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE NORSK ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Yingling and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
+produced from scanned images of public domain material
+from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A LITTLE NORSK
+
+OR
+
+OL' PAP'S FLAXEN
+
+
+
+By
+
+HAMLIN GARLAND
+
+
+
+AUTHOR OF MAIN TRAVELED ROADS, A MEMBER OF THE THIRD HOUSE,
+A SPOIL OF OFFICE, JASON EDWARDS, ETC.
+
+
+
+NEW YORK
+D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+1892
+
+Copyright, 1892,
+By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
+
+Printed at the
+Appleton Press, U.S.A.
+
+
+
+
+    On the Plain.
+
+
+    _My cabin cowers in the pathless sweep
+    Of the terrible northern blast;
+    Above its roof the wild clouds leap
+    And shriek as they hurtle past.
+    The snow-waves hiss along the plain,
+    Like spectral wolves they stretch and strain
+    And race and ramp--with hissing beat,
+    Like stealthy tread of myriad feet,
+    I hear them pass; upon the roof
+    The icy showers swirl and rattle;
+    At times the moon, from storms aloof,
+    Shines white and wan within the room--
+    Then swift clouds drive across the light
+    And all the plain is lost to sight,
+    The cabin rocks, and on my palm
+    The sifted snow falls, cold and calm._
+
+    _God! What a power is in the wind!
+    I lay my cheek to the cabin side
+    To feel the weight of his giant hands--
+    A speck, a fly in the blasting tide
+    Of streaming, pitiless, icy sands;
+    A single heart with its feeble beat--
+    A mouse in the lion's throat--
+    A swimmer at sea--a sunbeam's mote
+    In the grasp of a tempest of hail and sleet!_
+
+
+
+
+Contents.
+
+
+                                                             PAGE
+
+CHAPTER I.
+    Her Adoptive Parents                                        1
+
+CHAPTER II.
+    Her First Trip in a Blizzard                                9
+
+CHAPTER III.
+    The Burial of her Dead Mother                              22
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+    Flaxen Adopts Anson as "Pap"                               32
+
+CHAPTER V.
+    Flaxen Becomes Indispensable to the Two Old Bachelors      38
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+    A Question of Dress                                        46
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+    After Harvest                                              69
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+    An Empty House                                             78
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+    "Baching" it Again                                         86
+
+CHAPTER X.
+    Flaxen Comes Home on a Vacation                           105
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+    Flaxen Grows Restless                                     113
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+    Flaxen Says Good-bye                                      124
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+    Flaxen's Great Need                                       133
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+    Kendall Steps Out                                         148
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+    Bert Comes Back                                           153
+
+
+
+
+A LITTLE NORSK.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+HER ADOPTIVE PARENTS.
+
+
+"Ans, the next time you twist hay f'r the fire, I wish't you'd dodge the
+damp spots," said the cook, rising from a prolonged scrutiny of the
+stove and the bread in the oven. His pose was threatening.
+
+"Cooks are always grumblin'," calmly remarked Anson, drawing on his
+gloves preparatory to going out to the barn; "but seein' 's this is
+Chris'mus, I'll go out an' knock a barrel to pieces. I want them
+biscuit to be O.K. See?"
+
+"Yes: I see."
+
+"Say, Bert!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Can't we have some sugar-'lasses on our biscuits, seein' it's
+Chris'mus?"
+
+"Well, I s'pose we can, Ans; but we're gittin' purty low on the thing
+these days, an' they ain't no tellin' when we'll be able to git more."
+
+"Well, jes' as you say, not as I care." Anson went out into the roaring
+wind with a shout of defiance, but came back instantly, as if to say
+something he had forgotten. "Say, wha' d'ye s'pose is the trouble over
+to the Norsk's? I hain't seen a sign o' smoke over there f'r two 'r
+three days."
+
+"Well, now you speak of it, Ans, I've be'n thinkin' about that myself.
+I'm afraid he's out o' coal, 'r sick, 'r somethin'. It 'u'd be mighty
+tough f'r the woman an' babe to be there without any fire, an' this
+blizzard whoopin' her up. I guess you'd better go over an' see what's
+up. I was goin' to speak of it this mornin', but f'rgot it, I'm cook
+this week, so I guess the job falls on you."
+
+"All right. Here goes."
+
+"Better take a horse."
+
+"No: I guess not. The snow is driftin' purty bad, an' he couldn't git
+through the drifts, anyway."
+
+"Well, lookout f'r y'rself, ol' man. It looks purty owly off in the
+west. Don't waste any time. I'd hate like thunder to be left alone on a
+Dakota prairie f'r the rest o' the winter."
+
+Anson laughed back through the mist of snow that blew in the open door,
+his great-coat and cap allowing only a glimpse of his cheeks.
+
+The sky was bright overhead, but low down around the horizon it looked
+wild. The air was frightfully cold--far below zero--and the wind had
+been blowing almost every day for a week, and was still strong. The
+snow was sliding fitfully along the sod with a stealthy, menacing
+motion, and far off in the west and north a dense, shining cloud of
+frost was hanging.
+
+The plain was almost as lone and level and bare as a polar ocean, where
+death and silence reign undisputedly. There was not a tree in sight,
+the grass was mainly burned, or buried by the snow, and the little
+shanties of the three or four settlers could hardly be said to be in
+sight, half sunk, as they were, in drifts. A large white owl seated on
+a section stake was the only living thing to be seen.
+
+The boom had not yet struck Buster County. Indeed, it did not seem to
+Bert Gearheart at this moment that it would ever strike Buster County.
+It was as cold, dreary, and unprofitable an outlook as a man could face
+and not go utterly mad. If any of these pioneers could have forecast
+the winter, they would not have dared to pass it on the plains.
+
+Bert watched his partner as he strode rapidly across the prairie, now
+lost to sight as a racing troop of snow-waves, running shoulder-high,
+shot between, now reappearing as the wind lulled.
+
+"This is gittin' pretty monotonous, to tell the honest truth," he
+muttered as he turned from the little window. "If that railroad don't
+show up by March, in some shape or other, I'm goin' to give it up.
+Gittin' free land like this is a little too costly for me. I'll go back
+to Wiscons', an' rent land on shares."
+
+Bert was a younger-looking man than his bachelor companion; perhaps
+because his face was clean-shaven and his frame much slighter. He was a
+silent, moody young fellow, hard to get along with, though of great
+good heart. Anson Wood succeeded in winning and holding his love even
+through the trials of masculine housekeeping. As Bert kept on with the
+dinner, he went often to the little window facing the east and looked
+out, each time thawing a hole in the frost on the window-panes.
+
+The wind was rising again, and the night promised to be wild, as the
+two preceding nights had been. As he moved back and forth setting out
+their scanty meal, he was thinking of the old life back in Wisconsin in
+the deeps of the little _coulée_; of the sleigh-rides with the boys and
+girls; of the Christmas doings; of the damp, thick-falling snow among
+the pines, where the wind had no terrors; of musical bells on swift
+horses in the fragrant deeps, where the snowflakes fell like caresses
+through the tossing branches of the trees.
+
+By the side of such a life the plain, with its sliding snow and
+ferocious wind, was appalling--a treeless expanse and a racing-ground
+for snow and wind. The man's mood grew darker while he mused. He served
+the meal on the rude box which took the place of table, and still his
+companion did not come. Ho looked at his watch. It was nearly one
+o'clock, and yet there was no sign of the sturdy figure of Anson.
+
+The house of the poor Norwegian was about two miles away, and out of
+sight, being built in a gully; but now the eye could distinguish a
+house only when less than a mile away. A man could not at times be seen
+at a distance of ten rods, though occasional lulls in the wind
+permitted Bert to see nearly to the "First Moccasin."
+
+"He may be in the swale," muttered the watcher as he stood with his eye
+to the loop-hole. But the next time he looked the plain was as wild and
+lone as before, save under the rising blast the snow was beginning to
+ramp and race across the level sod till it looked at times like a sea
+running white with foam and misty with spray.
+
+At two o'clock he said: "Well, I s'pose Ans has concluded to stay over
+there to dinner, though what the Norsk can offer as inducement I swear
+I don't know. I'll eat, anyhow; he can have what's left."
+
+He sat down to his lonely meal, and ate slowly, getting up two or three
+times from his candle-box in a growing anxiety for Ans, using the
+heated poker now to clear a spot on the pane. He expressed his growing
+apprehension, manlike, by getting angry.
+
+"I don't see what the darn fool means by stayin' so late. It'll be dark
+by four o'clock, er jest as soon as that cloud over there strikes us.
+You couldn't beat sense into some men's heads with a club."
+
+He had eaten his dinner now, and had taken to pacing up and down the
+little room, which was exactly six paces long and three wide, and just
+high enough to permit Anson to walk erect in the highest part.
+
+"Nice fix to leave a man in, ain't it? All alone here, an' a blizzard
+comin' on! If I ever git out o' this country alive, I'll bet I'll know
+enough not to come back," he broke out, stamping his foot in a rage. "I
+don't see what he means by it. If he's caught in that blow, his life
+ain't worth a cent."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+HER FIRST TRIP IN A BLIZZARD.
+
+
+At half-past two the feelings of the silent watcher began to change. He
+thought more about his partner out there in the rising wind and
+thickening snow. The blast roared round the little cabin with a deep,
+menacing, rising moan, and laid to the stove-pipe a resounding lip,
+wailing and shouting weirdly. Bert's nervous walk quickened, and he
+looked so often through the pane that the frost had not time to close
+up.
+
+Suddenly, out of the blinding, sweeping snow, not ten rods distant, the
+burly form of Anson burst, head down, blindly staggering forward into
+the teeth of the tempest. He walked like a man whose strength was
+almost gone, and he carried a large bundle in his arms.
+
+Gearhart flung the door open, and called in a cheery voice to guide the
+struggling man to the house. He knew what it was to face such a wind.
+
+"Here ye are, ol' man! Right this way! Keep y'r head down!"
+
+Then, seeing that Anson hardly made headway against the terrible blast,
+he rushed out, bare-headed as he was, and caught and hurried him in and
+shut the door.
+
+Reeling blindly, his breath roaring like a furnace, his eyebrows hung
+with icicles, his face masked with crusted snow, Anson staggered in,
+crying hoarsely, "Take her!" then slid to the floor, where he lay
+panting for breath.
+
+Bert caught the bundle from his arms. A wailing, half-smothered cry
+came from it.
+
+"What is it, Ans?" he asked.
+
+"A kid; warm it," said the giant, trying with his numbed fingers to
+undo the shawl which wrapped the bundle. Bert hurriedly unwound the
+shawl, and a frightened child, blue-eyed and flaxen-haired--flossy as
+unfrosted corn-silk--was disclosed like a nubbin of corn after the
+husks are stripped off.
+
+"Why, it's little Flaxen Hair! Wha' d'ye bring her over for?"
+
+"'Sh!" said Anson hoarsely. "Mind how y' git her warm! Don't y' see
+she's froze?"
+
+The little creature was about five, or possibly six years old, scantily
+clad, but neat and pretty. As her feet began to get warm before the
+fire, she wailed with pain, which Bert tried to stop by rubbing.
+
+"Put her hands in y'r hair, hold her feet in y'r hands--don't rub 'em,"
+commanded Ans, who was stripping the ice from his eyelashes and from
+his matted beard, which lay like a shield upon his breast. "Stir up the
+fire; give her some hot coffee an' some feed. She hain't had anything
+to eat."
+
+Bert tried to do all these things at once, and could not, but managed
+finally to get the child a piece of bread and a cup of coffee, and to
+allay her fears. Ans began to recover from his horrible journey and was
+able to speak, though his lungs were still painful.
+
+"Ol' man," he said solemnly and tenderly, "I came jest as near stayin'
+in that last gully down there as a man could an' not. The snow was up
+to my armpits, an' let me down wherever the weeds was. I had to waller;
+if it hadn't be'n for her, I guess I'd 'a' give up; but I jest grit m'
+teeth an' pulled through. There, guess y' hadn't better let her have
+any more. I guess she'll go to sleep now she's fed an' warmed. Jest le'
+me take her now, ol' man."
+
+"No: you git rested up."
+
+"See here, it'll rest me to hold that little chap. I'm all right. My
+hands is frosted some, an' my ears, that's all, but my breath is
+gittin' back. Come on, now," he pleaded.
+
+Bert surrendered the child, who looked up into the bearded face of the
+rough fellow, then rested her head on his breast, and went to sleep at
+last. It made his heart thrill as he felt her little head against his
+breast. He never had held a child in his arms before.
+
+"Say, Bert, reckon I'm a purty fair picture of a fam'ly man, now, eh?
+Throw in a couple o' twists more o' hay----"
+
+Bert stirred up the fire.
+
+"Well, now the little one is off, what's up over to the Norsk's? Wha'
+d'ye bring the child for?" he asked at last.
+
+"Because she was the only livin' soul in the shanty."
+
+"What?" His face was set in horror.
+
+"Fact."
+
+"Where's the Norsk?"
+
+"I don't know. On the prairie somewhere."
+
+"An' the mother?"
+
+"She's----" Here the little one stirred slightly as he leaned forward,
+and Ans said; with a wink, "She's _asleep_." He winked significantly,
+and Bert understood what the sleep was. "Be a little careful what y'
+say--jes' now; the little rat is listenin'. Jest say _relative_ when y'
+mean her--the woman, y' know."
+
+"Yes; sir," he resumed after a moment; "I was scart when I saw that
+house--when I knocked, an' no one stirred 'r come to the door. They
+wasn't a track around, an' the barn an' house was all drifted up. I
+pushed the door open; it was cold as a barn, an' dark. I couldn't see
+anythin' f'r a minute, but I heard a sound o' cryin' from the bed that
+made my hair stand up. I rushed over there, an' there lay the mother on
+the bed, with nothin' on but some kind of a night-dress, an'
+everythin'--dress, shawl, an' all--piled on an' around that blessed
+child."
+
+"She was sleepin'?"
+
+"Like a stone. I couldn't believe it at first. I raved around there,
+split up a chair an' the shelves, an' made a fire. Then I started to
+rub the woman's hands an' feet, but she was cold an' hard as iron."
+Bert shuddered in sympathy. "Then I took the child up an' rubbed her;
+tried to find somethin' f'r her to eat--not a blessed thing in that
+house! Finally I thought I better bolt f'r home----"
+
+"Lucky you did. Hear that wind! Great heavens! We are in for another
+two-days' blow of it. That woman, of course, stripped herself to save
+the child."
+
+"Yes: she did."
+
+"Jes' like a woman! Why didn't she rip down the shelf an' split up the
+chairs for fuel, or keep walkin' up an' down the room?"
+
+"Now, there it is! She _had_ burnt up a lot o' stuff, then took to bed
+with the child. She rolled her up in all the quilts an' shawls an'
+dresses they was in the house; then laid down by the side of her, an'
+put her arm over her--an' froze--jes' like a mother--no judgment!"
+
+"Well, lay her down now, an' eat some thin' y'rself, while I go out an'
+look after the chores. Lord! it makes me crawl to think of that woman
+layin' there in the shanty all alone!" he turned and said in a peculiar
+hesitating voice. He shivered a little as he spoke. "Say, did y' shut
+the door?"
+
+"Yes: an' it shuts hard. The wind n'r wolves can't open it."
+
+"That's good. I couldn't sleep nights if I thought the coyotes could
+get in." Bert's imagination seized upon that lonely cabin and the
+figure lying cold as iron upon the bed. It appealed to him more than to
+Anson.
+
+By four o'clock it was dark, and the lamp was lighted when Bert came
+in, bringing an immense load of hay-twists. The ferocious wind, as if
+exulting in its undisputed sway over the plain, raved in ceaseless fury
+around the cabin, and lashed the roof with a thousand stinging streams
+of snow. The tiny shanty did not rock; it shuddered as if with fright.
+The drifts rose higher on the windows, and here and there through some
+unseen crevice the snow, fine as bolted flour, found its way like oil,
+seeming to penetrate the solid boards; and to the stove-pipe the storm
+still laid hoarse lip, piping incessantly, now dolorously, now
+savagely, now high, now low.
+
+While the two men sat above the fire that night, discussing the sad
+case of the woman, the child slept heavily, muttering and sobbing in
+her sleep.
+
+"The probabilities are," said Anson, in a matter-of-fact way, "the
+Norsk took his oxen an' started f'r Summit f'r provisions, an' got
+caught in this blizzard an' froze to death somewhere--got lost in some
+gully, probably."
+
+"But why didn't he come an' tell us to look after his fam'ly?"
+
+"Well, I s'pose he was afraid to trust us. I don't wonder, as I
+remember the treatment their women git from the Yankees. We look a good
+'eal worse than we are, besides; an' then the poor cuss couldn't talk
+to us, anyhow, an' he's be'n shy ever since he came, in October."
+
+After a long silence, in which Gearheart went over and studied the face
+of the sleeper, Anson said: "Well, if he's dead, an' the woman's dead
+too, we've got to look after this child till some relative turns up.
+An' that woman's got to be buried."
+
+"All right. What's got to be done had better be done right off. We've
+only one bed, Ans, an' a cradle hasn't appeared necessary before. How
+about the sleepin' to-night? If you're goin' into the orphan-asylum
+business, you'll have to open up correspondence with a furniture
+store."
+
+Ans reddened a little. "It ain't mine any more'n yours. We're pardners
+in this job."
+
+"No: I guess not. You look more like a dad, an' I guess I'll shift the
+responsibility of this thing off onto you. I'll bunk here on the floor,
+an' you take the child an' occupy the bed."
+
+"Well, all right," answered Anson, going over in his turn and looking
+down at the white face and tow-coloured hair of the little stranger.
+"But say, we ain't got no night-clothes f'r the little chap. What'll we
+do? Put her to sleep jes' as she is?"
+
+"I reckon we'll have to to-night. Maybe you'll find some more clothes
+over to the shanty."
+
+"Say, Bert," said Ans later.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"It's too darn cold f'r you to sleep on the floor there. You git in
+here on the back side, an' I'll take the child on the front. She'd be
+smashed flatter'n a pancake if she was in the middle. She ain't
+bigger'n a pint o' cider, anyway."
+
+"No, ol' man. I'll lay here on the floor, an' kind o' heave a twist in
+once in a while. It's goin' to be cold enough to freeze the tail off a
+brass bull by daylight."
+
+Ans bashfully crept in beside the sleeping child, taking care not to
+waken her, and lay there thinking of his new responsibility. At every
+shiver of the cowering cabin and rising shriek of the wind, his heart
+went out in love toward the helpless little creature whose dead mother
+lay in the cold and deserted shanty, and whose father was wandering
+perhaps breathless and despairing on the plain, or lying buried in the
+snow in some deep ravine beside his patient oxen. He tucked the
+clothing in carefully about the child, felt to see if her little feet
+were cold, and covered her head with her shawl, patting her lightly
+with his great paw.
+
+"Say, Bert!"
+
+"Well, Ans, what now?"
+
+"If this little chap should wake up an' cry f'r its mother, what in
+thunder would I do?"
+
+"Give it up, ol' boy," was the reply from the depths of the
+buffalo-robes before the fire. "Pat her on the back, an' tell her not
+to cry, or somethin' like that."
+
+"But she can't tell what I say."
+
+"Oh, she'll understand if y' kind o' chuckle an' gurgle like a fam'ly
+man." But the little one slept on, and when, about midnight, Bert got
+up to feed the fire, he left the stove door open to give light, and
+went softly over to the sleepers. Ans was sleeping with the little form
+close to his breast, and the poor, troubled face safe under his shaggy
+beard.
+
+                    *      *      *      *      *
+
+And all night long the blasting wind, sweeping the sea of icy sands,
+hissed and howled round the little sod cabin like surf beating on a
+half-sunken rock. The wind and the snow and the darkness possessed the
+plain; and Cold (whose other name is Death) was king of the horrible
+carnival. It seemed as though morning and sunlight could not come
+again, so absolute was the sway of night and death.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+THE BURIAL OF HER DEAD MOTHER.
+
+
+When Anson woke the next morning, he found the great flower-like eyes
+of the little waif staring straight into his face with a surprise too
+great for words or cries. She stared steadily and solemnly into his
+open eyes for a while, and when he smiled she smiled back; but when he
+lifted his large hand and tried to brush her hair she grew frightened,
+pushing her little fists against him, and began to cry "Mor! Mor Kom!"
+
+This roused Gearheart, who said:
+
+"Well, Ans, what are y' goin' to do with that child? This is your
+mornin' to git breakfast. Come, roll out. I've got the fire goin' good.
+I can't let y' off; it'll break up our system."
+
+Anson rolled out of the bunk and dressed hurriedly in the cold room.
+The only sound was the roar of the stove devouring the hay-twist. Anson
+danced about.
+
+"Thunder an' black cats, ain't it cold! The wind has died down, or we'd
+be froze stiffer'n a wedge. It was mighty good in you, ol' man, to keep
+the stove goin' durin' the night. The child has opened her eyes
+brighter'n a dollar, but I tell you I don't like to let her know what's
+happened to her relatives."
+
+The little one began to wail in a frightened way, being alone in the
+dim corner.
+
+"There she goes now; she's wantin' to go home! That's what she's
+askin', jes' like's not. Say, Bert, what the devil can I do?"
+
+"Talk to her, Ans; chuckle to her."
+
+"Talk! She'll think I'm threatenin' to knock her head off, or
+somethin'. There there, don't ee cry! We'll go see papa soon.--Confound
+it, man, I can't go on with this thing! There, there! See, child, we're
+goin' to have some nice hot pancakes now; goin' to have breakfast now.
+See, ol' pap's goin' to fry some pancakes. Whoop--see!" He took down
+the saucepan, and flourished it in order to make his meaning plainer.
+Bert laughed.
+
+"That's as bad as your fist. Put that down, Ans. You'll scare the young
+one into a fit; you ain't built f'r a jumpin'-jack."
+
+The child did indeed set up a louder and more distracting yell. Getting
+desperate, Anson seized her in his arms, and, despite her struggles,
+began tossing her on his shoulder. The child understood him and ceased
+to cry, especially as Gearheart began to set the table, making a
+pleasant clatter, whistling the while.
+
+The glorious light of the morning made its way only dimly through the
+thickly frosted window-panes; the boards snapped in the horrible cold;
+out in the barn the cattle were bellowing and kicking with pain.
+
+"Do you know," said Bert, impressively, "I couldn't keep that woman out
+o' my mind. I could see her layin' there without any quilts on her, an'
+the mice a-runnin' over her. God! it's tough, this bein' alone on a
+prairie on such a night."
+
+"I knew I'd feel so, an' I jest naturally covered her up an' tucked the
+covers in, the child a-lookin' on. I thought she'd feel better, seein'
+her ma tucked in good an' warm. Poor little rat!"
+
+"Did you do that, ol' man?"
+
+"You bet I did! I couldn't have slep' a wink if I hadn't."
+
+"Well, why didn't y' tell me, so't _I_ could sleep?"
+
+"I didn't think you'd think of it that way, not havin' seen her."
+
+The child now consented to sit in one of the chairs and put her feet
+down by the stove. She wept silently now, with that infrequent, indrawn
+sob, more touching than wails. She felt that these strangers were her
+friends, but she wanted her mother. She ate well, and soon grew more
+resigned. She looked first at one and then at the other of the men as
+they talked, trying to understand their strange language. Then she fell
+to watching a mouse that stole out from behind the flour-barrels,
+snatching a crumb occasionally and darting back, and laughed gleefully
+once, and clapped her hands.
+
+"Now, the first thing after the chores, Ans, is that woman over there.
+Of course it's out o' the question buryin' her, but we'd better go over
+an' git what things there is left o' the girl's, an' fasten up the
+shanty to keep the wolves out."
+
+"But then----"
+
+"What?"
+
+"The mice. You can't shut them out."
+
+"That's so, I never thought o' that. We've got to make a box, I guess;
+but it's goin' to be an awful job for me, Ans, to git her into it. I
+thought I wouldn't have to touch her."
+
+"Le' me go; I've seen her once an' you hain't. I'd just as soon."
+
+"Heaven an' earth! what could I do with the babe? She'd howl like a
+coyote, an' drive me plumb wild. No: you're elected to take care o' the
+child. I ain't worth a picayune at it. Besides, you had your share
+yesterday."
+
+And so, in the brilliant sunshine of that bitterly cold morning,
+Gearheart crunched away over the spotless snow, which burned under his
+feet--a land mocking, glorious, pitiless. Far off some slender columns
+of smoke told of two or three hearth-fires, but mainly the plain was
+level and lifeless as the Polar Ocean, appallingly silent, no cry or
+stir in the whole expanse, no tree to creak nor bell to ring.
+
+It required strong effort on the part of the young man to open the door
+of the cottage, and he stood for some time with his hand on the latch,
+looking about. There was perfect silence without and within, no trace
+of feet or hands anywhere. All was as peaceful and unbroken as a
+sepulchre.
+
+Finally, as if angry with himself, Gearheart shook himself and pushed
+open the door, letting the morning sun stream in. It lighted the bare
+little room and fell on the frozen face and rigid, half-open eyes of
+the dead woman with a strong, white glare. The thin face and worn,
+large-jointed hands lying outside the quilt told of the hardships which
+had been the lot of the sleeper. Her clothing was clean and finer than
+one would expect to see.
+
+Gearheart stood looking at her for a long time, the door still open,
+for he felt re-enforced in some way by the sun. If any one had come
+suddenly and closed the door on him and the white figure there, he
+would have cried out and struggled like a madman to escape, such was
+his unreasoning fear of the dead.
+
+At length, with a long breath, he backed out and closed the door. Going
+to the barn, he found a cow standing at an empty manger, and some hens
+and pigs frozen in the hay. Looking about for some boards to make a
+coffin, he came upon a long box in which a reaper had been packed, and
+this he proceeded to nail together firmly, and to line with pieces of
+an old stove-pipe at such places as he thought the mice would try to
+enter.
+
+When it was all prepared, he carried the box to the house and managed
+to lay it down beside the bed; but he could not bring himself to touch
+the body. He went out to see if some one were not coming. The sound of
+a human voice would have relieved him at once, and he could have gone
+on without hesitation. But there was no one in sight, and no one was
+likely to be; so he returned, and summoning all his resolution, took
+one of the quilts from the bed and placed it in the bottom of the box.
+Then he removed the pillow from beneath the head of the dead woman and
+placed that in the box. Then he paused, the cold moisture breaking out
+on his face.
+
+Like all young persons born far from war, and having no knowledge of
+death even in its quiet forms, he had the most powerful organic
+repugnance toward a corpse. He kept his eye on it as though it were a
+sleeping horror, likely at a sudden sound to rise and walk. More than
+this, there had always been something peculiarly sacred in the form of
+a woman, and in his calmer moments the dead mother appealed to him with
+irresistible power.
+
+At last, with a sort of moan through his set teeth, he approached the
+bed and threw the sheet over the figure, holding it as in a sling;
+then, by a mighty effort, he swung it stiffly off the bed into the box.
+
+He trembled so that he could hardly spread the remaining quilts over
+the dead face. The box was wide enough to receive the stiff, curved
+right arm, and he had nothing to do but to nail the cover on, which he
+did in feverish haste. Then he rose, grasped his tools, rushed outside,
+slammed the door, and set off in great speed across the snow, pushed on
+by an indescribable horror.
+
+As he neared home, his fresh young blood asserted itself more and more;
+but when he entered the cabin he was still trembling, and dropped into
+a chair like a man out of breath. At sight of the ruddy face of Anson,
+and with the aid of the heat and light of the familiar little room, he
+shook off part of his horror.
+
+"Gi' me a cup o' coffee, Ans. I'm kind o' chilly an' tired."
+
+Before drinking he wiped his face and washed his hands again and again
+at the basin in the corner, as though there were something on them
+which was ineffably unclean. The little one, who had been weeping
+again, stared at him with two big tears drying on her hollow cheeks.
+
+"Well?" interrogated Anson.
+
+"I nailed her up safe enough for the present. But what're we goin' to
+do next?"
+
+"I can't see 's we can do anythin' as long as such weather as this
+lasts. It ain't safe f'r one of us to go out an' leave the other alone.
+Besides, it's thirty below zero, an' no road, Moccasin's full of snow;
+an' another wind likely to rise at any time. It's mighty tough on this
+little one, but it can't be helped. As soon as it moderates a little,
+we'll try to find a woman an' a preacher, an' bury that--relative."
+
+"The only woman I know of is ol' Mrs. Cap Burdon, down on the Third
+Moccasin, full fifteen miles away."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+FLAXEN ADOPTS ANSON AS "PAP."
+
+
+For nearly two weeks they waited, while the wind alternately raved and
+whispered over them as it scurried the snow south or east, or shifted
+to the south in the night, bringing "the north end of a south wind,"
+the most intolerable and cutting of winds. Day after day the restless
+snow sifted or leaped across the waste of glittering crust; day after
+day the sun shone in dazzling splendor, but so white and cold that the
+thermometer still kept down among the thirties. They were absolutely
+alone on the plain, except that now and then a desperate wolf or
+inquisitive owl came by.
+
+These were long days for the settlers. They would have been longer had
+it not been for little Elga, or "Flaxen," as they took to calling her.
+They racked their brains to amuse her, and in the intervals of tending
+the cattle and of cooking, or of washing dishes, rummaged through all
+their books and pictures, taught her "cat's cradle," played
+"jack-straws" with her, and with all their resources of song and
+pantomime strove to fill up the little one's lonely days, happy when
+they succeeded in making her laugh.
+
+"That settles it!" said Bert one day, whanging the basin back into the
+empty flour-barrel.
+
+"What's the matter?"
+
+"Matter is, we've reached the bottom o' the flour-barrel, an' it's got
+to be filled; no two ways about that. We can get along on biscuit an'
+pancakes in place o' meat, but we can't put anythin' in the place o'
+bread. If it looks favorable to-morrow, we've got to make a break for
+Summit an' see if we can't stock up."
+
+Early the next morning they brought out the shivering team and piled
+into the box all the quilts and robes they had, and bundling little
+Flaxen in, started across the trackless plain toward the low line of
+hills to the east, twenty-five or thirty miles. From four o'clock in
+the morning till nearly noon they toiled across the sod, now ploughing
+through the deep snow where the unburned grass had held it, now
+scraping across the bare, burned earth, now wandering up or down the
+swales, seeking the shallowest places, now shovelling a pathway
+through.
+
+The sun rose unobscured as usual, and shone down with unusual warmth,
+which afforded the men the satisfaction of seeing little Flaxen warm
+and merry. She chattered away in her own tongue, and clapped her little
+hands in glee at sight of the snowbirds running and fluttering about.
+As they approached the low hills the swales got deeper and more
+difficult to cross, but about eleven o'clock they came to Burdon's
+Ranch, a sort of half-way haven between their own claim and Summit, the
+end of the railway.
+
+Captain Burdon was away, but Mrs. Burdon, a big, slatternly Missourian,
+with all the kindliness of a universal mother in her swarthy face and
+flaccid bosom, ushered them into the cave-like dwelling set in the
+sunny side of Water Moccasin.
+
+"Set down, set right down. Young uns, git out some o' them cheers an'
+let the strangers set. Purty tol'able tough weather? A feller don't git
+out much such weather as this 'ere 'thout he's jes' naturally 'bleeged
+to. Suse, heave in another twist, an' help the little un to take off
+her shawl."
+
+After Mrs. Burdon's little flurry of hospitality was over, Anson found
+time to tell briefly the history of the child.
+
+"Heavens to Betsey! I wan' to know!" she cried, her fat hands on her
+knees and her eyes bulging. "Wal! wal! I declare, it beats the Dutch!
+So that woman jest frizzed right burside the babe! Wal, I never! An'
+the ol' man he ain't showed up? Wal, now, he ain't likely to. I reckon
+I saw that Norsk go by here that very day, an' I says to Cap'n, says I,
+'If that feller don't reach home inside an hour, he'll go through
+heaven a-gittin' home,' says I to the Cap'n."
+
+"Well, now," said Anson, stopping the old woman's garrulous flow, "I've
+got to be off f'r Summit, but I wish you'd jest look after this little
+one here till we git back. It's purty hard weather f'r her to be out,
+an' I don't think she ought to."
+
+"Yaas; leave her, o' course. She'll enjoy playin' with the young uns. I
+reckon y' did all y' could for that woman. Y' can't burry her now; the
+ground's like linkum-vity."
+
+But as Anson turned to leave, the little creature sprang up with a
+torrent of wild words, catching him by the coat, and pleading
+strenuously to go with him. Her accent was unmistakable.
+
+"You wan' to go with Ans?" he inquired, looking down into the little
+tearful face with a strange stirring in his bachelor heart. "I believe
+on my soul she does."
+
+"Sure's y're born!" replied Mrs. Burdon. "She'd rather go with you than
+to stay an' fool with the young uns; that's what she's tryin' to say."
+
+"Do y' wan' to go?" asked Ans again, opening his arms. She sprang
+toward him, raising her eager little hands as high as she could, and
+when he lifted her she twined her arms around his neck.
+
+"Poor little critter! she ain't got no pap ner mam now," the old woman
+explained to the ring of children, who still stared silently at the
+stranger almost without moving.
+
+"Ain't he her pa-a-p?" drawled one of the older girls, sticking a
+finger at Anson.
+
+"He is now," laughed Ans, and that settled the question over which he
+had been pondering for days. It meant that as long as she wanted to
+stay she should be his Flaxen and he would be her "pap." "And you can
+be Uncle Bert, hey?" he said to Bert.
+
+"Good enough," said Bert.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+FLAXEN BECOMES INDISPENSABLE TO THE TWO OLD BACHELORS.
+
+
+They never found any living relative, and only late in the spring was
+the fate of the poor father revealed. He and his cattle were found side
+by side in a deep swale, where they had foundered in the night and
+tempest.
+
+As for little Flaxen, she soon recovered her cheerfulness, with the
+buoyancy natural to childhood, and learned to prattle in broken English
+very fast. She developed a sturdy self-reliance that was surprising in
+one so young, and long before spring came was indispensable to the two
+"old baches."
+
+"Now, Bert," said Ans one day, "I don't wan' to hear you talk in that
+slipshod way any longer before Flaxen. You know better; you've had more
+chance than I have--be'n to school more. They ain't no excuse for you,
+not an ioty. Now, I'm goin' to say to her, 'Never mind how I talk, but
+talk like Bert does."
+
+"Oh, say, now, look here, Ans, I can't stand the strain. Suppose she'd
+hear me swearin' at ol' Barney or the stove?"
+
+"That's jest it. You ain't goin' to swear," decided Anson; and after
+that Bert took the education of the little waif in hand, for he was a
+man of good education; his use of dialect and slang sprang mainly from
+carelessness.
+
+But all the little fatherly duties and discipline fell to Anson, and
+much perplexed he often got. For instance, when he bought her an outfit
+of American clothing at the store they were strange to her and to him,
+and the situation was decidedly embarrassing when they came to try
+them.
+
+"Now, Flaxie, I guess this thing goes on this side before, so's you can
+button it. If it went on so, you _couldn't_ reach around to button it,
+don't you see? I guess you'd better try it so. An' this thing, I judge,
+is a shirt, an' goes on under that other thing, which I reckon is
+called a shimmy. Say, Bert, shouldn't you call that a shirt?" holding
+up a garment.
+
+"W-e-l-l, yes" (after a close scrutiny). "Yes: I should."
+
+"And this a shimmy?"
+
+"Well, now, you've got me, Ans. It seems to me I've heard the women
+folks home talk about shimmies, but they were always kind o' private
+about it, so I don't think I can help you out. That little thing goes
+underneath, sure enough."
+
+"All right, here goes, Flax; if it should turn out to be hind side
+before, no matter."
+
+Then again little Flaxen would want to wear her best dress on
+week-days, and Ans was unable to explain. Here again Bert came to the
+rescue.
+
+"Git her one dress fer ev'ry day in the week, an' make her wear 'em in
+rotation. Hang 'em up an' put a tag on each one--Sunday, Monday, an' so
+on."
+
+"Good idea."
+
+And it was done. But the embarrassments of attending upon the child
+soon passed away; she quickly grew independent of such help, dressed
+herself, and combed her own hair, though Anson enjoyed doing it himself
+when he could find time, and she helped out not a little about the
+house. She seemed to have forgotten her old life, awakening as she had
+from almost deathly torpor into a new home--almost a new world--where a
+strange language was spoken, where no woman was, and where no mention
+of her mother, father, or native land was ever made before her. The
+little waif was at first utterly bewildered, then reconciled, and by
+the time spring came over the prairie was almost happy in the touching
+way of a child deprived of childish things.
+
+Oh, how sweet spring seemed to those snow-weary people! Day after day
+the sun crept higher up in the sky; day after day the snow gave way a
+little on the swells, and streams of water began to trickle down under
+the huge banks of snow, filling the ravines; and then at last came a
+day when a strange, warm wind blew from the northwest. Soft and sweet
+and sensuous it was, as if it swept some tropic bay filled with a
+thousand isles--a wind like a vast warm breath blown upon the land.
+Under its touch the snow did not melt; it vanished. It fled in a single
+day from the plain to the gullies. Another day, and the gullies were
+rivers.
+
+It was the "chinook," which old Lambert, the trapper and surveyor, said
+came from the Pacific Ocean.
+
+The second morning after the chinook began to blow, Anson sprang to his
+feet from his bunk, and standing erect in the early morning light,
+yelled: "Hear that?"
+
+"What is it?" asked Bert.
+
+"There! Hear it?" Anson smiled, holding up his hand joyfully as a
+mellow "Boom--boom--boom" broke through the silent air.
+"Prairie-chickens! Hurrah! Spring has come! That breaks the back o'
+winter short off."
+
+"Hurrah! de 'pring ees come!" cried little Flaxen, gleefully clapping
+her hands in imitation.
+
+No man can know what a warm breeze and the note of a bird can mean to
+him till he is released, as these men were released, from the bondage
+of a horrible winter. Perhaps still more moving was the thought that
+with the spring the loneliness of the prairie would be broken, never
+again to be so dread and drear; for with the coming of spring came the
+tide of land-seekers pouring in: teams scurried here and there on the
+wide prairie, carrying surveyors, land agents, and settlers. At Summit
+trains came rumbling in by the first of April, emptying thousands of
+men, women, and children upon the sod, together with cattle, machinery,
+and household articles, to lie there roofed only by the blue sky.
+Summit, from being a half-buried store and a blacksmith's shop, bloomed
+out into a town with saloons, lumber-yards, hotels, and restaurants;
+the sound of hammer and anvil was incessant, and trains clanged and
+whistled night and day.
+
+Day after day the settlers got their wagons together and loaded up, and
+then moved down the slope into the fair valley of the sleepy James.
+Mrs. Cap Burdon did a rushing business as a hotel-keeper, while Cap
+sold hay and oats at rates which made the land-seekers gasp.
+
+"I'm not out here f'r my health," was all the explanation he ever made.
+
+Soon all around the little shanty of Anson and Bert other shanties were
+built and filled with young, hopeful, buoyant souls. The railway
+surveyors came through, locating a town about three and another about
+twelve miles away, and straightway the bitter rivalry between Boomtown
+and Belleplain began. Belleplain being their town, Bert and Anson swore
+by Belleplain, and correspondingly derided the claims of Boomtown.
+
+With the coming of spring began the fiercest toil of the
+pioneers--breaking the sod, building, harvesting, ploughing; then the
+winter again, though not so hard to bear; then the same round of work
+again. So the land was settled, the sod was turned over; sod shanties
+gave way to little frame houses; the tide of land-seekers passed on,
+the boom burst, but the real workers, like Wood and Gearheart, went
+patiently, steadily on, founding a great State.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+A QUESTION OF DRESS.
+
+
+One morning eight years later Flaxen left the home of Gearheart and
+Wood with old Doll and the buggy, bound for Belleplain after groceries
+for harvest. She drove with a dash, her hat on the back of her head.
+She was seemingly intent on getting all there was possible out of a
+chew of kerosene gum, which she had resolved to throw away upon
+entering town, intending to get a new supply.
+
+She had thriven on Western air and gum, and though hardly more than
+fourteen years of age, her bust and limbs revealed the grace of
+approaching womanhood, however childish her short dress and braided
+hair might still show her to be. Her face was large and decidedly of
+Scandinavian type, fair in spite of wind and sun, and broad at the
+cheekbones. Her eyes were as blue and clear as winter ice.
+
+As she rode along she sang as well as she could without neglecting the
+gum, sitting at one end of the seat like a man, the reins held
+carelessly in her left hand, notwithstanding the swift gait of the
+horse, who always knew when Flaxen was driving. She met a friend on the
+road, and said, "Hello!" pulling up her horse with one strong hand.
+
+"Can't stop," she explained; "got to go over to the city to get some
+groceries for harvest. Goin' to the sociable to-morrow?"
+
+"You bet," replied the friend, "You?"
+
+"I d'know; mebbe, if the boys'll go. Ta-ta; see ye later." And away she
+spun.
+
+Belleplain had not thriven, or to be more exact, it had had a rise and
+fall; and as the rise had been considerable, so the fall was something
+worth chronicling. It was now a collection of wooden buildings, mostly
+empty, graying under the storms and suns of pitiless winters and
+summers, and now, just in mid-summer, surrounded by splendid troops and
+phalanxes of gorgeous sunflowers, whose brown crowns, gold-dusted,
+looked ever toward the sun as it swung through the wide arch of
+cloudless sky. The signs of the empty buildings still remained, and one
+might still read the melancholy decline from splendours of the past in
+"emporiums," "palace drug stores," and "mansion-houses."
+
+As Flaxen would have said, "Belleplain's boom had bu'sted." Her glory
+had gone with the C., B. and Q., which formed the junction at Boomtown
+and left the luckless citizens of Belleplain "high and dry" on the
+prairie, with nothing but a "spur" to travel on. However, a few stores
+yet remained in the midst of desolation.
+
+After making her other purchases, Flaxen entered the "red-front drug
+store" to secure the special brand of gum which seemed most delectable
+and to buy a couple of cigars for the "boys."
+
+The clerk, who was lately from the East, and wore his moustache curled
+upward like the whiskers of a cat, was "gassing" with another young
+man, who sat in a chair with his heels on the counter.
+
+"Well, my dear, what can I do for you to-day?" he said, winking at the
+loafer, as if to say, "Now watch me."
+
+"I want some gum."
+
+"What kind, darling?" he asked, encouraged by the fellow in the chair.
+
+"I ain't your darling.--Kerosene, shoofly, an' ten cents' worth."
+
+"Say, Jack," drawled the other fellow, "git onto the ankles! Say,
+sissy, you picked your dress too soon. She's goin' to be a daisy, first
+you know. Ain't y', honey?" he said, leaning over and pinching her arm.
+
+"Let me alone, you great, mean thing! I'll tell ol' pap on you, see if
+I don't," cried Flaxen, her eyes filling with angry tears. And as they
+proceeded to other and bolder remarks she rushed out, feeling vaguely
+the degradation of being so spoken to and so touched. It seemed to
+become more atrocious the more she thought upon it.
+
+When she reached home there were still signs of tears on her face, and
+when Anson came out to help her alight, and noticing it asked, "What's
+the matter?" she burst out afresh, crying, and talking incoherently.
+Anson was astonished.
+
+"Why, what's the matter, Flaxie? Can't you tell ol' pap? Are ye sick?"
+
+She shook her head, and rushed past him into the house and into her
+bedroom, like a little cyclone of wrath. Ans slowly followed her, much
+perplexed. She was lying face downward on the bed, sobbing.
+
+"What's the matter, little one? Can't y' tell ol' pap? Have the girls
+be'n makin' fun o' yeh again?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Have the boys be'n botherin' yeh?" No reply. "Who was it?" Still
+silence. He was getting stern now. "Tell me right now."
+
+"Jack Reeves--an'--an' another feller."
+
+"Wha' d' they do?" Silence. "Tell me."
+
+"They--pinched me, an'--an'--talked mean to me," she replied, breaking
+down again with the memory of the insult.
+
+Anson began to understand.
+
+"Wal, there! You dry y'r eyes, Flaxie, an' go an' git supper; they
+won't do it again--not _this_ harvest," he added grimly as he marched
+to the door to enter the buggy.
+
+Bert, coming along from the barn and seeing Anson about to drive away,
+asked where he was going. Anson tried to look indifferent.
+
+"Oh, I've got a little business to transact with Reeves and some other
+smart Aleck downtown."
+
+"What's up? What have they be'n doing?" asked Gearheart, reading
+trouble in the eyes of his friend.
+
+"Well, they have be'n a little too fresh with Flaxen to-day, an' need a
+lesson."
+
+"They're equal to it. Say, Anson, let me go," laying his hand on the
+dasher, ready to leap in.
+
+"No: you're too brash. You wouldn't know when to quit. No: you stay
+right here. Don't say anything to Flaxen about it; if she wants to know
+where I'm gone, tell her I found I was out o' nails."
+
+As Anson drove along swiftly he was in a savage mood and thinking
+deeply. Two or three times of late some of his friends had touched
+rather freely upon the fact that Flaxen was becoming a woman. "Girls
+ripen early out in this climate," one old chap had said, "and your
+little Norsk there is likely to leave you one of these days." He felt
+now that something deliberately and inexpressibly offensive had been
+said and done to his little girl. He didn't want to know just what it
+was, but just who did it; that was all. It was time to make a protest.
+
+Hitching his horse to a ring in the sidewalk upon arrival, he walked
+into the drug store, which was also the post-office. Young Reeves was
+inside the post-office corner giving out the mail, and Anson sauntered
+about the store waiting his chance.
+
+He was a dangerous-looking man just now. Ordinarily his vast frame,
+huge, grizzled beard, and stern, steady eyes would quell a panther; but
+now as he leaned against the counter a shrewd observer would have said,
+"Lookout for him; he's dangerous."
+
+His gray shirt, loose at the throat, showed a neck that resembled the
+spreading base of an oak tree, and his crossed limbs and half-recumbent
+pose formed a curious opposition to the look in his eyes.
+
+Nobody noticed him specially. Most comers and goers, being occupied
+with their mail, merely nodded and passed on.
+
+Finally some one called for a cigar, and Reeves, having finished in the
+post-office department, came jauntily along behind the counter directly
+to where Anson stood. As he looked casually into the giant's eyes he
+started back, but too late; one vast hand had clutched him by the
+collar, and he was jerked over the counter and cuffed from hand to
+hand, like a mouse in the paws of a cat. Though Ans used his open palm,
+the punishment was fearful. Blood burst from his victim's nose and
+mouth; he yelled with fright and pain.
+
+The rest rushed to help.
+
+"Stand back! This is a private affair," said Ans, throwing up a warning
+hand. They paused; all knew his strength.
+
+"It wasn't me!" screamed Reeves as the punishment increased; "it was
+Doc Coe."
+
+Coe, his hands full of papers and letters, horrified at what had
+overtaken Reeves, stood looking on. But now he tried to escape.
+Flinging the battered, half-senseless Reeves back over the counter,
+where he lay in a heap, Anson caught Coe by the coat just as he was
+rushing past him, and duplicated the punishment, ending by kicking him
+into the street, where he lay stunned and helpless. Ans said then, in a
+voice that the rest heard, "The next time you insult a girl, you'd
+better inquire into the qualities of her guardeen."
+
+This little matter attended to, he unhitched his horse from the
+sidewalk, and refusing to answer any questions, rode off home,
+outwardly as calm as though he had just been shaking hands.
+
+Supper was about ready when he drove up, and through the open door he
+could see the white-covered table and could hear the cheerful clatter
+of dishes. Flaxen was whistling. Eight years of hard work had not done
+much for these sturdy souls, but they had managed to secure with
+incredible toil a comfortable little house surrounded with
+outbuildings. Calves and chickens gave life to the barn-yard, and
+fields of wheat rippled and ran with swash of heavy-bearded heads and
+dapple of shadow and sheen.
+
+Flaxen was now the housewife and daughter of these hard-working
+pioneers, and a cheery and capable one she had become. No one had ever
+turned up with a better claim to her, and so she had grown up with Ans
+and Bert, going to school when she could spare the time, but mainly
+being adviser and associate at the farm.
+
+Ans and Bert had worked hard winter and summer trying to get ahead, but
+had not succeeded as they had hoped. Crops had failed for three or four
+years, and money was scarce with them; but they had managed to build
+this small frame house and to get a little stock about them, and this
+year, with a good crop, would "swing clear," and be able to do
+something for Flaxen--perhaps send her to Belleplain to school; togged
+out like a little queen.
+
+When Anson returned to the house after putting out the horse, he found
+Bert reading the paper in the little sitting-room and Flaxen putting
+the tea on the stove.
+
+"Wha' d' y' do to him, pap?" laughed she, all her anger gone. Bert came
+out to listen.
+
+"Oh, nothin' p'tic'lar," answered Ans, flinging his hat at a chicken
+that made as though to come in, and rolling up his sleeves preparatory
+to sozzling his face at the sink. "I jest cuffed 'em a little, an' let
+'em go."
+
+"Is that all?" said Flaxen, disappointedly, a comical look on her round
+face.
+
+"Now, don't you worry," put in Bert. "Anson's cuffin' a man is rather
+severe experience. I saw him cuff a man once; it ain't anythin' to be
+desired a second time."
+
+They all drew about the table. Flaxen looked very womanly as she sat
+cutting the bread and pouring the tea. She had always been old in her
+ways about the house, for she had very early assumed the housewife's
+duties and cares. Her fresh-coloured face beamed with delight as she
+watched the hungry men devouring the fried pork, potatoes, and cheese.
+
+"When y' goin' to begin cuttin', boys?" Collectively they were boys to
+her, but when addressing them separately they were "Bert" and "Pap."
+
+"To-morrow 'r nex' day, I guess," answered Anson, looking out of the
+open door. "Don't it look fine--all yeller an' green? I tell ye they
+ain't anything lays over a ripe field o' wheat in my eyes. You jest
+take it when the sun strikes it right, an' the wind is playin' on
+it--when it kind o' sloshes around like water--an' the clouds go over
+it, droppin' shadders down on it, an' a hawk kind o' goes skimmin' over
+it, divin' into it once in a while----"
+
+He did not finish; it was not necessary.
+
+"Yes, sir!" adjudged Gearheart, after a pause, leaning his elbows on
+the table and looking out of the door on the far-stretching,
+sun-glorified plain.
+
+"The harvest kind o' justifies the winter we have out here. That is,
+when we have a harvest such as this. Fact is, we fellers live six
+months o' the year lookin' ahead to harvest, an' t'other six months
+lookin' back to it. Well, this won't buy the woman a dress, Ans. We
+must get that header set up to-night if we can."
+
+They pushed their chairs back noisily and rose to go out. Flaxen said:
+
+"Say, which o' you boys is goin' to help me churn to-night?"
+
+Anson groaned, while she laughed.
+
+"I don't know, Flax; ask us an easier one."
+
+"We'll attend to that after it gets too dark to work on the machine,"
+added Bert.
+
+"Well, see 't y' do. I can't do it; I've got bread to mix an' a chicken
+to dress. Say, if you don't begin cuttin' till day after to-morrow, we
+can go down to the sociable to-morrow night. Last one o' the season."
+
+"I wish it was the last one before the kingdom come," growled Bert as
+he "stomped" out the door. "They're a bad lot. The idea o' takin' down
+four dollars' worth o' grub an' then payin' four dollars for the
+privilege of eatin' half of it! I'll take my chicken here, when I'm
+hungry."
+
+"Bert ain't partial to sociables, is he, pap?" laughed Flaxen.
+
+"I should hate to have the minister dependin' on Bert for a livin'."
+
+"Sa-ay, pap!"
+
+"Wal, babe?"
+
+"I expect I'll haf t' have a new dress one o' these days."
+
+"Think so?"
+
+"You bet."
+
+"Why, what's the matter with the one y' got on? Ain't no holes in it
+that I can see," looking at it carefully and turning her around as if
+she were on a pivot.
+
+"Well, ain't it purty short, pap?" she said suggestively.
+
+"I swear, I don't know but it is," conceded Anson, scratching his head;
+"I hadn't paid much 'tention to it before. It certainly is a lee-tle
+too short. Lemme see: ain't no way o' lettin' it down, is they?"
+
+"Nary. She's clean down to the last notch now," replied Flaxen
+convincingly.
+
+"Couldn't pull through till we thrash?" he continued, still in a
+tentative manner.
+
+"Could, but don't like to," she answered, laughing again, and showing
+her white teeth pleasantly.
+
+"I s'pose it'll cost suthin'," he insinuated in a dubious tone.
+
+"Mattie Stuart paid seven dollars fer her'n, pap, an' I----"
+
+"Seven how manys?"
+
+"Dollars, pap, makin' an' everythin'. An' then I ought to have a new
+hat to go with the dress, an' a new pair o' shoes. All the girls are
+wearin' white, but I reckon I can git along with a good coloured one
+that'll do fer winter."
+
+"Wal, all right. I'll fix it--some way," Ans said, turning away only to
+look back and smile to see her dancing up and down and crying:
+
+"Oh, goody, goody!"
+
+"I'll do it if I haf to borrow money at two per cent a month," said he
+to Bert, as he explained the case. "Hear her sing! Why, dern it! I'd
+spend all I've got to keep that child twitterin' like that. Wouldn't
+you, eh?"
+
+Bert was silent, thinking deeply on a variety of matters suggested by
+Anson's words. The crickets were singing from out the weeds near by; a
+lost little wild chicken was whistling in plaintive sweetness down in
+the barley-field; the flaming light from the half-sunk sun swept along
+the green and yellow grain, glorifying as with a bath of gold
+everything it touched.
+
+"I wish that grain hadn't ripened so fast, Ans. It's blightin'."
+
+"Think so?"
+
+"No: I know it. I went out to look at it before supper, an' every one
+of those spots that look so pretty are just simply burnin' up! But,
+say, ain't it a little singular that Flaxen should blossom out in a
+desire for a new dress all at once? Ain't it rather sudden?"
+
+"Wal, no: I don't think it is. Come to look it all over, up one side
+an' down the other, she's been growin' about an inch a month this
+summer, an' her best dress is gittin' turrible short the best way you
+can fix it. She's gittin' to be 'most a woman, Bert."
+
+"Yes: I know she is," said Bert, significantly. "An' something's got to
+be done right off."
+
+"Wha' d' ye mean by that, ol' man?"
+
+"I mean jest this. It's time we did something religious for that girl.
+She ain't had much chance since she's been here with us. She ain't had
+no chance at all. Now I move that we send her away to school this
+winter. Give her a good outfit an' send her away. This ain't no sort o'
+way for a girl to grow up in."
+
+"Wal, I've be'n thinkin' o' that myself; but where'll we send her?"
+
+"Oh, back to the States somewhere; Wisconsin or Minnesota--somewhere."
+
+"Why not to Boomtown?"
+
+"Well, I'll tell yeh, Ans. I've been hearing a good 'eal off an' on
+about the way we're bringin' her up here 'alone with two rough old
+codgers,' an' I jest want to give her a better chance than the
+Territory affords. I want her to git free of us and all like us, for a
+while; let her see something of the world. Besides, that business over
+in Belleplain to-day kind o' settled me. The plain facts are, Ans, the
+people are a little too free with her because she is growin' up
+here----"
+
+"I know some fellers that won't be again."
+
+"Well, they are beginnin' to wink an' nudge each other an' to say----"
+
+"Go on! What do they say?"
+
+"They say she's goin' to be a woman soon; that this fatherly business
+is bound to play out."
+
+"I'd like to see anybody wink when I'm around. I'd smash 'em!" said
+Anson through his set teeth. "Why, she's our little babe," he broke
+out, as the full significance of the matter came to him. "My little un;
+I'm her ol' pap. Why----" He ended in despair. "It's none o' their darn
+business."
+
+"There ain't no use o' howlin', Ans. You can't smash a whole neighborhood."
+
+"But what are we goin' to do?"
+
+"Well, I'll tell ye what we mustn't do. We mustn't tog her out jest
+yet."
+
+"Why not?" asked Anson, not seeing these subtle distinctions of time
+and place.
+
+"Because, you tog her out this week or next, without any apparent
+reason, in a new hat an' dress an' gloves, an' go down to one o' these
+sociables with her, an' you'd have to clean out the whole crowd. They'd
+all be winkin' an' nudgin' an' grinnin'--see?"
+
+"Wal, go on," said the crushed giant. "What'll we do?"
+
+"Just let things go on as they are for the present till we git ready to
+send her to school."
+
+"But I promised the togs."
+
+"All right. I've stated the case," Gearheart returned, with the air of
+a man who washed his hands of the whole affair.
+
+Anson rose with a sudden gesture. "Jest hear her! whistlin' away like a
+lark. I don't see how I'm goin' to go in there an' spoil all her fun; I
+can't do it, that's all."
+
+"Well, now, you leave it all to me. I'll state the case to her in a way
+that'll catch her--see if I don't. She ain't no common girl."
+
+It was growing dark as they went in, and the girl's face could not be
+seen.
+
+"Well, Bert, are y' ready to help churn?"
+
+"Yes, I guess so, if Ans'll milk."
+
+"Oh, he'll milk; he jest loves to milk ol' Brindle when the flies are
+thick."
+
+"Oh, you bet," said Ans, to make her laugh.
+
+"Now, Flaxen," coughed Gearheart in beginning, "we've been discussin'
+your case, an' we've come to the conclusion that you ought to have the
+togs specified in the indictment" (this to take away the gravity of
+what was to follow); "but we're kind o' up a tree about just what we'd
+better do. The case is this. We've got to buy a horse to fill out our
+team, an' that's a-goin' to take about all we can rake an' scrape."
+
+"We may have to git our groceries on tick. Now, if you could only pull
+through till after----" Anson broke in.
+
+"It's purty tough, Flaxie, an' pap's awful sorry; but if you could jest
+pull through----"
+
+It was a great blow to poor little Flaxen, and she broke down and cried
+unrestrainedly.
+
+"I--I--don't see why I can't have things like the rest o' the girls."
+It was her first reproach, and it cut to the heart. Anson swore under
+his breath, and was stepping forward to say something when Gearheart
+restrained him.
+
+"But, y' see, Flaxie, we ain't askin' you to give up the dress, only to
+wait on us for a month or so, till we thrash."
+
+"That's it, babe," said Anson, going over to where she sat, with her
+arms lying on the table and her face hidden upon them. "We could spend
+dollars then where we couldn't cents now."
+
+"And they won't be any more thingumiyjigs at the church, anyhow, an'
+the wheat's blightin' on the knolls, besides."
+
+But the first keen disappointment over, she was her brave self once
+more.
+
+"Well, all right, boys," she said, her trembling voice curiously at
+variance with her words; "I'll get along somehow, but I tell you I'll
+have something scrumptious to pay for this--see if I don't." She was
+smiling again faintly, "It'll cost more'n _one_ ten dollars for my
+togs, as you call 'em. Now, pap, you go an' milk that cow! An', Bert,
+you glue yerself to that churn-dasher, an' don't you stop to breathe or
+swear till it's done."
+
+"That's the girl to have--that's our own Flaxie! She knows how hard
+things come on a farm," cheered Anson.
+
+"I bet I do," she said, wiping away the last trace of her tears and
+smiling at her palpable hit. And then began the thump of the dasher,
+and out in the dusk Anson was whistling as he milked.
+
+She went down to the sociable the next night in her old dress, and
+bravely looked happy for pap's sake. Bert did not go. Anson was a
+rather handsome old fellow. Huge, bearded like a Russian, though the
+colour of his beard was a wolf brindle, resembling a bunch of dry
+buffalo-grass, Bert was accustomed to say that he looked the father of
+the girl, for she had the same robust development, carried herself as
+erect, and looked everybody in the eye with the same laughing
+directness.
+
+There were some sly remarks among a ribald few, but on the whole
+everything passed off as usual. They were both general favorites, and
+as a matter of fact few people remarked that Flaxen's dress was not
+good enough. She certainly forgot all about it, so complete was her
+absorption in the gayety of the evening.
+
+"Wal, now for four weeks' hard times, Flaxen," said Anson, as they were
+jogging homeward about eleven o'clock.
+
+"I can stand _my_ share of it, pap," she stoutly replied. "I'm no
+chicken."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+AFTER HARVEST.
+
+
+All through those four or five weeks, at every opportunity, the
+partners planned the future of their waif. In the harvest-field, when
+they had a moment together, one would say to the other:
+
+"We'll let her stay two years if she likes it, eh?"
+
+"Certainly; she needn't come back till she wants to. We may be rich
+enough to sell out then, and move back ourselves. I'm gittin' tired o'
+this prairie myself. If we could sell, we'd put her through a whole
+course o' sprouts."
+
+"You bet! Sell when you can find a buyer. I'll sign the deed."
+
+"All right."
+
+And then they would go to work again toiling and planning for the
+future. Every day during August these men worked with the energy of
+demons, up early in the morning and out late at night, harvesting their
+crop. All day the header clattered to and fro with Bert or Ans astride
+the rudder, a cloud of dust rolling up from the ground, out of which
+the painted flanges of the reel flashed like sword-strokes. All day,
+and day after day; while the gulls sailed and soared in the hazy air
+and the larks piped from the dun grass, these human beings, covered
+with grime and sweat, worked in heat and parching wind. And never for
+an hour did they forget their little waif and her needs. And she did
+her part in the house. She rose as early as they and worked almost as
+late. It was miraculous, they admitted.
+
+One night toward the last of the harvest they were returning along the
+road from a neighboring farm, where they had been to head some late
+wheat. The tired horses with down-hung heads and swinging traces were
+walking sullenly but swiftly along the homeward road, the wagon
+rumbling sleepily; the stars were coming out in the east, while yet the
+rose and amethyst of the fallen sun lighted the western sky. Through
+the air, growing moist, came the sound of reapers still going. Men were
+shouting blithely, while voices of women and children came from the
+cabins, where yellow lights began to twinkle.
+
+Anson and Bert, blackened with dust and perspiration and weary to the
+point of listlessness, sat with elbows on knees, talking in low, slow
+tones on the never-failing topic, crops and profits. Their voices
+chimed with the sound of the wagon.
+
+"There's the light," broke out Ans, rousing himself and the team;
+"Flaxen's got supper all ready for us. She's a regular little Trojan,
+that girl is. They ain't many girls o' fourteen that 'u'd stay there
+contented all day alone an' keep all the whole business in apple-pie
+order. She'll get her pay some day."
+
+"We'll try to pay her; but say, ol' man, ain't it about time to open up
+our plans to her?"
+
+"Wal, yes; it is. You kind o' start the thing to-night, an' we'll have
+it over with."
+
+As they drove up, Flaxen came to the door. "Hello, boys! What makes ye
+so late?"
+
+"Finishin' up a field, babe. All done."
+
+She clapped her hands and danced up and down.
+
+"Goody! all done at last. Well, yank them horses out o' their harnesses
+an' come to biscuits. They're jest sizzlin' hot."
+
+"All right. We'll be there in about two jerks of a lamb's tail in
+fly-time. Bert, grab a tug; I'm hungry as a wolf."
+
+It was about the first of September and the nights were getting cool,
+and the steaming supper seemed like a feast to the chilled and
+stiffened men coming in a little later and sitting down with the sound
+of the girl's cheery voice in their ears. The tea was hot; so were the
+biscuits. The pyramid of hot mashed potato had a lump of half-melted
+butter in the hollow top, and there were canned peaches and canned
+salmon.
+
+"Yes: we're about finished up harvestin'," said Bert, as they settled
+themselves at the table, "an' it's about time to talk about gittin' you
+off to school."
+
+"Don't worry about that. It ain't no great job, I reckon. I can git
+ready in about seventeen jiffies, stop-watch time."
+
+"Not if you are goin' away off to some city in the East----"
+
+"Yes: but I ain't, y' see."
+
+"Oh, yes, you are. Bert an' I've be'n talkin' it all over f'r the last
+three weeks. We're goin' to send you back to St. Peter to the
+seminary."
+
+"I guess not, pap. I'd like to know what you think you're a-doin'
+sendin' me 'way back there. Boomtown's good enough fer me."
+
+"There, there, Flaxie; don't git mad. Y' see, we think they ain't
+anythin' good enough for you. Nothin' too good for a girl that stays to
+home an' cooks f'r two old cusses----"
+
+"You ain't cusses! You're jest as good as you can be; but I ain't
+a-goin'--there!"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"'Cause I ain't; that's why."
+
+"Why, don't y' wan' to go back there where the people have nice houses,
+an' where they's a good----"
+
+"Well, I don't know enough; that's why. I ain't goin' back to no
+seminary to be laughed at 'cause I don't know beans."
+
+"But you do," laughed Bert, with an attempt to lighten the gloom--"you
+know canned beans."
+
+"They'd laff at me, I know, an' call me a little Norsk." She was ready
+to cry.
+
+"I'll bet they won't, not when they see our new dress an' our new gold
+watch--dress jest the color o' crow's-foot grass, watch thirty carats
+fine. I'd laugh to see 'em callin' my babe names then!"
+
+And so by bribing, coaxing, and lying they finally obtained her tearful
+consent. They might not have succeeded even then had it not been for a
+young lady in Boomtown who was going back to the same school, and who
+offered to take her in charge. But there was hardly a day that she did
+not fling herself down into a chair and cry out:
+
+"I jest ain't goin'. I'm all right here, an' I don't see why you can't
+let me stay here. _I_ ain't made no fuss. Seems as if you thought it
+was fun f'r me to go 'way off there where I don't know anythin' an'
+where I don't know anybody."
+
+But having come to a conclusion, the men were relentless. They hired
+sewing-girls, and skirmished back and forth between Boomtown and the
+farm like mad. Their steady zeal made up for her moody and fitful
+enthusiasm. However, she grew more resigned to the idea as the days
+wore on toward the departure, though her fits of dark and unusual
+musing were alarming to Anson, who feared a desperate retreat at the
+last moment.
+
+He took her over to see Miss Holt one day, but not before he had
+prepared the way.
+
+"I s'pose things are in purty good shape around this seminary?" he
+asked.
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed. There are three large buildings; libraries,
+picture-galleries, and music-rooms. The boarding-halls are carpeted and
+the parlors are really elegant."
+
+"Uh-hum!" commented Anson. "Well, now, I'm goin' to bring my girl over
+to see you, an' I guess it 'u'd be jest as well if you didn't mention
+these fineries an' things. Y' see, she's afraid of all such things. It
+'u'd be better to tell her that things weren't very gorgeous
+there--about like the graded school in Boomtown, say. She ain't used to
+these music-halls an' things. Kind o' make her think St. Peter ain't no
+great shakes, anyhow."
+
+"I see," laughed the quick-witted girl. And she succeeded in removing
+a good deal of Flaxen's dread of the seminary.
+
+"Wal, babe, to-morrow," said Anson, as they were eating supper, and he
+was astonished to see her break out in weeping.
+
+"Why don't you keep harpin' away on that the whole while?" she
+exclaimed. "Can't you leave me alone a minute? Seems to me you're jest
+crazy to git rid o' me."
+
+"Oh, we are," put in Bert. "We're jest lickin' our chops to git back to
+sour flapjacks an' soggy bread. Jest seems as though we couldn't wait
+till to-morrow noon, to begin doing our own cookin' again."
+
+This cleared the air a little, and they spent the rest of the evening
+without saying very much directly upon the departure. The two men sat
+up late after Flaxen had gone to bed. There was the trunk and valise
+which would not let them forget even for a moment what was coming on
+the morrow. Every time Anson looked at her he sighed and tried to
+swallow the lump in his throat.
+
+"Say, Bert, let's let her stay if she wants to," he said suddenly after
+they had been in silence for a long time.
+
+"Don't make a cussed fool of yourself, Ans," growled Bert, who saw that
+heroic measures were necessary. "Go to bed an' don't you say another
+word; we've got to take our medicine like men."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+AN EMPTY HOUSE.
+
+
+Anson was the more talkative of the two next morning, however.
+
+"Come, come, brace up, babe! Anybody 'u'd think we'd lost all the rest
+of our family, when we're only doin' the square thing by our daughter.
+That's all. Why, you'll be as happy as a canary in less'n two weeks.
+Young folks is about the same everywhere, an' you'll git acquainted in
+less'n two jiffies."
+
+They were on the road to Boomtown to put Flaxen on the train. It was
+about the tenth of September, early in the cold, crisp air of a perfect
+morning. In the south there was a vast phantom lake, with duplicate
+cities here and there along the winding shores, which stretched from
+east to west. The grain-stacks stood around so thickly that they seemed
+like walls of a great, low-built town, the mirage bringing into vision
+countless hundreds of them commonly below the horizon.
+
+The smoke of steam threshing-machines mounted into the still air here
+and there, and hung long in a slowly drifting cloud above the land. The
+prairie-lark, the last of the singing birds, whistled softly and
+infrequently from the dry grass. The gulls were streaming south from
+the lakes.
+
+They were driving her to Boomtown to avoid the inquisitive eyes of the
+good people of Belleplain. "I may break down an' blubber," said Anson
+to Bert; "an' if I do, I don't want them cussed idiots standin' around
+laughin'--it's better to go on the C., B. and Q., anyhow."
+
+Notwithstanding his struggle to keep talk going, Anson was unsuccessful
+from the very moment that Belleplain faded to an unsubstantial group of
+shadows and disappeared from the level plain into the air, just as
+Boomtown correspondingly wavered into sight ahead. Silence so profound
+was a restraint on them all, and poor Flaxen with wide eyes looked
+wistfully on the plain that stretched away into unknown regions. She
+was thinking of her poor mother, whom she dimly remembered in the
+horror of that first winter. Naturally of a gay, buoyant disposition,
+she had not dwelt much upon her future or her past; but now that the
+familiar plain seemed slipping from her sight entirely, she was
+conscious of its beauty, and, rapt with the associated emotions which
+came crowding upon her, she felt as though she were leaving the tried
+and true for the unknown and uncertain.
+
+"Boys," she said finally, "do you s'pose I've got any folks?"
+
+"I shouldn't wonder if y' had, babe, somewhere back in the ol'
+country."
+
+"They couldn't talk with me if I could find 'em, could they?"
+
+"I reckon not, 'less you study so hard that you can learn their lingo,"
+said Ans, seeing another opportunity to add a reason for going to
+school.
+
+"Well, boys, that's what I'm goin' to do, an' by an' by we'll go over
+there an' see if we can't find 'em, won't we?"
+
+"That's the talk; now you're gittin' down to business," rejoined Ans.
+
+"I s'pose St. Peter is a good 'eal bigger'n Boomtown," she said
+sighfully, as they neared the "emporium of the sleepy James."
+
+"A little," said the astute Gearheart.
+
+The clanging of the engines and the noise of shouting gave her a
+sinking sensation in the chest, and she clung to Anson's arm as they
+drove past the engine. She was deafened by the hiss of the escaping
+steam of the monster standing motionless, headed toward the east, ready
+to leap on its sounding way.
+
+On the platform they found Miss Holt and a number of other friends
+waiting. There was a great deal of clanging and whanging and scuffling,
+it seemed to the poor, overwrought girl. Miss Holt took her in charge
+at once and tried to keep her cheerful. When they had checked her trunk
+and the train was about ready to start, Ans looked uneasy and fidgeted
+about. Bert looked on, silent and dark. Flaxen, with her new long dress
+and new hat, looked quite the woman, and Miss Holt greeted her as such;
+indeed, she kept so close to her that Anson looked in vain for a chance
+to say something more which was on his mind. Finally, as the train was
+about going, he said hesitatingly:
+
+"Elga, jest a minute." She stared for a moment, then came up to him.
+
+"I didn't want to call y' Flaxen afore her," he explained; "but
+you--ain't--kissed us good-bye." He ended hesitatingly.
+
+The tears were already streaming down her cheeks, and this was too
+much. She flung her arms about his neck and sobbed on his bosom with
+the abandon of girlish grief.
+
+"I don't wan' to go 't all, pap."
+
+"Oh, yes, y' do, Elga; yes; y' do! Don't mind us; we'll be all right.
+I'll have Bert writin' a full half the time. There, kiss me good-bye
+an' git on--Bert here, too."
+
+She kissed him twice through his bristling moustache, and going to Bert
+offered her lips, and then came back to Anson and threw herself against
+his broad, strong breast. She had no one to love but these two. It
+seemed as if she were leaving everything in the world. Anson took her
+on his firm arm and helped her on the car, and followed her till she
+was seated beside Miss Holt.
+
+"Don't cry, babe; you'll make ol' pap feel turrible. He'll break right
+down here afore all these people, an' blubber, if y' don't cheer up.
+Why, you'll soon be as happy as a fly in soup. Good-bye, good-bye!"
+
+The train started, and Anson, brushing his eyes with his great brown
+hand, swung himself off and stood looking at her. As the train passed
+him she rushed to the rear end of the car, and remained there looking
+back at the little station till the sympathetic Miss Holt gently led
+her back to her seat. Then she flattened her round cheek against the
+pane and tried to see the boys. When the last house of the town passed
+by her window she sank back in her seat and sobbed silently.
+
+                    *      *      *      *      *
+
+"I feel as if I'd be'n attendin' my own funeral," said Anson, after
+they had got into their wagon and the train had gone out of sight in
+the haze of the prairie.
+
+"Well, it's pretty tough on that child to go off that way. To her the
+world is all a great mystery. When you an' I go to heaven it won't be
+any greater change for us than this change for Flaxen--every face
+strange, every spot new."
+
+"Wal, she ain't far away but we can look out for her. She ain't poor
+n'r fatherless as long as we live, hey?"
+
+And then silence fell on them. As they were jogging homeward they saw
+the gray gulls rise from the sod and go home to the lake for the night.
+They heard the crickets' evening chorus broaden and deepen to an
+endless and monotonous symphony, while behind fantastic, thin, and
+rainless clouds the sun sank in unspeakable glory of colour. The air,
+perfectly still, was cool almost to frostiness, and, far above, the
+fair stars broke from the lilac and gold of the sun-flushed sky. Lights
+in the farm-houses began to appear.
+
+Once or twice Anson said: "She's about at Summit now. I hope she's
+chirked up."
+
+They met threshing-crews going noisily home to supper. Once they met an
+"outfit," engine, tank, separator, all moving along like a train of
+cars, while every few minutes the red light from the furnace gleamed on
+the man who was stuffing the straw into the furnace-door, bringing out
+his face so plainly that they knew him. As the night grew deeper, an
+occasional owl flapped across the fields in search of mice.
+
+"We're bound to miss her like thunder, Bert; no two ways about that.
+Can't help but miss her on the cookin', hey?"
+
+Bert nodded without looking up. As they came in sight of home at last,
+and saw the house silhouetted against the faintly yellow sky, Ans said
+with a sigh:
+
+"No light an' no singin' there to-night."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+"BACHING" IT AGAIN.
+
+
+"The fact is, Flaxen has sp'iled us," laughed Anson, a couple of days
+later, when Bert was cursing the soggy biscuit. "We've got so
+high-toned that we can't stand common cookin'. Time was we'd 'a'
+thought ourselves lucky to git as good as that. Rec'lect them flapjacks
+we ust to make? By mighty! you could shoe a horse with 'em. Say, I wish
+I could jest slip in an' see what she's a-doin' about now, hey?"
+
+"She's probably writin' a letter. She won't do much of anythin' else
+for the first week."
+
+"I hope you're right," said Anson.
+
+They got a queer little letter every Wednesday, each one for several
+weeks pitifully like the others.
+
+    Dear boys i thought i would take my pen in hand to tell you i dont
+    like it one bit the school is just as mene as it can be the girls
+    do laugh at me they call me toe-head. if i catch em right i will
+    fix their heads. They is one girl who i like she is from pipestone
+    she dont know no moren i do she says my dress is pritty--ol nig an
+    the drake all rite i wish i was home. ELGA.
+
+The wish to be home was in all these letters like a sob. The men read
+them over carefully and gravely, and finally Anson would put them away
+in the Bible (bought on Flaxen's account) for safe-keeping.
+
+As the letters improved in form their exultation increased.
+
+"Say, Bert, don't you notice she writes better now? She makes big I's
+now in place o' little ones. Seems 's if she runs the sentence all
+together, though."
+
+"She'll come out all right. You see, she goes into the preparatory
+department, where they teach writin' an' spellin'. You'll see her hand
+improve right along now."
+
+And it did, and she ceased to wail for home and ceased to say that she
+hated her studies.
+
+"I am getting along splendid," she wrote some weeks after this. "I like
+my teacher; her name is Holt. She is just as nice as she can be. She is
+cousin to the one who came with me; I live with her uncle, and I can go
+to soshibles whenever I want to; but the other girls cant. I am feeling
+pretty good, but I wish you boys was here."
+
+She did not wish to be at home this time!
+
+Winter shut down on the broad land again with that implacable,
+remorseless brilliancy of fierce cold which characterises the northern
+plain, stopping work on the farm and bolting all doors. Hardly a day
+that the sun did not shine; but the light was hard, white, glittering,
+and cold, the winds treacherous, the snow wild and restless. There was
+now comparatively little danger of being lost even in the fiercest
+storms, but still life in one of these little cabins had an isolation
+almost as terrible as that of a ship wedged amid the ice-floes of the
+polar regions.
+
+Day after day rising to feed the cattle, night after night bending over
+the sooty stove listening to the ceaseless voice of the wind as it beat
+and brushed, whispered, moaned, and piped or screamed around the
+windows and eaves--this was their life, varied with an occasional visit
+to the store or the post-office, or by the call of a neighbour. It is
+easy to conceive that Flaxen's bright letters were like bursts of
+bird-song in their loneliness. Many of the young men, their neighbours,
+went back East to spend the winter--back to Michigan, Iowa, New York,
+or elsewhere.
+
+"Ans, why don't you go back an' visit your folks?" asked Bert, one day.
+"I'll take care o' things."
+
+"Wal, the fact is, I've be'n away so long they don't care whether I'm
+alive er dead. I ain't got no near relatives except a sister, an' she's
+got all the fam'ly she can 'tend to."
+
+"Same here. We ain't very affectionate, anyway; our fam'ly and I don't
+write. Still I'd like to go back, just to see how they all are."
+
+"Why not go?"
+
+"Well, I don't know. I guess I must one o' these days. I've kind o'
+be'n waitin' till we got into a little better shape. I hate to go back
+poor."
+
+"So do I. It's hard work f'r me to give up beat; I ain't goin' to do it
+yet awhile."
+
+Sometimes a neighbour dropped in during the middle of the day, and on
+pleasant days they would harness up the team and take a drive down to
+the store and the post-office; but mainly they vegetated like a couple
+of huge potatoes in a cellar, as did most of the settlers. There was
+nothing else to do.
+
+It was the worst winter since the first that they had spent in the
+country. The snow seemed never still. It slid, streamed, rose in the
+air ceaselessly; it covered the hay, drifted up the barn door, swept
+the fields bare, and, carrying the dirt of the ploughed fields with it,
+built huge black drifts wherever there was a wind-break, corn-field, or
+other obstruction.
+
+There were moments when Bert was well-nigh desperate. Only contact with
+hard work and cold winds saved him. He was naturally a more ambitious,
+more austere man than Anson. He was not content to vegetate, but longed
+to escape. He felt that he was wasting his life.
+
+It was in December that the letter first came from Flaxen which
+mentioned Will Kendall.
+
+    O boys! I had the best time. We had a party at our house and lots
+    of boys came and girls too, and they were nice, the boys, I mean.
+    Will Kendall he is the nicest feller you ever seen. He has got
+    black eyes and brown hair and a gold watch-chain with a locket with
+    some girl's hair in it, and he said it was his sister's hair, but I
+    told him I didn't believe it, do you? We had cake and popcorn and
+    lasses candy; and Will he took me out to supper.
+
+Bert was reading the letter, and at this point he stopped and raised
+his eyes, and the two men gazed at each other without a word for a long
+time. Then Anson laughed.
+
+"She's gittin' over her homesickness. She's all right now she's got out
+to a sociable."
+
+After that there was hardly a letter that did not mention Kendall in
+some innocent fashion among the other boys and girls who took part in
+the sleigh-rides, parties, and sociables. But the morbidly acute Bert,
+if he saw, said nothing, and Anson did not see.
+
+"Who d' y' s'pose this Kendall is?" asked Anson, one night late in the
+winter, of Gearheart, who was reading the paper while his companion
+reread a letter from Flaxen. "Seems to me she's writin' a good 'eal
+about him lately."
+
+"Oh, some slick little dry-goods clerk or druggist," said Bert, with
+unwarrantable irritation.
+
+"She seems to have a good 'eal to say about him, anyway," repeated
+Anson, in a meditative way.
+
+"Oh, that's natural enough. They are two young folks together," replied
+Bert, with a careless accent, to remove any suspicion which his hasty
+utterance might have raised in Anson's mind.
+
+"Wal, I guess you're right," agreed Anson, after a pause, relieved.
+This relief was made complete when in other letters which came she said
+less and less about Kendall. If they had been more experienced, they
+would have been disturbed by this suspicious fact.
+
+Then again, when Anson wrote asking "What has become of that Kendall
+you wrote so much about?" she replied that he was there, and began
+writing of him again in a careless sort of way, with the craft of woman
+already manifest in the change of front.
+
+Spring came again, and that ever-recurring miracle, the good green
+grass, sprang forth from its covering of ice and snow, up from its
+hiding-place in the dark, cold sod.
+
+Again the two men set to work ferociously at the seeding. Up early in
+the wide, sweet dawn, toiling through the day behind harrow and seeder,
+coming in at noon to a poor and badly cooked meal, hurrying back to the
+field and working till night, coming in at sundown so tired that one
+leg could hardly be dragged by the other--this was their daily life.
+
+One day, as they were eating their supper of sour bread and canned
+beans, Gearheart irritatedly broke out: "Ans, why don't you git
+married? It 'u'd simplify matters a good 'eal if you should. 'Old Russ'
+is no good."
+
+"What's the matter with _your_ gittin' married?" replied Anson,
+imperturbably pinching oil the cooked part of the loaf, skilfully
+leaving the doughy part.
+
+"I ain't on the marry; that's all."
+
+"Neither am I."
+
+"Well, you ought to be."
+
+"Don't see it."
+
+"Well, now, let me show it. We can't go on this way. I'm gittin' so
+poor you can count my ribs through my shirt. Jest think how comfortable
+it would make things! No more awful coffee; no more canned baked beans;
+no more cussed, infernal, everlastin', leathery flapjacks; no more
+soggy bread--confound it!" Here he seized the round inner part of the
+loaf, from which the crust had been flaked, and flung it through the
+open door far down toward the garden.
+
+"Bert! that's the last bit of bread we've got in the house."
+
+"What's the odds? We couldn't eat it."
+
+"We could 'a' baked it over."
+
+"We _could_ eat dog, but we don't," replied Bert gloomily. His temper
+was getting frightful of late.
+
+"We'll be all right when Flaxen comes back," said Ans, laughing.
+
+"Say, now, you've said that a thousand times this winter. You know well
+enough Flaxen's out o' this. We ain't countin' on her," blurted
+Gearheart, just in the mood to say disagreeable things.
+
+"Wha' d' y' mean? Ain't she comin' back in June?"
+
+"Probably; but she won't stay."
+
+"No: that's so. She'll have to go back in September; but that's three
+months, an' we may sell out by that time if we have a good crop.
+Anyway, we'll live high fer a spell. We ought to have a letter from her
+to-night, hadn't we?"
+
+"I'm goin' down to see, if you'll wash the dishes."
+
+"All right. Take a horse."
+
+"No: the horses are tired. I'll foot it."
+
+"Wal, ain't you too?"
+
+"Want anythin' from the store?"
+
+"Yes: git a hunk o' bacon an' some canned corn, tomatoes, an' some
+canned salmon; if y' think we can stand the pressure, bring home a can
+o' peaches."
+
+And so Gearheart started off for town in the dusk, afoot, in order to
+spare the horse, as though he had not himself walked all day long in
+the soft, muddy ground. The wind was soft and moist, and the light of
+the stars coming out in the east fell upon Ins upturned eyes with
+unspeakable majesty. Yet he saw them but dimly. He was dreaming of a
+face which was often in his mind now--a face not unlike Flaxen's, only
+older, more glorified, more womanly. He was asking himself some
+searching questions to-night as his tired limbs dragged themselves over
+the grassy road.
+
+What was he toiling for, anyway? What mattered all this terrible
+tramping to and fro--was it an end or only a means? Would there ever
+come anything like satisfaction of desire? Life for him had been a
+silent, gloomy, and almost purposeless struggle. He had not looked
+forward to anything very definite, though vaguely he had hoped for
+something better.
+
+As his eyes fell upon the twinkling, yellow lights of the village his
+thoughts came back to Flaxen and to the letter which he expected to
+receive from her. He quickened his steps, though his feet were sore and
+his limbs stiff and lame.
+
+The one little street presented its usual Saturday-night appearance.
+Teams were hitched to the narrow plank walk before the battlemented
+wooden stores. Men stood here and there in listless knots, smoking,
+talking of the weather and of seeding, while their wives, surrounded by
+shy children, traded within. Being Saturday night, the saloons were
+full of men, and shouts and the clink of beer mugs could be heard at
+intervals. But the larger crowd was gathered at the post-office:
+uncouth farmers of all nationalities, clerks, land-sharks, lawyers, and
+giggling girls in couples, who took delight in mingling with the crowd.
+
+Judge Sid Balser was over from Boomtown, and was talking expansively to
+a crowd of "leading citizens" about a scheme to establish a horse-car
+line between Boomtown and Belleplain.
+
+Colonel Arran, of the Belleplain _Argus_, in another corner, not ten
+feet away, was saying that the judge was "a scoundrel, a blow-hard, and
+would down his best lover for a pewter cent," to all of which the
+placid judge was accustomed and gave no heed.
+
+Bert paid no attention to the colonel or to the judge, or to any of
+this buzzing. "They are just talking to hear themselves make a noise,
+anyway. They talk about building up the country--they who are a rope
+and a grindstone around the necks of the rest of us, who do the work."
+
+When Gearheart reached his box he found a large, square letter in it,
+and looking at it saw that it was from Flaxen directed to Anson. "Her
+picture, probably," he said as he held it up. As he was pushing rapidly
+out he heard a half-drunken fellow say, in what he thought was an
+inaudible tone:
+
+"There's Gearheart. Wonder what's become of his little Norsk."
+
+Gearheart turned, and pushing through the crowd, thrust his eyes into
+the face of the speaker with a glare that paralysed the poor fool.
+
+"What's become o' your sense?" he snarled, and his voice had in it a
+carnivorous note.
+
+With this warning he turned contemptuously and passed out, leaving the
+discomfited rowdy to settle accounts with his friends. But there was a
+low note in the ruffian's voice, an insinuating inflection, which
+stayed with him all along the way home, like a bad taste in the mouth.
+He saw by the aid of a number of these side-lights of late that Flaxen
+never could come back to them in the old relation; but how could she
+come back?
+
+Gearheart stopped and gazed thoughtfully upward. She must come back as
+the wife of Ans or himself. "Pooh! she is only a child," he said,
+snapping his finger and walking on. But the insistence remained. "She
+is not a child--she is a maiden, soon to be a woman; she has no
+relatives, no home to go to but ours after her two or three years of
+schooling are over. It must still be her home; no breath of scandal
+shall touch her if I can prevent it; and after her two years are
+up"--after a long, motionless reverie he strode forward--"she shall
+choose between us."
+
+There had grown up between the two friends of late a constraint, or, to
+be more exact, Gearheart had held himself in before his friend, had not
+discussed these problems with him at all. "Ans is just like a boy," he
+had said to himself; "he don't seem to understand the case, and I don't
+know as it's my duty to enlighten him; he either feels very sure about
+her, or he has not understood the situation."
+
+He was thinking this now as he strode across the spongy sod toward the
+lighted windows of the shanty. The air was damp and chill, for the ice
+was not yet out of the ponds or swamps of tall grasses. An occasional
+prairie-cock sent forth a muffled, drowsy "boom"; low-hung flights of
+geese, gabbling anxiously, or the less-orderly ducks, with hissing
+wings, swept by overhead, darkly limned against the stars. There was a
+strange charm in the raw air. The weary man almost forgot his pain as
+he drew deep breathings of the night.
+
+It was significant of the restraint that had grown up between him and
+Anson that he held the letter from Flaxen unopened in his hand simply
+because it was directed to his friend. He knew that it was as much to
+him as to Anson, and yet, feeling as he had of late, he would not open
+it, for he would have been angry if Anson had opened one directed to
+him. He simply judged Anson by himself.
+
+The giant was asleep when he entered. His great, shaggy head lay beside
+the lamp on his crossed arms. Bert laid the letter down beside him and
+shook him.
+
+"Hello! got back, hey?" the sleeper said, rousing up sluggishly.
+"Anything?" Then he caught sight of the letter. "Oh, bless her little
+heart! Wonder what it is? Picture, bet my hat!" Here he opened it.
+
+"Gee-whittiker, thunder and turf, gosh-all--Friday!--look a-there!
+Ain't she growed!" he yelled, holding the picture by the corner and
+moving it into all sorts of positions. "That's my little girl--our
+Flaxen; she can't grow so purty but what I'd know her. See that hair
+done up on the top of her head! Look at that dress, an' the
+thingumajigs around her neck! Oh, she's gittin' there, Smith, hey?"
+
+"She's changing pretty fast," said Bert listlessly.
+
+"Changin' fast! Say, ol' man, what's the matter with you? Are y' sick?"
+
+"I'm played out, that's all."
+
+"Darn my skin! I should think y' would be, draggin' all day, an' then
+walkin' all o' four mile to the post-office. Jest lay down on the bed
+there, ol' boy, while I read the letter to yeh. Say, ol' man, don't you
+git up in the mornin' till you please. I'll look after the breakfast,"
+insisted Anson, struck with remorse by the expression on Bert's face.
+"But here's the letter. Short an' sweet."
+
+    DEAR BOYS [Bless the little fist that wrote that!]. I send my
+    picture. I think it is a nice one. The girls say it flatters
+    me, but Will says it don't [What the devil do we care what Will
+    says?]--I guess it does, don't you? I wish I had a picture of
+    you both; I want to show the girls how handsome you are [she
+    means me, of course. No, confound it] how handsome you are both
+    of you. I wish you would send me your pictures both of you. I
+    ain't got much to say. I will write again soon.
+
+    ELGA.
+
+Bert looked at the picture over Anson's shoulder, but did not seem to
+pay much attention to it.
+
+"Wal, I'll go out an' shut the barn door. Nights git cold after the sun
+goes down. You needn't peel the 'taters to-night. We'll bake 'em,
+brussels an' all, to-morrow mornin'."
+
+When Anson had gone, Bert snatched up the picture with great eagerness
+and gazed upon it with a steady, devouring glance. How womanly she
+looked with her hair done up so, and the broad, fair face and full
+bosom.
+
+He heard Anson returning from the barn, and hastily laid the picture
+down, and when Anson entered was apparently dropping off to sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+FLAXEN COMES HOME ON A VACATION.
+
+
+It was in June, just before the ending of the school, that Flaxen first
+began to write about delaying her return. Anson was wofully
+disappointed. He had said all along that she would make tracks for home
+just as soon as school was out, and he had calculated just when she
+would arrive; and on the second day after the close of school for the
+summer he drove down to the train to meet her. She did not come, but he
+got a letter which said that one of her friends wanted her to stay two
+weeks with her, until after the Fourth of July.
+
+"She's an awful nice girl, and we will have a grand time; she has a
+rich father and a piano and a pony and a buggy. It will just be grand."
+
+"I don't blame her none," sighed Anson to Bert. "I don't want her to
+come away while she's enjoyin' herself. It'll be a big change for her
+to come back an' cook f'r us old mossbacks after bein' at school an' in
+good company all these months."
+
+He was plainly disturbed. Her vacation was going to be all too short at
+the best, and he was so hungry for the sight of her! Still, he could
+not blame her for staying, under the circumstances; as he told Bert,
+his feelings did not count. He just wanted her to got all she could out
+of life; "there ain't much, anyway, for us poor devils; but what little
+there is we want her to have."
+
+The Fourth of July was the limit of her stay, and on the sixth,
+seventh, and eighth Anson drove regularly to the evening train to meet
+her.
+
+On the third day another letter came, saying that she would reach home
+the next Monday. With this Anson rode home in triumph. During the next
+few days he went to the barber's and had his great beard shaved off.
+"Made me look so old," he explained, seeing Bert's wild start of
+surprise. "I've be'n carryin' that mop o' hair round so long I'd kind
+o' got into the notion o' bein' old myself. Got a kind o' crick in the
+back, y' know. But I ain't; I ain't ten years older'n you be."
+
+And he was not. His long blond moustache, shaved beard, and clipped
+hair made a new man of him, and a very handsome man, too, in a large
+way. He was curiously embarrassed by Bert's prolonged scrutiny, and
+said jocosely:
+
+"We've got to brace up a little now. Company boarders comin', young
+lady from St. Peter's Seminary, city airs an' all that sort o' thing.
+Don't you let me see you eatin' pie with y'r knife. I'll break the
+shins of any man that feeds himself with anythin' 'cept the
+silver-plated forks I've bought."
+
+Flaxen had been gone almost a year, and a year counts for much at her
+age. Besides, Anson had exaggerated ideas of the amount of learning she
+could absorb in a year at a boarding-seminary, and he had also a very
+vague idea of what "society" was in St. Peter, although he seemed
+suddenly to awake to the necessity of "bracing up" a little and getting
+things generally into shape. He bought a new suit of clothes and a
+second-hand two-seated carriage, notwithstanding the sarcastic
+reflection of his partner, who was making his own silent comment upon
+this thing.
+
+"The paternal business is _auskerspeelt_," he said to himself. "Ans is
+goin' in on shape now. Well, it's all right; nobody's business but
+ours. Let her go, Smith; but they won't be no talk in this neighbourhood
+when they get hold of what's goin' on--oh, no!" He smiled grimly. "We
+can stand it, I guess; but it'll be hard on her. Ans is a little too
+previous. It's too soon to spring this trap on the poor little thing."
+
+They stood side by side on the platform the next Monday when the train
+rolled into the station at Boomtown, panting with fatigue from its long
+run. Flaxen caught sight of Bert first as she sprang off the train, and
+running to him, kissed him without much embarrassment. Then she looked
+around, saying:
+
+"Where's ol' pap? Didn't he----"
+
+"Why, Flaxen, don't ye know me?" he cried out at her elbow.
+
+She knew his voice, but his shaven face, so much more youthful, was so
+strange that she knew him only by his eyes laughing down into hers.
+Nevertheless she kissed him doubtfully.
+
+"Oh, what've you done? You've shaved off your whiskers; you don't look
+a bit natural. I----"
+
+She was embarrassed, almost frightened, at the change in him. He
+"looked so queer"; his fair, untroubled, smiling face and blond
+moustache made him look younger than Bert.
+
+"Nev' mind that! She'll grow again if y' like it better. Get int' this
+new buggy--it's ours. They ain't no flies on us to-day; not many," said
+Ans in high glee, elaborately assisting her to the carriage, not
+appreciating the full meaning of the situation.
+
+As they rode home he was extravagantly gay. He sat beside her, and she
+drove, wild with delight at the prairie, the wheat, the gulls,
+everything.
+
+"Ain't no dust on our clo'es," said Ans, coughing, winking at Bert, and
+brushing off with an elaborately finical gesture an imaginary fleck
+from his knee and elbow. "Ain't we togged out? I guess nobody said
+'boo' to us down to St. Peter, eh?"
+
+"You like my clo'es?" said Flaxen, with charming directness.
+
+"You bet! They're scrumptious."
+
+"Well, they ought to be; they're my best, except my white dress. I
+thought you'd like 'em; I wore 'em a-purpose."
+
+"Like 'em? They're--you're jest as purty as a red lily er a wild rose
+in the wheat--ahem! Ain't she, Bert, ol' boy? We're jest about starvin'
+to death, we are."
+
+"I knew you'd be. What'll I stir up for supper? Biscuits?"
+
+"Um, um! Say, what y' s'pose I've got to go with 'em?"
+
+"Honey."
+
+"Oh, you're too sharp," wailed Ans, while Flaxen went off into a peal
+of laughter. "Say, Bert's be'n in the _damnedest_--excuse me--plaguedest
+temper fer the last two munce as you ever did see."
+
+While this chatter was going on Bert sat silent and unsmiling on the
+back seat. He was absorbed in seeing the exquisite colour that played
+in her check and the equally charming curves of her figure. She was
+well dressed and was wonderfully mature. He was saying to himself: "Ans
+ain't got no more judgment than a boy. We can't keep that girl here.
+More'n that, the girl never'll be contented again, unless----" He did
+not allow himself to go farther. He dared not even think farther.
+
+They had a merry time that night, quite like old times. The biscuits
+were light and flaky, the honey was delightsome, and the milk and
+butter (procured specially) were fresh. They shouted in laughter as
+Flaxen insisted on their eating potatoes with a fork, and opposed the
+use of the knife in scooping up the honey from their plates! Even the
+saturnine Bert forgot his gloom and laughed too, as Ans laboriously
+dipped his honey with a fork, and, finally growing desperate, split a
+biscuit in half, and in the good old boyish way sopped it in the honey.
+
+"There, that's the Christian way of doing things!" he exulted, while
+Flaxen laughed. How bright she was--how strange she acted! There were
+moments when she embarrassed them by some new womanly grace or
+accomplishment, some new air which she had caught from her companions
+or teachers at school. It was truly amazing how much she had absorbed
+outside of her regular studies. She indeed was no longer a girl; she
+was a young woman, and to them a beautiful one.
+
+Not a day passed without some added surprise which made Anson exult and
+say, "She's gettin' her money's worth down there--no two ways about
+that."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+FLAXEN GROWS RESTLESS.
+
+
+But as the excitement of getting back died out, poor Flaxen grew
+restless, moody, and unaccountable. Before, she had always been the
+same cheery, frank, boyish creature. As Bert said, "You know where to
+find her." Now she was full of strange tempers and moods. She would
+work most furiously for a time, and then suddenly fall dreaming,
+looking away out on the shimmering plain toward the east.
+
+At Bert's instigation, a middle-aged widow had been hired, at a
+fabulous price, to come and do the most of the work for them, thus
+releasing Flaxen from the weight of the hard work, which perhaps was
+all the worse for her. Hard work might have prevented the unbearable,
+sleepless pain within. She hated the slatternly Mrs. Green at once for
+her meddling with her affairs, though the good woman meant no offence.
+She was jocose in the broad way of middle-aged persons, to whom a
+love-affair is legitimate food for raillery.
+
+But Gearheart's keen eye was on Flaxen as well. He saw how eagerly she
+watched for the mail on Tuesdays and Fridays, and how she sought a
+quiet place at once in order to read and dream over her letters. She
+was restless a day or two before a certain letter came, with an eager,
+excited, expectant air. Then, after reading it, she was absent-minded,
+flighty in conversation, and at last listlessly uneasy, moving slowly
+about from one thing to another, in a kind of restless inability to
+take continued interest in anything.
+
+All this, if it came to the attention of Anson at all, was laid to the
+schooling the girl had had.
+
+"Of course it'll seem a little slow to you, Flaxie, but harvestin' is
+comin' on soon, an' then things'll be a little more lively."
+
+But Gearheart was not so slow-witted. He had had sisters and girl
+cousins, and knew "the symptoms," as Mrs. Green would have put it. He
+noticed that when Flaxen read her letters to them there was one which
+she carefully omitted. He knew that this was the letter which meant the
+most to her. He saw how those letters affected her, and thought he had
+divined in what way.
+
+One day when Flaxen, after reading her letters, sprang up and ran into
+her bedroom; her eyes filled with sudden tears, Gearheart crooked his
+finger at Ans, and they went out to the barn together.
+
+It was nearly one o'clock on an intolerable day peculiar to the Dakota
+plain. A frightfully hot, withering, and powerful wind was abroad. The
+thermometer stood nearly a hundred in the shade, and the wind, so far
+from being a relief, was suffocating because of its heat and the dust
+it swept along with it.
+
+The heavy-headed grain and russet grass writhed and swirled as if in
+agony, and dashed high in waves of green and yellow. The corn-leaves
+had rolled up into long cords like the lashes of a whip, and beat
+themselves into tatters on the dry, smooth spot their blows had made
+beneath them; they seemed ready to turn to flame in the pitiless,
+furnace-like blast. Everywhere in the air was a silver-white,
+impalpable mist, which gave to the cloudless sky a whitish cast. The
+glittering gulls were the only living things that did not move
+listlessly and did not long for rain. They soared and swooped, exulting
+in the sounding wind; now throwing themselves upon it, like a swimmer,
+then darting upward with miraculous ease, to dip again into the
+shining, hissing, tumultuous waves of the grass.
+
+Along the roads prodigious trains of dust rose hundreds of feet in the
+air, and drove like vast caravans with the wind. So powerful was the
+blast that men hesitated about going out with carriages, and everybody
+watched feverishly, expecting to see fire break out on the prairie and
+sweep everything before it. Work in the fields had stopped long before
+dinner, and the farmers waited, praying or cursing, for the wheat was
+just at the right point to be blighted.
+
+As the two men went out to the shed side by side, they looked out on
+the withering wheat-stalks and corn-leaves with gloomy eyes.
+
+"Another day like this, an' they won't be wheat enough in this whole
+county to make a cake," said Anson, with a calm intonation, which after
+all betrayed the anxiety he felt. They sat down in the wagon-shed near
+the horses' mangers. They listened to the roar of the wind and the
+pleasant sound of the horses eating their hay, a good while before
+either of them spoke again. Finally Bert said sullenly:
+
+"We can't put up hay such a day as this. You couldn't haul it home
+under lock an' key while this infernal wind is blowin'. It's gittin'
+worse, if anythin'."
+
+Anson said nothing, but waited to hear what Bert had brought him out
+here for. Bert speared away with his knife at a strip of board. Anson
+sat on a wagon-tongue, his elbows on his knees, looking intently at the
+grave face of his companion. The horses ground cheerily at the hay.
+
+"Ans, we've got to send Flaxen back to St. Peter; she's so homesick she
+don't know what to do."
+
+Ans' eyes fell.
+
+"I know it. I've be'n hopin' she'd git over that, but it's purty tough
+on her, after bein' with the young folks in the city f'r a year, to
+come back here on a farm." He did not finish for a moment. "But she
+can't stand it. I'd looked ahead to havin' her here till September, but
+I can't stand it to see her cryin' like she did to-day. We've got to
+give up the idee o' her livin' here. I don't see any other way but to
+sell out an' go back East somewhere."
+
+Bert saw that Anson was still ignorant of the real state of affairs,
+but thought he would say nothing for the present.
+
+"Yes: that's the best thing we can do. We'll send her right back, an'
+take our chances on the crops. We can git enough to live on an' keep
+her at school, I guess."
+
+They sat silent for a long time, while the wind tore round the shed,
+Bert spearing at the stick, and Anson watching the hens as they vainly
+tried to navigate in the wind. Finally Anson spoke:
+
+"The fact is, Bert, this ain't no place f'r a woman, anyway--such a
+woman as Flaxen's gittin' to be. They ain't nothin' goin' on, nothin'
+to see 'r hear. You can't expect a girl to be contented with this
+country after she's seen any other. No trees; no flowers; jest a lot o'
+little shanties full o' flies."
+
+"I knew all that, Ans, a year ago. I knew she'd never come back here,
+but I jest said it's the thing to do--give her a chance, if we don't
+have a cent; now let's go back to the house an' tell her she needn't
+stay here if she don't want to."
+
+"Wha' d' ye s'pose was in that letter?"
+
+"Couldn't say. Some girl's description of a pic-nic er somethin'." Bert
+was not yet ready to tell what he knew. When they returned to the house
+the girl was still invisible, in her room. Mrs. Green was busy clearing
+up the dinner-dishes.
+
+"I don't know's I ever see such a wind back to Michigan. Seems as if it
+'u'd blow the hair off y'r head."
+
+"Oh, this ain't nothin'. This is a gentle zephyr. Wait till y' see a
+wind."
+
+"Wal, I hope to goodness I won't never see a wind. Zephyrs is all I can
+mortally stand."
+
+Anson went through the little sitting-room and knocked on Flaxen's
+door.
+
+"Flaxie, we want to talk to yeh." There was no answer, and he came back
+and sat down. Bert pointed to the letter which Flaxen had flung down on
+the table. The giant took it, folded it up, and called, "Here's y'r
+letter, babe."
+
+The door opened a little, and a faint, tearful voice said:
+
+"Read it, if ye want to, boys." Then the door closed tightly again, and
+they heard her fling herself on the bed. Anson handed the letter to
+Bert, who read it in a steady voice.
+
+    DEAR DARLING: I have good news to tell you. My uncle was out
+    from Wisconsin to see me and he was pleased with what I had
+    done, and he bought out Mr. Ford, and gave me the whole half
+    interest. I'm to pay him back when I please. Ain't that
+    glorious? Now we can get married right off, can't we, darling?
+    So you just show this letter to your father, and tell him how
+    things stand. I've got a good business. The drug-store is worth
+    $1,200 a year--my half--but knock off fifty per cent and we
+    could live nicely. Don't you think so? I want to see you so
+    bad, and talk things over. If you can't come back soon, I will
+    come on. Write soon.
+
+    Yours till death,
+
+    WILL.
+
+From the first word Anson winced, grew perplexed, then suffered. His
+head drooped forward on his hands, his elbows rested on his vast,
+spread knees. He drew his breath with a long, grieving gasp. Bert read
+on steadily to the end, then glanced at his companion with a deep frown
+darkening his face; but he was not taken by surprise. He had not had
+paternal affection change to the passion of a lover only to have it
+swept down like a half-opened flower. For the first time in his life
+Anson writhed in mental agony. He saw it all. It meant eternal
+separation. It meant a long ache in his heart which time could scarcely
+deaden into a tolerable pain.
+
+Gearheart rose and went out, unwilling to witness the agony of his
+friend and desiring himself to be alone. Anson sat motionless, with his
+hands covering his wet eyes, going over the past and trying to figure
+the future.
+
+He began in that storm: felt again the little form and face of the
+wailing child; thought of the frightful struggle against the wind and
+snow; of the touch of the little hands and feet; of her pretty prattle
+and gleeful laughter; then of her helpful and oddly-womanish ways as
+she grew older; of the fresh, clear voice calling him "pap" and
+ordering him about with a roguish air; of her beauty now, when for the
+first time he had begun to hope that she might be something dearer to
+him.
+
+How could he live without her? She had grown to be a part of him. He
+had long ceased to think of the future without her. As he sat so, the
+bedroom door opened, and Flaxen's tearful face looked out at him. He
+did not seem to hear, and she stole up to him and, putting her arm
+around his neck, laid her cheek on his head--a dear, familiar, childish
+gesture, used when she wished to propitiate him. He roused himself and
+put his arm about her waist, tried to speak, and finally said in a
+sorry attempt at humor, wofully belied by the tears on his face and the
+choking in his throat:
+
+"You tell that feller--if he wants ye, to jest come an'--git ye--that's
+all!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+FLAXEN SAYS GOOD-BYE.
+
+
+Elga went back to her friends, the Holts, in the course of a week. It
+hurt Anson terribly to see how eager she was to get away, and he grew a
+little bitter--a quality of temper Bert did not know he possessed.
+
+"What's that little whipper-snapper ever done for her, that she should
+leave us in the shade f'r him--f'rget us an' all we've done f'r her,
+an' climb out an' leave us just at his wink? It beats me, but it's all
+right. I don't blame her if she feels so--only it does seem queer, now
+don't it?"
+
+"It does, that's a fact--'specially the idea of leaving us for a thing
+like that."
+
+After arriving at a complete understanding of the matter, they said no
+more about it, but went to work to make everything as pleasant for
+Flaxen as possible. Again they rode down to the station with her, down
+past the wide, level fields of grain which the blazing sun had ripened
+prematurely. Again they parted from her at the train, but this time the
+girl was eager to go; and yet a peculiar feeling of sadness was mixed
+with her eagerness to be off.
+
+"Now, boys, you'll come down just as soon as you can this fall, won't
+you?" she said, tearfully, as they stood in the aisle of the car. "I
+wish't you'd sell out an' come back there an' live--I want you to."
+
+"Well, we'll try," Anson said, speaking with difficulty, the lump in
+his throat was so big and so dry.
+
+They rode home in silence again, but this time there was something
+darker and more sullen in their thoughts.
+
+"Well, Ans, that settles it. We're orphaned again, sure." He tried to
+give a little touch of jocoseness to it, but failed miserably.
+
+"Yes," Anson sighed deeply, "we'll haf t' stand it, I s'pose, but it's
+tough."
+
+It was hard, but it would have been harder had not the rush and push of
+the harvest come upon them just as it did. They never spoke of the
+matter again, except as a matter settled, till they received a letter
+from the young people asking their consent to an early marriage.
+
+They both read the letter, and then Anson said, without raising his
+eyes:
+
+"Well, what d' you think of it?"
+
+"Oh, we might as well say yes," replied Bert irritably.
+
+"But she's so young."
+
+"She seems so to us, but my mother was married at fifteen. If she's
+going to leave us, why, the sooner she has a home the better, I
+s'pose."
+
+"I s'pose you're right. But I'd rather have 'em put it off a year."
+
+"Oh, a year wouldn't make any difference, and besides, you can't stop
+the thing now. She's out of our hands."
+
+They wrote giving their consent, and the wedding was fixed for late
+September to enable the fall's work to be put out of the way. For
+Elga's sake they bought new suits and hats before starting on their
+trip, though the harvest hardly justified any extravagance.
+
+Under other circumstances they would have rejoiced over the trip, for
+it was carrying them back to the gleam of leaf-dappled streams and
+waving trees and deep, cool forests. It made their nostrils dilate with
+pleasure as they whirled past fern-filled ravines, out of which the
+rivulets stole with stealthy circuits under mossy rocks. They were both
+forest-born, and it was like getting back home out of a strange desert
+country to come back into "the States."
+
+St. Peter was a small town, situated on the steep bank of a broad
+river--that is to say, the business street was there, but the seminary
+and the residence part of the town was on a high and beautiful plateau.
+Tho country was well diversified with wood and prairie.
+
+Kendall and Elga met them at the station. Elga with flushed face was
+searching the car-windows with eager glance, when Anson appeared on the
+platform. The quick rush she made for him drove out all his bitterness.
+It made him understand that she loved him as if he were her father.
+
+She greeted Bert with a little less warmth, and chattering with joy she
+led the way up the street with Anson. She had a hundred things to tell
+him, and he listened in a daze. She seemed so different from his
+Flaxen. Bert walked behind with Kendall, who did not impress him
+favourably.
+
+He was a harmless little creature enough--small, a little inclined to
+bow-legs, and dudish in manner and dress. His hair was smoothed till it
+shone like ebony, and he wore the latest designs in standing collars,
+high on his slim neck. His hands were beautifully small and white and
+held several rings. He had the manners of a dry-goods clerk.
+
+"He can't abuse her, that's one good thing about the whelp," thought
+Bert as he crushed the young bridegroom's hand in his brown palm, just
+to see him cringe.
+
+As for Kendall, he was a little afraid of these big fellows, so sullen
+and strong; and he tried his best to please them, chirping away
+brightly upon all kinds of things, ending up by telling them his
+business plans.
+
+"We're one o' the best cities on the river. Couldn't be a better place
+fer a business stand, don't you see? And we're getting to the front
+with our wholesale department (of course--ha! ha! my wife's father
+ought to know how I'm getting on), so you're welcome to look over my
+books. Our trade is a cash trade so far as our retail trade goes, and
+we're mighty careful who gets tick from us on the wholesale trade.
+We're developing a great business."
+
+Bert and Anson made no replies to his chatter, and he pattered along by
+Anson's side like a small boy, showing them the town and its beauties.
+Anson inwardly despised the little man, but held it a sort of treason
+to think so, and tried to look upon him kindly.
+
+The wedding took place in the house of the Holt family, and was in
+charge of Miss Holt, Elga's teacher. Kendall's parents could not be
+present, which was a great disappointment to Elga, but Will was
+secretly glad of it. His father was a very crusty and brutal old
+fellow, and he would not have fitted in smoothly beside Bert and Anson,
+who were as uncomfortable as men could well be. Both wished to avoid
+it, but dared not object.
+
+Anson stood bravely through the ceremony as the father of the bride,
+and bore himself with his usual massive, rude dignity. But he inwardly
+winced as he saw Elga, looking very stately and beautiful in her
+bride's veil, towering half a head above the sleek-haired little clerk.
+Not a few of the company smiled at the contrast, but she had no other
+feeling than perfect love and happiness.
+
+When the ceremony was over and Anson looked around for Bert, he was
+gone. He couldn't stand the pressure of the crowd and the whispered
+comments, and had slipped away early in the evening.
+
+Among the presents which were laid on the table in the dining-room was
+a long envelope addressed to Mrs. Will Kendall. It contained a deed for
+a house and lot in one of the most desirable parts of the suburbs. It
+was from Gearheart, but there was no other written word. This gift
+meant the sale of his claim in Dakota.
+
+When Anson got back to the hotel that night, wondering and alarmed at
+his partner's absence, he found a letter from him. It was savage and
+hopeless.
+
+    This climate is getting too frigid for my lungs. I'm going to
+    emigrate to California. I made a mistake: I ought to have gone in
+    for stand-up collars, shiny hair, and bow-legs. You'd better skip
+    back to Dakota and sell your claim. Keep my share of the stock and
+    tools; it ain't worth bothering about. Don't try to live there
+    alone, old man. If you can't sell, marry. Don't let that girl break
+    you all up too. We are all fools, but some can get over it quicker
+    than others.
+
+    If that little bow-legged thing gets under your feet or abuses her,
+    jest get your toe under him and hoist him over into the alley.
+
+    Good-bye and good luck, old man.
+
+    BERT.
+
+And the next day the doubly bereaved man started on his lonely journey
+back to the Dakota claim, back to an empty house, with a gnawing pain
+in his heart and a constriction like an iron band about his throat;
+back to his broad fields to plod to and fro alone.
+
+As he began to realize it all and to think how terrible was this loss,
+he laid his head down on the car-seat before him and cried. His first
+great trial had come to him, and meeting it like a man, he must now
+weep like a woman.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+FLAXEN'S GREAT NEED.
+
+
+Flaxen wrote occasionally, during the next year, letters all too short
+and too far between for the lonely man toiling away on his brown farm.
+These letters were very much alike, telling mainly of how happy she
+was, and of what she was going to do by and by, on Christmas or
+Thanksgiving. Once she sent a photograph of herself and husband, and
+Anson, after studying it for a long time, took a pair of shears and cut
+the husband off, and threw him into the fire.
+
+"That fellow gives me the ague," he muttered.
+
+Bert did not write, and there was hardly a night that Ans lay down on
+his bed that he did not wonder where his chum was, especially as the
+winter came on unusually severe, reminding him of that first winter in
+the Territory. Day after day he spent alone in his house, going out
+only to feed the cattle or to get the mail. The sad wind was always in
+his ears. But with the passage of time the pain in his heart lost its
+intensity.
+
+One day he got a letter from Flaxen that startled and puzzled him. It
+was like a cry for help, somehow.
+
+"Dear old pap, I wish you was here," and then in another place came the
+piteous cry, "Oh, I wish I had some folks!"
+
+All night long that cry rang in the man's head with a wailing, falling
+cadence like the note of a lost little prairie-chicken.
+
+"I wonder what that whelp has been doin' now. If he's begun to abuse
+her I'll wring his neck. She wants me an' da'sn't ask me to come. Poor
+chick, I'll be pap an' mam to ye, both," he said at last, with sudden
+resolution.
+
+The day after the receipt of this letter a telegram was handed to him
+at the post-office, which he opened with trembling hands:
+
+    ANSON WOOD: Your daughter is ill. Wants you. Come at once.
+
+    DR. DIETRICH.
+
+He got into his wagon mechanically and lashed his horses into a run. He
+must get home and arrange about his stock and catch the seven o'clock
+train. His mind ran the round of the possibilities in the case until it
+ached with the hopeless fatigue of it. When he got upon the train for
+an all-night ride, he looked like a man suffering some great physical
+pain.
+
+He sat there all night in a common seat--he could not afford to pay for
+a sleeper; sat and suffered the honest torture that can come to a
+man--to sit and think the same dread, apprehensive wondering thoughts;
+to strain at the seat as if to push the train faster, and to ache with
+the desire to fly like the eagle. He tried to be patient, but he could
+only grow numb with the effort.
+
+A glorious winter sun was beginning to light up the frost foliage of
+the maples lining St. Peter's streets when Anson, stiff with cold and
+haggard with a night of sleepless riding, sprang off the train and
+looked about him. The beauty of the morning made itself felt even
+through his care. These rows of resplendent maples, heavy with
+iridescent frost, were like fairy-land to him, fresh from the treeless
+prairie. As he walked on under them, showers of powdered rubies and
+diamonds fell down upon him; the colonnades seemed like those leading
+to some enchanted palace, such as he had read of in boyhood. Every
+shrub in the yards was similarly decked, and the snug cottages were
+like the little house which he had once seen at the foot of the
+Christmas-tree in a German church years before.
+
+Feet crunched along cheerily on the sidewalks, bells of dray-teams were
+beginning to sound, and workmen to whistle.
+
+Anson was met at the door by a hard-faced, middle-aged woman.
+
+"How's my girl?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, she's nicely. Walk in."
+
+"Can I see her now?"
+
+"She's sleepin'; I guess you better wait a little while till after
+breakfast."
+
+"Where's Kendall?" was his next question.
+
+"I d'n' know. Hain't seen 'im sence yesterday. He don't amount to much,
+anyway, and in these cases there ain't no dependin' on a boy like that.
+It's nachel fer girls to call on their mothers an' fathers in such
+cases."
+
+Anson was about to ask her what the trouble was with his girl, when she
+turned away. She could not be dangerously ill; anyway, there was
+comfort in that.
+
+After he had eaten a slight breakfast of bad coffee and yellow
+biscuits, Mrs. Stickney came back.
+
+"She's awake an' wants to see yeh. Now don't get excited. She ain't
+dangerous."
+
+Anson was alarmed and puzzled at her manner. Her smile mystified him.
+
+"What is the matter?" he demanded.
+
+Her reply was common enough, but it stopped him with his foot on the
+threshold. He understood at last. The majesty and mystery of birth was
+like a light in his face, and dazzled him. He was awed and exalted at
+the same time.
+
+"Open the door; I want to see her," he said in a new tone.
+
+As they entered the darkened chamber he heard his girl's eager cry.
+
+"Is that you, pap?" wailed her faint, sweet voice.
+
+"Yes: it's me, Flaxie." He crossed the room and knelt by the bed. She
+flung her arms round his neck.
+
+"O pappy! pappy! I wanted you. Oh, my poor mamma! O pap, I don't like
+her," she whispered, indicating the nurse with her eyes. "O pap, I hate
+to think of mother lying there in the snow--an' Bert--where is Bert,
+pap? Perhaps he's in the blizzard too----"
+
+"She's a little flighty," said the nurse in her matter-of-fact tone.
+
+Anson groaned as he patted the pale cheek of the sufferer.
+
+"Don't worry, Flaxie; Bert's all right. He'll come home soon. Why don't
+you send for the doctor?" he said to the nurse.
+
+"He'll be here soon. Don't worry over that," indicating Flaxen, who was
+whispering to herself. "They of'n do that."
+
+"Do you s'pose I can find my folks if I go back to Norway?" she said to
+Anson a little after.
+
+"Yes: I guess so, little one. When you get well, we'll try an' see."
+
+"Perhaps if I found my aunt she'd look like mamma, an' I'd know then
+how mamma looked, wouldn't I? Perhaps if the wheat is good this year we
+can go back an' find her, can't we?" Then her words melted into a moan
+of physical pain, and the nurse said:
+
+"Now I guess you'd better go an' see if you can't hurry the doctor up.
+Yes: now he's got to go," she went on to Flaxen, drowning out her voice
+and putting her imploring hands back upon the bed.
+
+Anson saw it all now. In her fear and pain she had turned to him--poor,
+motherless little bird--forgetting her boy-husband or feeling the need
+of a broader breast and stronger hand. It was a beautiful trust, and as
+the great, shaggy man went out into the morning he was exalted by the
+thought. "My little babe--my Flaxen!" he said with unutterable love and
+pity.
+
+Again his mind ran over the line of his life--the cabin, the dead
+woman, the baby face nestling at his throat, the girl coming to him
+with her trials and triumphs. His heart swelled so that he could not
+have spoken, but deep in his throat he muttered a dumb prayer. And how
+he suffered that day, hearing her babble mixed with moanings every time
+the door opened. Once the doctor said:
+
+"It's no use for you to stand here, Wood. It only makes you suffer and
+don't help her a particle."
+
+"It _seems_ 's if it helped her, an' so--I guess I'll stay. She may
+call for me, an' if she does," he said resolutely, "I'm goin' in,
+doctor. How is she now?"
+
+"She's slightly delirious now, but still she knows you're here. She now
+and then speaks of you, but doesn't call for you."
+
+But she did call for him, and he went in, and kneeling by her side he
+talked to her and held her hands, stroked her hair and soothed her as
+he need to when a little child unable to speak save in her pretty
+Norseland tongue, and at last when opiates were given, and he rose and
+staggered from the room, it seemed as though he had lived years.
+
+So weary was he that, when the doctor came out and said, "You may go to
+sleep now," he dropped heavily on a lounge and fell asleep almost with
+the motion. Even the preparations for breakfast made by the
+hoarse-voiced servant-girl did not wake him, but the drawling, nasal
+tone of Kendall did. He sat up and looked at the oily little clerk. It
+was after seven o'clock.
+
+"Hello!" said Kendall, "when d' you get in?"
+
+"Shortly after you went out," said Anson in reply.
+
+Kendall felt the rebuke, and as he twisted his cuffs into place said,
+"Well, y' see I couldn't do no good--a man ain't any good in such
+cases, anyway--so I just thought I'd run down to St. Paul an' do a
+little buying."
+
+Anson turned away and went into the kitchen to wash his face and to
+comb his hair, glad to get rid of the sight of Kendall for a moment.
+Mrs. Stickney was toasting some bread.
+
+"She's awake an' wants to see you when you woke up. It's a girl--thought
+I'd tell ye--yes: she's comfortable. Say, 'tween you an' me, a man 'at
+'u'd run off--waal----" she ended, expressively glancing at Kendall.
+
+Once more Anson caught his breath as he entered the darkened chamber.
+He was a rough, untaught man, but there was something in him that made
+that room holy and mysterious. But the figure on the bed was tranquil
+now, and the voice, though weak and low, was Flaxen's own.
+
+He stopped as his eyes fell on her. She was no longer a girl. The
+majesty of maternity was on her pale face and in her great eyes. A
+faint, expectant smile was on her lips; her eyes were fixed on his face
+as she drew the cover from the little red, weirdly-wrinkled face at her
+throat.
+
+Before he could speak, and while he was looking down at the mite of
+humanity, Kendall stepped into the room.
+
+"Hello, Ellie! How are----"
+
+A singular revulsion came out on her face. She turned to Anson. "Make
+him go 'way; I don't want him."
+
+"All right," said Kendall cheerfully, glad to escape.
+
+"Isn't she beautiful?" the mother whispered. "Does she look like me?"
+she asked artlessly.
+
+"She's beautiful to me because she's yours, Flaxie," replied Anson,
+with a delicacy all the more striking because of the contrast with his
+great frame and hard, rough hands. "But there, my girl, go to sleep
+like baby, an' don't worry any more."
+
+"You ain't goin' away while I'm sick?" she asked, following him with
+her eyes, unnaturally large.
+
+"I won't never go 'way again if you don't want me to," he replied.
+
+"Oh, I'm so glad!" she sighed restfully.
+
+He was turning to go when she wailed reproachfully, "Pap, you didn't
+kiss baby!"
+
+Anson turned and came back. "She's sleepin', an' I thought it wasn't
+right to kiss a girl without she said so."
+
+This made Flaxen smile, and Anson went out with a lighter heart than he
+had had for two years. Kendall met him outside and said confidentially:
+
+"I don't s'pose it was just the thing for me to do; but--confound it! I
+never could stand a sick-room, anyway. I couldn't do any good,
+anyway--just been in the way. She'll get over her mad in a few days.
+Think so?"
+
+But she did not. Her singular and sudden dislike of him continued, and
+though she passively submitted to his being in the room, she would not
+speak a word to him nor look at him as long as she could avoid it; and
+when he approached the baby or took it in his arms a jealous frown came
+on her face.
+
+As for Anson, he grew to hate the sound of that little chuckle of
+Kendall's; the part in the man's hair and the hang of his cut-away coat
+made him angry. The trim legs, a little bowed, the big cuffs hiding the
+small, cold hands, and the peculiar set of his faultless collar, grew
+daily more insupportable.
+
+"Say, looky here, Kendall," said he in desperation one day, "I wish you
+didn't like me quite so well. We don't hitch first rate--at least, I
+don't. Seems to me you're neglectin' your business too much."
+
+He was going to tell him to keep away, but he relented as he looked
+down at the harmless little man, with his thin, boyish face.
+
+"Oh, my business is all right. Gregory looks after it mostly, anyhow.
+But, I say, if you wanted to go into the dray business, there's a
+first-class opening now. Clark wants to sell."
+
+It ended in Anson seeing Clark and buying out his line of drays,
+turning in his claim toward the payment--a transaction which made
+Flaxen laugh for joy, for she had not felt certain before that he would
+remain in St. Peter. She was getting about the house now, looking very
+wifely in her long, warm wraps, her slow motions contrasting strongly
+with the old restless, springing steps Anson remembered so well.
+
+Night after night, as he sat beside the fire and held baby, listening
+to the changed voice of his girl and watching the grave, new
+expressions of her face, the tooth of time took hold upon him
+powerfully, and he would feel his shaggy head and think, "I'll soon be
+gray, soon be gray!" while the little one cooed, and sprang, and pulled
+at his beard, which had grown long again and had white hairs in it.
+
+Kendall spent most of his time at the store, or downtown somewhere, and
+so all of those long, delicious winter evenings were Flaxen's and
+Anson's. And his enjoyment of them was pathetic. The cheerful little
+sitting-room, the open grate, the gracious, ever-growing womanliness of
+Elga, the pressure of soft little limbs; and the babble of a liquid
+baby language, were like the charm of an unexpected Indian-summer day
+between two gray November storms.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+KENDALL STEPS OUT.
+
+
+One night Kendall did not come home, but as he had been talking of
+going to St. Paul they were not disturbed about it--in fact, they both
+took but very mild interest in his coming or going. In the morning,
+while they were at breakfast, there came a knock at the door.
+
+"Come in," shouted Anson in the Western way, not rising.
+
+McDaniel, the county sheriff, entered.
+
+"Where's Kendall?" he asked without ceremony.
+
+"I don't know; went away yesterday."
+
+The sheriff looked at his companion. "Skipped between two days."
+
+"What's up?" asked Anson, while Elga stared and baby reached slyly for
+the sugar-bowl.
+
+"Nothing," the sheriff said in a tone which meant everything. "Come out
+here," he said to Anson. Anson went out with him, and he told him that
+Kendall had purchased goods on credit and gambled the money away, and
+was ruined.
+
+His stock of goods was seized, and the house was saved only through the
+firmness of Anson.
+
+Flaxen shut her lips and said nothing, and he could not read her
+silence. One day she came to him with a letter.
+
+"Read that!" she exclaimed scornfully. He saw that it was dated from
+Eau Claire, Wisconsin:
+
+    DEAR DARLING WIFE: I'm all right here with father. It was all
+    Gregory's fault--he was always betting on something. I'm coming
+    back as soon as the old man can raise the money to pay Fitch.
+    Don't worry about me. They can't take the house, anyway. You
+    might rent the house, sell the furniture on the sly, and come
+    back here. The old man will give me another show. I don't owe
+    more than a thousand dollars, anyway. Write soon. Your loving
+
+    WILL.
+
+She did not need to say what she thought of the advice the little
+villain gave.
+
+Anson went quietly on with his work, making a living for himself and
+Flaxen and baby. It never occurred to either of them that any other
+arrangement was necessary. Kendall wrote once or twice a month for
+awhile, saying each time, "I'll come back and settle up," and asking
+her to come to him; but she did not reply, and never referred to him
+outside her home, and when others inquired after him she replied
+evasively:
+
+"He's in Wisconsin somewhere; I don't know where."
+
+"Is he coming back?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+She often spoke of Bert, and complained of his silence. Once she said:
+
+"I guess he's forgot us, pap."
+
+"I guess not. More likely he's thinkin' we've fergot him. He'll turn up
+some bright mornin' with a pocketful o' rocks. He ain't no spring
+chicken, Bert ain't." ("All the same, I wish't he'd write," Anson said
+to himself.)
+
+                    *      *      *      *      *
+
+The sad death of Kendall came to them without much disturbing force. He
+had been out of their lives so long that when Anson came in with the
+paper and letter telling of the accident, and with his instinctive
+delicacy left her alone to read the news, Flaxen was awed and saddened,
+but had little sense of personal pain and loss.
+
+"Young Kendall," the newspaper went on under its scare-heads, "was on a
+visit to La Crosse, and while skating with a party on the bayou, where
+the La Crosse River empties into the Father of Waters, skated into an
+air-hole. The two young ladies with him were rescued, but the fated man
+was swept under the ice. He was the son," etc.
+
+When Anson came back Flaxen sat with the letter in her hand and the
+paper on her lap. She was meditating deeply, but what was in her mind
+Anson never knew. She had grown more and more reticent of late. She
+sighed, rose, and resumed her evening tasks.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+BERT COMES BACK.
+
+
+One raw March evening, when the wind was roaring among the gray
+branches of the maples like a lion in wrath, some one knocked on the
+door.
+
+"Come in!" shouted Anson, who was giving baby her regular ride on his
+boots.
+
+"Come in!" added Flaxen.
+
+Gearheart walked in slowly, closed the door behind his back, and stood
+devouring the cheerful scene. He was poorly dressed and wore a wide,
+limp hat; they did not know him till he bared his head.
+
+"Bert!" yelled Anson, tossing the baby to his shoulder and leaping
+toward his chum, tramping and shaking and clapping like a madman,
+scaring the child.
+
+"My gosh-all-hemlock! I'm glad to see ye! Gimme that paw again. Come to
+the fire. This is Flaxie" (as though he had not had his eyes on her
+face all the time). "Be'n sick?"
+
+Bert's hollow cough prompted this question.
+
+"Yes. Had some kind of a fever down in Arizony. Oh, I'm all right now,"
+he added in reply to an anxious look from Flaxen.
+
+"An' this is----"
+
+"Baby--Elsie," she replied, putting a finishing touch to the little
+one's dress, mother-like.
+
+"Where's he?" he asked a little later.
+
+Anson replied with a little gesture, which silenced Bert at the same
+time that it explained. And when Flaxen was busy a few moments later,
+Anson said:
+
+"Gone up the spout."
+
+At the table they grew quite gay, talking over old times, and Bert's
+pale face grew rosier, catching a reflection of the happy faces
+opposite.
+
+"Say, Bert, do you remember the time you threw that pan o' biscuits I
+made out into the grass an' killed every dog in the township?" Then
+they roared.
+
+"I remember your flapjacks that always split open in the middle, an' no
+amount o' heat could cook 'em inside," Bert replied.
+
+Then they grew sober again when Bert said with a pensive cadence:
+"Well, I tell you, those were days of hard work; but many's the time
+I've looked back at 'em these last three years, wishin' they'd never
+ended an' that we'd never got scattered."
+
+"We won't be again, will we, pap?"
+
+"Not if I can help it," Anson replied.
+
+"But how are you, Bert? Rich?"
+
+Bert put his hand into his pocket and laid a handful of small coins on
+the table.
+
+"That's the size o' my pile--four dollars," he said, smiling faintly;
+"the whole o' my three years' work."
+
+"Well, never mind, ol' man. I've got a chance fer yeh. Still an ol'
+bach?"
+
+"Still an old bach." He looked at Flaxen, irresistibly drawn to her
+face. She dropped her eyes; she could not have told why.
+
+And so "Wood & Gearheart" was painted on the sides of the drays, and
+they all continued to live in the little yellow cottage, enjoying life
+much more than the men, at least, had ever dared to hope; and little
+Elsie grew to be a "great girl," and a nuisance with her desire to
+"yide" with "g'an'pap."
+
+There is no spot more delightful in early April than the sunny side of
+the barn, and Ans and Bert felt this, though they did not say it. The
+eaves were dripping, the doves cooing, the hens singing their
+harsh-throated, weirdly suggestive songs, and the thrilling warmth and
+vitality of the sun and wind of spring made the great, rude fellows
+shudder with a strange delight. Anson held out his palm to catch the
+sunshine in it, took off his hat to feel the wind, and mused:
+
+"This is a great world--and a great day. I wish't it was always
+spring."
+
+"Say," began Bert abruptly, "it seems pretty well understood that
+you're her father--but where do I come in?"
+
+"You ought to be her husband." A light leaped into the younger man's
+face. "But go slow," Anson went on gravely. "This package is marked
+'Glass; handle with care.'"
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS.
+
+APPLETONS' SUMMER SERIES, 1891.
+
+
+_TOURMALIN'S TIME CHEQUES._ By F. Anstey, author of "Vice Versâ," "The
+Giant's Robe," etc.
+
+"Its author has struck another rich vein of whimsicality and humor."--_San
+Francisco Argonaut._
+
+"His special gift is in making the impossible appear probable."--_St.
+Louis Republic._
+
+"A curious conceit and very entertaining story."--_Boston Advertiser._
+
+"Each cheque is good for several laughs."--_New York Herald._
+
+"Certainly one of the most diverting books of the season."--_Brooklyn
+Times._
+
+"Sets a handsome example for the 'Summer Series,' with its neat and
+portable style of half cloth binding and good paper and
+typography."--_Brooklyn Eagle._
+
+
+_FROM SHADOW TO SUNLIGHT._ By the Marquis of Lorne.
+
+"In these days of princely criticism--that is to say, criticism of
+princes--it is refreshing to meet a really good bit of aristocratic
+literary work, albeit the author is only a prince-in-law.... The theme
+chosen by the Marquis makes his story attractive to Americans."--_Chicago
+Tribune._
+
+"A charming book."--_Cincinnati Enquirer._
+
+
+_ADOPTING AN ABANDONED FARM._ By Kate Sanborn.
+
+"It may he mythical, but it reads like a true narrative taken from a
+strong memory that has been re-enforced by a diary and corrected by the
+parish register. It is not only as natural as life, but, as Josh
+Billings used to say, 'even more so.'"--_New York Journal of Commerce._
+
+"A sunny, pungent, humorous sketch.... A bright, amusing book, which is
+thoughtful as well as amusing, and may stimulate, somewhere, thinking
+that shall bear fruit in some really effective remedial action."--_Chicago
+Times._
+
+
+_ON THE LAKE OF LUCERNE, AND OTHER STORIES._ By Beatrice Whitby.
+
+"Six short stories carefully and conscientiously finished, and told
+with the graceful ease of the practiced _raconteur_.--_Literary
+Digest._
+
+"The stories are pleasantly told in light and delicate vein and are
+sure to be acceptable to the friends Miss Whitby has already made on
+this side of the Atlantic."--_Philadelphia Bulletin._
+
+"Very dainty, not only in mechanical workmanship but in matter and
+manner,"--_Boston Advertiser._
+
+Each, 16mo. half cloth, with specially designed cover, 50 cents.
+
+
+New York: D. APPLETON & CO. 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street.
+
+
+
+
+RECENT ISSUES IN APPLETONS' TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY.
+
+
+_STEPHEN ELLICOTT'S DAUGHTER._ By Mrs. J. H. Needell, author of "The
+Story of Philip Methuen." 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"I am desirous to bear my humble testimony to the great ability and
+high aim of the work."--Hon. W. E. Gladstone.
+
+"From first to last an exceptionally strong and beautiful
+story,"--_London Spectator._
+
+
+_ONE REASON WHY._ By Beatrice Whitby, author of "The Awakening of Mary
+Fenwick," "Part of the Property," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth,
+$1.00.
+
+"A remarkably well-written story.... The author makes her people speak
+the language of every-day life, and a vigorous and attractive realism
+pervades the book, which provides excellent entertainment from
+beginning to end."--_Boston Saturday Evening Gazette._
+
+
+_THE TRAGEDY OF IDA NOBLE._ By W. Clark Russell, author of "The Wreck
+of the Grosvenor," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"The best sea-story since 'The Wreck of the Grosvenor.' It shows a
+determination to abandon the well-worn tracks of fiction and to evolve
+a new and striking plot.... There is no sign of exhausted imagination
+in this strong tale."--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._
+
+
+_THE JOHNSTOWN STAGE AND OTHER STORIES._ By Robert H. Fletcher, author
+of "A Blind Bargain," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"A collection of as charming short stories as one could wish to find,
+most of them Western in scene,"--_San Francisco Argonaut._
+
+"Nine real stories, not studies of character, but narratives of
+interest.... vivaciously and pleasantly told."--_Boston Pilot._
+
+
+_A WIDOWER INDEED._ By Rhoda Broughton and Elizabeth Bisland. 12mo.
+Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"Done with masterly skill. The whole work is strong and well worth
+reading."--_New York Journal of Commerce._
+
+"The story is written with great strength, and possesses a powerful
+interest that never flags,"--_Boston Home Journal._
+
+
+New York; D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street.
+
+
+
+
+RECENT ISSUES IN APPLETONS' TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY.
+
+
+_THE FLIGHT OF THE SHADOW._ By George MacDonald, author of "Malcolm,"
+"Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth,
+$1.00.
+
+"It is extremely entertaining, contains a charming love-story, and is
+beautifully written, like everything from Mr. MacDonald's pen."--_St.
+Paul Pioneer-Press._
+
+
+_LOVE OR MONEY._ By Katharine Lee, author of "A Western Wildflower,"
+"In London Town," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"In point of cleverness this novel is quite up to the standard of the
+excellent Town and Country Library in which it appears. Most of the
+characters are well drawn, and there are some singularly strong scenes
+in the book."---_Charleston News and Courier._
+
+
+_NOT ALL IN VAIN._ By Ada Cambridge, author of "The Three Miss Kings,"
+"My Guardian," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"A worthy companion to the best of the author's former efforts, and in
+some respects superior to any of them."--_Detroit Free Press._
+
+"A better story has not been published in many moons."--_Philadelphia
+Inquirer._
+
+
+_IT HAPPENED YESTERDAY._ By Frederick Marshall, author of "Claire
+Brandon." 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"An odd, fantastic tale, whose controlling agency is an occult power
+which the world thus far has doubted and wondered at alternately rather
+than studied."--_Chicago Times._
+
+"A psychological story of very powerful interest."--_Boston Home
+Journal._
+
+
+_MY GUARDIAN._ By Ada Cambridge, author of "The Three Miss Kings," "Not
+All in Vain," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"A story which will, from first to last, enlist the sympathies of the
+reader by its simplicity of style and fresh, genuine feeling.... The
+author is _au fait_ at the delineation of character."--_Boston
+Transcript._
+
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+desire."--_Chicago Evening Journal._
+
+
+New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street.
+
+
+
+
+_ELINE VERE._ By Louis Couperus. Translated from the Dutch by J. T.
+Grein. With an Introduction by Edmund Gosse. Holland Fiction Series,
+12mo. Cloth, $1.00.
+
+"The established authorities in art and literature retain their
+exclusive place in dictionaries and hand-books long after the claim of
+their juniors to be observed with attention has been practically
+conceded at home. For this reason, partly, and partly also because the
+mental life of Holland receives little attention in this country, no
+account has yet been taken of the revolution in Dutch taste which has
+occupied the last six or seven years. I believe that the present
+occasion is the first on which it has been brought to the notice of any
+English-speaking public.... 'Eline Vere' is an admirable
+performance."--Edmund Gosse, _in Introduction._
+
+"Most careful in its details of description, most picturesque in its
+coloring."--_Boston Post._
+
+"A vivacious and skillful performance, giving an evidently
+faithful picture of society, and evincing the art of a true
+story-teller."--_Philadelphia Telegraph._
+
+"Those who associate Dutch characters and Dutch thought with ideas of
+the purely phlegmatic, will read with astonishment and pleasure the
+oft-times stirring and passionate sentences of this novel."--_Public
+Opinion._
+
+"The _dénoűment_ is tragical, thrilling, and picturesque."--_New York
+World._
+
+"If modern Dutch Literature has other books as good as this to offer,
+we hope that they will soon find a translator."--_Chicago Evening
+Journal._
+
+
+_A PURITAN PAGAN._ By Julien Gordon, author of "A Diplomat's Diary,"
+etc. 12mo. Cloth, $ 1.00.
+
+"Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger grows stronger as she writes.... The lines
+in her story are boldly and vigorously etched."--_New York Times._
+
+"The author's recent books have made for her a secure place in current
+literature, where she can stand fast.... Her latest production, 'A
+Puritan Pagan,' is an eminently clever story, in the best sense of the
+word clever."--_Philadelphia Telegraph._
+
+"Has already made its mark as a popular story, and will have an
+abundance of readers.... It contains some useful lessons that will
+repay the thoughtful study of persons of both sexes."--_New York
+Journal of Commerce._
+
+"This brilliant novel will without doubt add to the repute of the
+writer who chooses to be known as Julien Gordon.... The ethical purpose
+of the author is kept fully in evidence through a series of intensely
+interesting situations."--_Boston Beacon._
+
+"It is obvious that the author is thoroughly at home in illustrating
+the manner and the sentiment of the best society of both America and
+Europe."--_Chicago Times._
+
+
+New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street.
+
+
+
+
+_THE FAITH DOCTOR._ By Edward Eggleston, author of "The Hoosier
+Schoolmaster," "The Circuit Rider," etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+"An excellent piece of work.... With each new novel the author of 'The
+Hoosier Schoolmaster' enlarges his audience, and surprises old friends
+by reserve forces unsuspected. Sterling integrity of character and high
+moral motives illuminate Dr. Eggleston's fiction, and assure its place
+in the literature of America which is to stand as a worthy reflex of
+the best thoughts of this age."--_New York World._
+
+"One of _the_ novels of the decade."--_Rochester Union and Advertiser._
+
+"It is extremely fortunate that the fine subject indicated in the title
+should have fallen into such competent hands."--_Pittsburgh
+Chronicle-Telegraph._
+
+"Much skill is shown by the author in making these 'fads' the basis of
+a novel of great interest.... One who tries to keep in the current of
+good novel-reading must certainly find time to read 'The Faith
+Doctor.'"--_Buffalo Commercial._
+
+"A vivid and life-like transcript from several phases of society.
+Devoid of literary affectation and pretense, it is a wholesome American
+novel well worthy of the popularity which it has won."--_Philadelphia
+Inquirer._
+
+"The author of 'The Hoosier Schoolmaster' has enhanced his reputation
+by this beautiful and touching study of the character of a girl to love
+whom proved a liberal education to both of her admirers."--_London
+Athenćum._
+
+
+_AN UTTER FAILURE._ By Miriam Coles Harris, author of "Rutledge." 12mo.
+Cloth, $1.25.
+
+"A story with an elaborate plot, worked out with great cleverness and
+with the skill of an experienced artist in fiction. The interest is
+strong and at times very dramatic.... Those who were attracted by
+'Rutledge' will give hearty welcome to this story, and find it fully as
+enjoyable as that once immensely popular novel."--_Boston Saturday
+Evening Gazette._
+
+"The pathos of this tale is profound, the movement highly dramatic, the
+moral elevating."--_New York World._
+
+"In this new story the author has done some of the best work that she
+has ever given to the public, and it will easily class among the most
+meritorious and most original novels of the year."--_Boston Home
+Journal._
+
+"The author of 'Rutledge' does not often send out a new volume, but
+when she does it is always a literary event.... Her previous books were
+sketchy and slight when compared with the finished and trained power
+evidenced in 'An Utter Failure.'"--_New Haven Palladium._
+
+"Exhibits the same literary excellence that made the success of the
+author's first book."--_San Francisco Argonaut._
+
+"American girls with a craving for titled husbands will find instructive
+reading in this story."--_Boston Traveller._
+
+
+New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street.
+
+
+
+
+_ON THE PLANTATION._ By Joel Chandler Harris, author of "Uncle Remus."
+With 23 Illustrations by E. W. Kemble, and Portrait of the Author.
+12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+"The book is in the characteristic vein which has made the author so
+famous and popular as an interpreter of plantation character."--_Rochester
+Union and Advertiser._
+
+"Those who never tire of Uncle Remus and his stories--with whom we would
+be accounted--will delight in Joe Maxwell and his exploits."--_London
+Saturday Review._
+
+"Altogether a most charming book."--_Chicago Times._
+
+"Really a valuable, if modest, contribution to the history of the civil
+war with in the Confederate lines, particularly on the eve of the
+catastrophe. Two or three new animal fables are introduced with effect;
+but the history of the plantation, the printing-office, the black
+runaways, and white deserters, of whom the impending break-up made
+the community tolerant, the coon and fox hunting, forms the serious
+purpose of the book, and holds the reader's interest from beginning
+to end."--_New York Evening Post._
+
+
+_UNCLE REMUS: His Songs and his Sayings._ The Folk-lore of the Old
+Plantation. By Joel Chandler Harris. Illustrated from Drawings by F. S.
+Church and J. H. Moser, of Georgia. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+"The idea of preserving and publishing these legends, in the form in
+which the old plantation negroes actually tell them, is altogether one
+of the happiest literary conceptions of the day. And very admirably is
+the work done.... In such touches lies the charm of this fascinating
+little volume of legends, which deserves to be placed on a level with
+_Reincke Fuchs for_ its quaint humor, without reference to the
+ethnological interest possessed by these stories, as indicating,
+perhaps, a common origin for very widely severed races."--_London
+Spectator._
+
+"We are just discovering what admirable literary material there is at
+home, what a great mine there is to explore, and how quaint and
+peculiar is the material which can be dug up. Mr. Harris's book may be
+looked on in a double light--either as a pleasant volume recounting the
+stories told by a typical old colored man to a child, or as a valuable
+contribution to our somewhat meager folk-lore.... To Northern readers
+the story of Brer (Brother--Brudder) Rabbit may be novel. To those
+familiar with plantation life, who have listened to these quaint old
+stories, who have still tender reminiscences of some good old mauma who
+told these wondrous adventures to them when they were children, Brer
+Rabbit, the Tar Baby, and Brer Fox come back again with all the past
+pleasures of younger days."--_New York Times._
+
+"Uncle Remus's sayings on current happenings are very shrewd and
+bright, and the plantation and revival songs are choice specimens of
+their sort."--_Boston Journal._
+
+
+New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street.
+
+
+
+
+_THE LAST WORDS OF THOMAS CARLYLE._ Including _Wotton Reinfred_,
+Carlyle's only essay in fiction; the _Excursion (Futile Enough) to
+Paris_; and letters from Thomas Carlyle, also letters from Mrs.
+Carlyle, to a personal friend. With Portrait. 12mo. Cloth, gilt top,
+$1.75.
+
+"The interest of 'Wotton Reinfred' to me is considerable, from the
+sketches which it contains of particular men and women, most of whom I
+knew and could, if necessary, identify. The story, too, is taken
+generally from real life, and perhaps Carlyle did not finish it, from
+the sense that it could not be published while the persons and things
+could be recognized. That objection to the publication no longer
+exists. Everybody is dead whose likenesses have been drawn, and the
+incidents stated have long been forgotten."--James Anthony Froude.
+
+"'Wotton Reinfred' is interesting as a historical document. It gives
+Carlyle before he had adopted his peculiar manner, and yet there are
+some characteristic bits--especially at the beginning--in the Sartor
+Resartus vein. I take it that these are reminiscences of Irving and of
+the Thackeray circle, and there is a curious portrait of Coleridge, not
+very thinly veiled. There is enough autobiography, too, of interest in
+its way."--Leslie Stephen.
+
+"No complete edition of the Sage of Chelsea will be able to ignore
+these manuscripts."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
+
+
+_MEN, MINES, AND ANIMALS IN SOUTH AFRICA._ By Lord Randolph S.
+Churchill. With Portrait, Sixty-five Illustrations, and a Map. 8vo. 337
+pages. Cloth, $5.00.
+
+"The subject-matter of the book is of unsurpassed interest to all who
+either travel in new countries, to see for themselves the new
+civilizations, or follow closely the experiences of such travelers. And
+Lord Randolph's eccentricities are by no means such as to make his own
+reports of what he saw in the new states of South Africa any the less
+interesting than his active eyes and his vigorous pen naturally make
+them."--_Brooklyn Eagle._
+
+"Lord Randolph Churchill's pages are full of diversified adventures and
+experience, from any part of which interesting extracts could be
+collected.... A thoroughly attractive book."--_London Telegraph._
+
+"Provided with amusing illustrations, which always fall short of
+caricature, but perpetually suggest mirthful entertainment."--_Philadelphia
+Ledger._
+
+"The book is the better for having been written somewhat in the line of
+journalism. It is a volume of travel containing the results of a
+journalist's trained observation and intelligent reflection upon
+political affairs. Such a work is a great improvement upon the ordinary
+book of travel. Lord Randolph Churchill thoroughly enjoyed his
+experiences in the African bush, and has produced a record of his
+journey and exploration which has hardly a dull page in it."--_New York
+Tribune._
+
+
+New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street.
+
+
+
+
+_LIFE IN ANCIENT EGYPT AND ASSYRIA._ By G. Maspéro, late Director of
+Archćology in Egypt, and Member of the Institute of France. Translated
+by Alice Morton. With 188 Illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+"A lucid sketch, at once popular and learned, of daily life in Egypt in
+the time of Rameses II, and of Assyria in that of Assurbanipal.... As
+an Orientalist, M. Maspéro stands in the front rank, and his learning
+is so well digested and so admirably subdued to the service of popular
+exposition, that it nowhere overwhelms and always interests the
+reader."--_London Times._
+
+"Only a writer who had distinguished himself as a student of Egyptian
+and Assyrian antiquities could have produced this work, which has none
+of the features of a modern book of travels in the East, but is an
+attempt to deal with ancient life as if one had been a contemporary
+with the people whose civilization and social usages are very largely
+restored."--_Boston Herald._
+
+"The ancient artists are copied with the utmost fidelity, and verify
+the narrative so attractively presented."--_Cincinnati Times-Star._
+
+
+_THE THREE PROPHETS: Chinese Gordon; Mohammed-Ahmed; Araby Pasha._
+Events before, during, and after the Bombardment of Alexandria. By
+Colonel Chaille-Long, ex-Chief of Staff to Gordon in Africa, ex-United
+States Consular Agent in Alexandria, etc. With Portraits. 16mo. Paper,
+50 cents.
+
+"Comprises the observations of a man who, by reason of his own military
+experience in Egypt, ought to know whereof he speaks."--_Washington
+Post._
+
+"Throws an entirely new light upon the troubles which have so long
+agitated Eyypt, and upon their real significance."--_Chicago Times._
+
+
+_THE MEMOIRS OF AN ARABIAN PRINCESS._ By Emily Ruete, _née_ Princess of
+Oman and Zanzibar. Translated from the German. 12mo. Cloth, 75 cents.
+
+"A remarkably interesting little volume.... As a picture of Oriental
+court life, and manners and customs in the Orient, by one who is to the
+manner born, the book is prolific in entertainment and edification."--_Boston
+Gazette._
+
+"The interest of the book centers chiefly in its minute description of
+the daily life of the household from the time of rising until the time
+of retiring, giving the most complete details of dress, meals,
+ceremonies, feasts, weddings, funerals, education, slave service,
+amusements, in fact everything connected with the daily and yearly
+routine of life."--_Utica (N. Y.) Herald._
+
+
+New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street.
+
+
+
+
+_THE SOVEREIGNS AND COURTS OF EUROPE._ The Home and Court Life and
+Characteristics of the Reigning Families. By "Politikos." With many
+Portraits, 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+"A remarkably able book.... A great deal of the inner history of Europe
+is to be found in the work, and it is illustrated by admirable
+portraits."--_The Athenćum._
+
+"Its chief merit is that it gives a new view of several sovereigns....
+The anonymous author seems to have sources of information that are not
+open to the foreign correspondents who generally try to convey the
+impression that they are on terms of intimacy with royalty."--_San
+Francisco Chronicle._
+
+"The anonymous author of these sketches of the reigning sovereigns of
+Europe appears to have gathered a good deal of curious information
+about their private lives, manners, and customs, and has certainly in
+several instances had access to unusual sources. The result is a volume
+which furnishes views of the kings and queens concerned far fuller and
+more intimate than can be found elsewhere."--_New York Tribune._
+
+"... A book that would give the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
+the truth (so far as such comprehensive accuracy is possible), about
+these exalted personages, so often heard about but so seldom seen by
+ordinary mortals, was a desideratum, and this book seems well fitted to
+satisfy the demand. The author is a well-known writer on questions
+indicated by his pseudonym."--_Montreal Gazette._
+
+"A very handy book of reference."--_Boston Transcript._
+
+
+_MY CANADIAN JOURNAL, 1872-'78._ By Lady Dufferin. Extracts from
+letters home written while Lord Dufferin was Governor-General of
+Canada. With Portrait, Map, and Illustrations from sketches by Lord
+Dufferin. 12mo. Cloth, $2.00.
+
+"A graphic and intensely interesting portraiture of out-door life in
+the Dominion, and will become, we are confident, one of the standard
+works on the Dominion.... It is a charming volume."--_Boston
+Traveller._
+
+"In every place and under every condition of circumstances the
+Marchioness shows herself to be a true lady, without reference to
+her title. Her book is most entertaining, and the abounding
+good-humor of every page must stir a sympathetic spirit in its
+readers."--_Philadelphia Bulletin._
+
+"The many readers of Lady Dufferin's Journal of 'Our Vice-Regal Life in
+India' will welcome this similar record from the same vivacious pen,
+although it concerns a period antecedent to the other, and takes one
+back many years. The book consists of extracts from letters written
+home by Lady Dufferin to her friends (her mother chiefly) while her
+husband was Governor-General of Canada; and describes her experiences
+in the same chatty and charming style with which readers were before
+made familiar."--_Cincinnati Commercial-Gazette._
+
+
+New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street.
+
+
+
+
+HAND-BOOKS OF SOCIAL USAGES.
+
+
+_SOCIAL ETIQUETTE OF NEW YORK._ Rewritten and enlarged. 18mo. Cloth,
+gilt, $1.00.
+
+Special pains have been taken to make this work represent accurately
+existing customs in New York society. The subjects treated are of
+visiting and visiting-cards, giving and attending balls, receptions,
+dinners, etc., débuts, chaperons, weddings, opera and theatre parties,
+costumes and customs, addresses and signatures, and funeral customs,
+covering so far as practicable all social usages.
+
+
+_DON'T_; or, Directions for avoiding Improprieties in Conduct and
+Common Errors of Speech. By Censor. _Parchment-Paper Edition_, square
+18mo. 30 cents. _Vest-Pocket Edition_, cloth, flexible, gilt edges, red
+lines, 30 cents. _Boudoir Edition_ (with a new chapter designed for
+young people), cloth, gilt, 30 cents. 130th thousand.
+
+"Don't" deals with manners at the table, in the drawing-room, and in
+public, with taste in dress, with personal habits, with common mistakes
+in various situations in life, and with ordinary errors of speech.
+
+
+_WHAT TO DO._ A Companion to "Don't." By Mrs. Oliver Bell Bunce. Small
+18mo. cloth, gilt, uniform with _Boudoir Edition_ of "Don't," 30 cents.
+
+A dainty little book, containing helpful and practical explanations of
+social usages and rules. It tells the reader how to entertain and how
+to be entertained, and it sets forth the etiquette of engagements and
+marriages, introductions and calls.
+
+
+"_GOOD FORM" IN ENGLAND._ By An American, resident in the United
+Kingdom. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+"The _raison d'ętre_ of this book is to provide Americans--and
+especially those visiting England--with a concise, comprehensive, and
+comprehensible hand-book which will give them all necessary information
+respecting 'how things are' in England."--_From the Preface._
+
+
+_HINTS ABOUT MEN'S DRESS_: Right Principles Economically Applied. By a
+New York Clubman. 18mo. Parchment-paper, 30 cents.
+
+A useful manual, especially for young men desirous of dressing
+economically and yet according to the canons of good taste.
+
+
+New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Little Norsk; Or, Ol' Pap's Flaxen, by 
+Hamlin Garland
+
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+<div class="boilerplate">
+<p>
+   The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Little Norsk;
+	 Or, Ol' Pap's Flaxen, by Hamlin Garland.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+</p>
+
+<p>
+   Title: A Little Norsk; Or, Ol' Pap's Flaxen<br />
+   Author: Hamlin Garland<br />
+   Posting Date: June 18, 2007 [EBook #21850]<br />
+   Last Updated: May 16, 2017<br />
+	 Character set encoding: utf-8 
+</p>
+<p>
+   Produced by Robert Homa, David Yingling and the Online
+	 Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net 
+	 (This book was produced from scanned images of public
+	 domain material from the Google Print project.)
+</p>
+<br />
+<p>
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE NORSK ***
+</p>
+</div>
+
+	
+	 
+<div id="titlepage">
+   <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">i</a></span>
+   <h1>A Little Norsk<br />
+	 <small>Or</small><br />
+	 Ol' Paps' Flaxen</h1>
+	 <p class="author ctr">By<br/> Hamlin Garland</p>
+	 <p>
+	 <i>Author of</i><br />
+	 Main Traveled Roads, A Member of the Third House,
+	 A Spoil of Office, Jason Edwards, etc.<br />
+	 <br />
+	 </p>
+	 <p class="img">
+      <img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="Publisher's logo" width="111" height="125" />
+   </p> 
+   <p class="caps">	
+	     <br /><br />
+	     New York<br />
+	 		 D. Appleton and Company<br />
+			 1892
+	 </p>
+	 <p><br /><br /><br /></p>
+   <p class="small">
+	    <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">ii</a></span>
+	 </p>
+	 <hr class="tiny" />
+	 <p class="small sc"> 
+	                Copyright, 1892, <br />
+                  By D. Appleton and Company. <br /><br />
+									Printed at the Appleton Press, U.S.A.
+   </p>
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>On the Plain.</h2> 
+<div class="poem1">
+<p class="poem1">
+My cabin cowers in the pathless sweep</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+Of the terrible northern blast;</p>
+<p class="poem1">
+Above its roof the wild clouds leap</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+And shriek as they hurtle past.</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+The snow-waves hiss along the plain,</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+Like spectral wolves they stretch and strain</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+And race and ramp&mdash;with hissing beat,</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+Like stealthy tread of myriad feet,</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+I hear them pass; upon the roof</p>
+<p class="poem1">
+The icy showers swirl and rattle;</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+At times the moon, from storms aloof,</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+Shines white and wan within the room&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+Then swift clouds drive across the light</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+And all the plain is lost to sight,</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+The cabin rocks, and on my palm</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+The sifted snow falls, cold and calm.</p>
+<br />
+<p  class="poem1"> 
+God! What a power is in the wind!</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+I lay my cheek to the cabin side</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+To feel the weight of his giant hands&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+A speck, a fly in the blasting tide</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+Of streaming, pitiless, icy sands;</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+A single heart with its feeble beat&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poem1">
+A mouse in the lion's throat&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+A swimmer at sea&mdash;a sunbeam's mote</p>
+<p class="poem1"> 
+In the grasp of a tempest of hail and sleet!</p> 
+</div>
+
+
+
+	
+<p>
+     <a name="contents" id="contents"></a>
+      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">v</a></span>
+	    <br />
+			<br /><br /><br />
+     </p>
+		 <h2>Table of Contents.</h2>
+<table class="toc" summary="Table of Contents for A Little Norsk">
+<caption>A Little Norsk</caption>
+<thead>
+<tr>
+   <th></th>
+	 <th>Page</th>
+</tr>
+</thead>
+<tbody>
+<tr>
+		<td colspan="2"><a href="#I">CHAPTER I</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+		<td>Her Adoptive Parents</td>
+		<td>1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+		<td colspan="2"><a href="#II">CHAPTER II.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+		<td>Her First Trip in a Blizzard</td>
+		<td>9</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+		<td colspan="2"><a href="#III">CHAPTER III.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+		<td>The Burial of her Dead Mother</td>
+		<td>22</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+		<td colspan="2"><a href="#IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+		<td>Flaxen Adopts Anson as "Pap"</td>
+		<td>32</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+    <td colspan="2"><a href="#V">CHAPTER V.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td>Flaxen Becomes Indispensable to the Two Old Bachelors</td>
+   <td>38</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td colspan="2"><a href="#VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td>A Question of Dress</td>
+	 <td>46</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td colspan="2"><a href="#VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td>After Harvest</td>
+	 <td>69</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td colspan="2"><a href="#VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td>An Empty House</td>
+	 <td>78</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td colspan="2"><a href="#IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+	 <td>&#34;Baching&#34; it Again</td>
+	 <td>86</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td colspan="2"><a href="#X">CHAPTER X.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td>Flaxen Comes Home on a Vacation</td>
+	 <td>105</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td colspan="2"><a href="#XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td>Flaxen Grows Restless</td>
+	 <td>113</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td colspan="2"><a href="#XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+ 	 <td>Flaxen Says Good-bye</td>
+	 <td>124</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td colspan="2"><a href="#XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+	 <td>Flaxen's Great Need</td>
+	 <td>133</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td colspan="2"><a href="#XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td>Kendall Steps Out</td>
+	 <td>148</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td colspan="2"><a href="#XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+   <td>Bert Comes Back</td>
+	 <td>153</td>
+</tr>		
+</tbody>			
+</table>	
+
+<p class="quad-space-top">
+   <br />
+</p>
+<hr />
+<p class="quad-space-top">
+   <br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div>
+<p class="xl bold ctr">
+<a name="I"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_001" id="Page_001">1</a></span>
+A LITTLE NORSK.
+</p>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER I.</a>
+</h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+HER ADOPTIVE PARENTS.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+&#34;Ans, the next time you twist hay f'r the fire, I wish't you'd
+dodge the damp spots,&#34; said the cook, rising from a prolonged
+scrutiny of the stove and the bread in the oven. His pose was threatening.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Cooks are always grumblin',&#34; calmly remarked Anson, drawing 
+on his gloves preparatory to going out to the barn; &#34;but seein' 's 
+this is Chris'mus, I'll go out an' knock a barrel to pieces. I want 
+them biscuit to be O.&nbsp;K. See?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yes: I see.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Say, Bert!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_002" id="Page_002">2</a></span>
+&#34;Can't we have some sugar-'lasses on our biscuits, seein' it's Chris'mus?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, I s'pose we can, Ans; but we're gittin' purty low on the thing
+ these days, an' they ain't no tellin' when we'll be able to git more.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, jes' as you say, not as I care.&#34; Anson went out into the
+roaring wind with a shout of defiance, but came back instantly, as if to
+say something he had forgotten. &#34;Say, wha' d'ye s'pose is the trouble
+over to the Norsk's? I hain't seen a sign o' smoke over there f'r two 'r
+three days.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, now you speak of it, Ans, I've be'n thinkin' about that myself. 
+I'm afraid he's out o' coal, 'r sick, 'r somethin'. It 'u'd be mighty tough 
+f'r the woman an' babe to be there without any fire, an' this blizzard
+whoopin' her up. I guess you'd better go over an' see what's up. I was
+goin' to speak of it this mornin', but f'rgot it. I'm cook this week, 
+so I guess the job falls on you.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;All right. Here goes.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Better take a horse.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_003" id="Page_003">3</a></span>
+&#34;No: I guess not. The snow is driftin' purty bad, an' he couldn't git
+through the drifts, anyway.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, lookout f'r y'rself, ol' man. It looks purty owly off in the
+west. Don't waste any time. I'd hate like thunder to be left alone on a
+Dakota prairie f'r the rest o' the winter.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson laughed back through the mist of snow that blew in the open door,
+his great-coat and cap allowing only a glimpse of his cheeks.
+</p>
+<p>
+The sky was bright overhead, but low down around the horizon it looked
+wild. The air was frightfully cold&mdash;far below zero&mdash;and the
+wind had been blowing almost every day for a week, and was still strong.
+The snow was sliding fitfully along the sod with a stealthy, menacing 
+motion, and far off in the west and north a dense, shining cloud of
+frost was hanging.
+</p>
+<p>
+The plain was almost as lone and level and bare as a polar ocean, where
+death and silence reign undisputedly. There was not a tree in sight, the
+grass was mainly 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_004" id="Page_004">4</a></span>
+burned, or buried by the snow, and the little shanties of the three
+or four settlers could hardly be said to be in sight, half sunk, as
+they were, in drifts. A large white owl seated on a section stake
+was the only living thing to be seen.
+</p>
+<p>
+The boom had not yet struck Buster County. Indeed, it did not seem to
+Bert Gearheart at this moment that it would ever strike Buster County. 
+It was as cold, dreary, and unprofitable an outlook as a man could face
+and not go utterly mad. If any of these pioneers could have forecast
+ the winter, they would not have dared to pass it on the plains.
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert watched his partner as he strode rapidly across the prairie, now
+lost to sight as a racing troop of snow-waves, running shoulder-high,
+shot between, now reappearing as the wind lulled.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;This is gittin' pretty monotonous, to tell the honest truth,&#34; 
+he muttered as he turned from the little window. &#34;If that railroad
+don't show up by March, in some shape or other, I'm goin' to give it up. 
+Gittin' free land like this is a little too
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_005" id="Page_005">5</a></span>
+costly for me. I'll go back to Wiscons', an' rent land on shares.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert was a younger-looking man than his bachelor companion; perhaps
+because his face was clean-shaven and his frame much slighter. He was
+a silent, moody young fellow, hard to get along with, though of great
+good heart. Anson Wood succeeded in winning and holding his love even
+through the trials of masculine housekeeping. As Bert kept on with the
+dinner, he went often to the little window facing the east and looked
+out, each time thawing a hole in the frost on the window-panes.
+</p>
+<p>
+The wind was rising again, and the night promised to be wild, as the two
+preceding nights had been. As he moved back and forth setting out their
+scanty meal, he was thinking of the old life back in Wisconsin in the
+deeps of the little <i>coul&#233;e</i>; of the sleigh-rides with the
+boys and girls; of the Christmas doings; of the damp, thick-falling
+snow among the pines, where the wind had no terrors; of musical bells on 
+swift horses in the fragrant
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_006" id="Page_006">6</a></span>
+deeps, where the snowflakes fell like caresses through the tossing
+branches of the trees.
+</p>
+<p>
+By the side of such a life the plain, with its sliding snow and
+ferocious wind, was appalling&mdash;a treeless expanse and a
+racing-ground for snow and wind. The man's mood grew darker while
+he mused. He served the meal on the rude box which took the place
+of table, and still his companion did not come. He looked at his 
+watch. It was nearly one o'clock, and yet there was no sign of the
+sturdy figure of Anson.
+</p>
+<p>
+The house of the poor Norwegian was about two miles away, and out of
+sight, being built in a gully; but now the eye could distinguish a
+house only when less than a mile away. A man could not at times be
+seen at a distance of ten rods, though occasional lulls in the wind
+permitted Bert to see nearly to the &#34;First Moccasin.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;He may be in the swale,&#34; muttered the watcher as he stood
+with his eye to the loop-hole. But the next time he
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_007" id="Page_007">7</a></span>
+looked the plain was as wild and lone as before, save under the 
+rising blast the snow was beginning to ramp and race across the
+level sod till it looked at times like a sea running white with
+foam and misty with spray.
+</p>
+<p>
+At two o'clock he said: &#34;Well, I s'pose Ans has concluded to
+stay over there to dinner, though what the Norsk can offer as
+inducement I swear I don't know. I'll eat, anyhow; he can have
+what's left.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+He sat down to his lonely meal, and ate slowly, getting up two or
+three times from his candle-box in a growing anxiety for Ans,
+using the heated poker now to clear a spot on the pane. He
+expressed his growing apprehension, manlike, by getting angry.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I don't see what the darn fool means by stayin' so late.
+It'll be dark by four o'clock, er jest as soon as that cloud
+over there strikes us. You couldn't beat sense into some men's
+heads with a club.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+He had eaten his dinner now, and had taken to pacing up and down the
+little room, which was exactly six paces long
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_008" id="Page_008">8</a></span>
+and three wide, and just high enough to permit Anson to walk erect
+in the highest part.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Nice fix to leave a man in, ain't it? All alone here, an' a blizzard
+comin' on! If I ever git out o' this country alive, I'll bet I'll know
+enough not to come back,&#34; he broke out, stamping his foot in a rage.
+&#34;I don't see what he means by it. If he's caught in that blow,
+his life ain't worth a cent.&#34;
+</p>
+<div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_009" id="Page_009">9</a></span>
+<a name="II"></a>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER II.</a>
+</h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+HER FIRST TRIP IN A BLIZZARD.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+At half-past two the feelings of the silent watcher began to change.
+He thought more about his partner out there in the rising wind and
+thickening snow. The blast roared round the little cabin with a deep,
+menacing, rising moan, and laid to the stove-pipe a resounding lip,
+wailing and shouting weirdly. Bert's nervous walk quickened, and he
+looked so often through the pane that the frost had not time to close up.
+</p>
+<p>
+Suddenly, out of the blinding, sweeping snow, not ten rods distant,
+the burly form of Anson burst, head down, blindly staggering forward
+into the teeth of the tempest. He walked like a man whose strength was
+almost gone, and he carried a large bundle in his arms.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_010" id="Page_010">10</a></span>
+Gearhart flung the door open, and called in a cheery voice to guide
+the struggling man to the house. He knew what it was to face such a wind.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Here ye are, ol' man! Right this way! Keep y'r head down!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Then, seeing that Anson hardly made headway against the terrible blast,
+he rushed out, bare-headed as he was, and caught and hurried him in and
+shut the door.
+</p>
+<p>
+Reeling blindly, his breath roaring like a furnace, his eyebrows hung with
+icicles, his face masked with crusted snow, Anson staggered in, crying
+hoarsely, &#34;Take her!&#34; then slid to the floor, where he lay panting
+for breath.
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert caught the bundle from his arms. A wailing, half-smothered cry 
+came from it.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What is it, Ans?&#34; he asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;A kid; warm it,&#34; said the giant, trying with his numbed fingers
+to undo the shawl which wrapped the bundle. Bert hurriedly unwound the
+shawl, and a frightened child, blue-eyed and flaxen-haired&mdash;flossy
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_011" id="Page_011">11</a></span>
+as unfrosted corn-silk&mdash;was disclosed like a nubbin of corn
+after the husks are stripped off.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Why, it's little Flaxen Hair! Wha' d'ye bring her over for?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;'Sh!&#34; said Anson hoarsely. &#34;Mind how y' git her warm!
+Don't y' see she's froze?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+The little creature was about five, or possibly six years old,
+scantily clad, but neat and pretty. As her feet began to get warm before
+the fire, she wailed with pain, which Bert tried to stop by rubbing.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Put her hands in y'r hair, hold her feet in y'r hands&mdash;don't
+rub 'em,&#34; commanded Ans, who was stripping the ice from his eyelashes
+and from his matted beard, which lay like a shield upon his breast. 
+&#34;Stir up the fire; give her some hot coffee an' some feed. She
+hain't had anything to eat.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert tried to do all these things at once, and could not, but managed
+finally to get the child a piece of bread and a cup of coffee, and to
+allay her fears. Ans began 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_012" id="Page_012">12</a></span>
+to recover from his horrible journey and was able to speak, though his
+lungs were still painful.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Ol' man,&#34; he said solemnly and tenderly, &#34;I came jest as
+near stayin' in that last gully down there as a man could an' not. The
+snow was up to my armpits, an' let me down wherever the weeds was. I
+had to waller; if it hadn't be'n for her, I guess I'd 'a' give up; 
+but I jest grit m' teeth an' pulled through. There, guess y' hadn't
+better let her have any more. I guess she'll go to sleep now she's fed
+an' warmed. Jest le' me take her now, ol' man.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;No: you git rested up.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;See here, it'll rest me to hold that little chap. I'm all right.
+My hands is frosted some, an' my ears, that's all, but my breath is 
+gittin' back. Come on, now,&#34; he pleaded.
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert surrendered the child, who looked up into the bearded face of the
+rough fellow, then rested her head on his breast, and went to sleep at
+last. It made his heart thrill as he felt her little head
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_013" id="Page_013">13</a></span>
+against his breast. He never had held a child in his arms before.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Say, Bert, reckon I'm a purty fair picture of a fam'ly man, now,
+eh? Throw in a couple o' twists more o' hay&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert stirred up the fire.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, now the little one is off, what's up over to the Norsk's? 
+Wha' d'ye bring the child for?&#34; he asked at last.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Because she was the only livin' soul in the shanty.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What?&#34; His face was set in horror.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Fact.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Where's the Norsk?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I don't know. On the prairie somewhere.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;An' the mother?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She's&mdash;&#34; Here the little one stirred slightly as he
+leaned forward, and Ans said, with a wink, &#34;She's <em>asleep</em>.&#34; 
+He winked significantly, and Bert understood what the sleep was. 
+&#34;Be a little careful what y' say&mdash;jes' now; the little rat is
+listenin'. Jest say <em>relative</em> when y' mean her&mdash;the woman,
+y' know.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yes, sir,&#34; he resumed after a moment; 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_014" id="Page_014">14</a></span>
+&#34;I was scart when I saw that house&mdash;when I knocked, an' no one
+stirred 'r come to the door. They wasn't a track around, an' the barn
+an' house was all drifted up. I pushed the door open; it was cold as a
+barn, an' dark. I couldn't see anythin' f'r a minute, but I heard a
+sound o' cryin' from the bed that made my hair stand up. I rushed over
+there, an' there lay the mother on the bed, with nothin' on but some
+kind of a night-dress, an' everythin'&mdash;dress, shawl, an'
+all&mdash;piled on an' around that blessed child.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She was sleepin'?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Like a stone. I couldn't believe it at first. I raved around
+there, split up a chair an' the shelves, an' made a fire. Then I
+started to rub the woman's hands an' feet, but she was cold an' hard
+as iron.&#34; Bert shuddered in sympathy. &#34;Then I took the child
+up an' rubbed her; tried to find somethin' f'r her to eat&mdash;not
+a blessed thing in that house! Finally I thought I better bolt
+f'r home&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Lucky you did. Hear that wind! 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_015" id="Page_015">15</a></span>
+Great heavens! We are in for another two-days' blow of it. That woman,
+of course, stripped herself to save the child.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yes: she did.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Jes' like a woman! Why didn't she rip down the shelf an' split
+up the chairs for fuel, or keep walkin' up an' down the room?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Now, there it is! She <em>had</em> burnt up a lot o' stuff,
+then took to bed with the child. She rolled her up in all the
+quilts an' shawls an' dresses they was in the house; then laid
+down by the side of her, an' put her arm over her&mdash;an'
+froze&mdash;jes' like a mother&mdash;no judgment!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, lay her down now, an' eat somethin' y'rself, while I go
+out an' look after the chores. Lord! it makes me crawl to think of
+that woman layin' there in the shanty all alone!&#34; he turned and
+said in a peculiar hesitating voice. He shivered a little as he spoke.
+&#34;Say, did y' shut the door?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yes: an' it shuts hard. The wind n'r wolves can't open it.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;That's good. I couldn't sleep nights 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_016" id="Page_016">16</a></span>
+if I thought the coyotes could get in.&#34; Bert's imagination seized
+upon that lonely cabin and the figure lying cold as iron upon the
+bed. It appealed to him more than to Anson.
+</p>
+<p>
+By four o'clock it was dark, and the lamp was lighted when Bert came
+in, bringing an immense load of hay-twists. The ferocious wind, as if
+exulting in its undisputed sway over the plain, raved in ceaseless
+fury around the cabin, and lashed the roof with a thousand stinging
+streams of snow. The tiny shanty did not rock; it shuddered as if
+with fright. The drifts rose higher on the windows, and here and there
+through some unseen crevice the snow, fine as bolted flour, found its
+way like oil, seeming to penetrate the solid boards; and to the
+stove-pipe the storm still laid hoarse lip, piping incessantly,
+now dolorously, now savagely, now high, now low.
+</p>
+<p>
+While the two men sat above the fire that night, discussing the sad case
+of the woman, the child slept heavily, muttering and sobbing in her sleep.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_017" id="Page_017">17</a></span>
+&#34;The probabilities are,&#34; said Anson, in a matter-of-fact way, 
+&#34;the Norsk took his oxen an' started f'r Summit f'r provisions, 
+an' got caught in this blizzard an' froze to death
+ somewhere&mdash;got lost in some gully, probably.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;But why didn't he come an' tell us to look after his fam'ly?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, I s'pose he was afraid to trust us. I don't wonder,
+as I remember the treatment their women git from the Yankees. 
+We look a good 'eal worse than we are, besides; an' then the 
+poor cuss couldn't talk to us, anyhow, an' he's be'n shy ever
+since he came, in October.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+After a long silence, in which Gearheart went over and studied
+the face of the sleeper, Anson said: &#34;Well, if he's dead,
+an' the woman's dead too, we've got to look after this child
+till some relative turns up. An' that woman's got to be buried.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;All right. What's got to be done had better be done right off.
+We've only one bed, Ans, an' a cradle hasn't appeared necessary
+before. How about the 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_018" id="Page_018">18</a></span>
+sleepin' to-night? If you're goin' into the orphan-asylum business,
+you'll have to open up correspondence with a furniture store.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Ans reddened a little. &#34;It ain't mine any more'n yours. 
+We're pardners in this job.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;No: I guess not. You look more like a dad, an' I guess I'll shift
+the responsibility of this thing off onto you. I'll bunk here on the
+floor, an' you take the child an' occupy the bed.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, all right,&#34; answered Anson, going over in his turn and
+looking down at the white face and tow-coloured hair of the little
+stranger. &#34;But say, we ain't got no night-clothes f'r the little
+chap. What'll we do? Put her to sleep jes' as she is?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I reckon we'll have to to-night. Maybe you'll find some more
+clothes over to the shanty.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Say, Bert,&#34; said Ans later.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;It's too darn cold f'r you to sleep on the floor there. 
+You git in here on the 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_019" id="Page_019">19</a></span>
+back side, an' I'll take the child on the front. She'd be smashed
+flatter'n a pancake if she was in the middle. She ain't bigger'n 
+a pint o' cider, anyway.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;No, ol' man. I'll lay here on the floor, an' kind o' heave a
+twist in once in a while. It's goin' to be cold enough to freeze
+the tail off a brass bull by daylight.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Ans bashfully crept in beside the sleeping child, taking care not to
+waken her, and lay there thinking of his new responsibility. At every
+shiver of the cowering cabin and rising shriek of the wind, his heart 
+went out in love toward the helpless little creature whose dead mother
+lay in the cold and deserted shanty, and whose father was wandering
+perhaps breathless and despairing on the plain, or lying buried in the
+snow in some deep ravine beside his patient oxen. He tucked the clothing
+in carefully about the child, felt to see if her little feet were cold,
+and covered her head with her shawl, patting her lightly with his great paw.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_020" id="Page_020">20</a></span>
+&#34;Say, Bert!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, Ans, what now?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;If this little chap should wake up an' cry f'r its mother, what
+in thunder would I do?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Give it up, ol' boy,&#34; was the reply from the depths of the
+buffalo-robes before the fire. &#34;Pat her on the back, an' tell
+her not to cry, or somethin' like that.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;But she can't tell what I say.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, she'll understand if y' kind o' chuckle an' gurgle like a
+fam'ly man.&#34; But the little one slept on, and when, about midnight, 
+Bert got up to feed the fire, he left the stove door open to give light, 
+and went softly over to the sleepers. Ans was sleeping with the little
+form close to his breast, and the poor, troubled face safe under his 
+shaggy beard.
+</p>
+<hr class="break" />
+<p>
+And all night long the blasting wind, sweeping the sea of icy sands, 
+hissed and howled round the little sod cabin like surf beating on a
+half-sunken rock. The wind and the snow and the darkness possessed
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_021" id="Page_021">21</a></span>
+the plain; and Cold (whose other name is Death) was king of the
+horrible carnival. It seemed as though morning and sunlight could
+not come again, so absolute was the sway of night and death.
+</p>
+<div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_022" id="Page_022">22</a></span>
+<a name="III"></a>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER III.</a></h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+THE BURIAL OF HER DEAD MOTHER.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+When Anson woke the next morning, he found the great flower-like eyes
+of the little waif staring straight into his face with a surprise too
+great for words or cries. She stared steadily and solemnly into his open
+eyes for a while, and when he smiled she smiled back; but when he lifted
+his large hand and tried to brush her hair she grew frightened, pushing
+her little fists against him, and began to cry &#34;Mor! Mor Kom!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+This roused Gearheart, who said:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, Ans, what are y' goin' to do with that child? This is your
+mornin' to git breakfast. Come, roll out. I've got the fire goin' good. 
+I can't let y' off; it'll break up our system.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson rolled out of the bunk and 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_023" id="Page_023">23</a></span>
+dressed hurriedly in the cold room. The only sound was the roar of
+the stove devouring the hay-twist. Anson danced about.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Thunder an' black cats, ain't it cold! The wind has died down,
+or we'd be froze stiffer'n a wedge. It was mighty good in you, ol'
+man, to keep the stove goin' durin' the night. The child has opened
+her eyes brighter'n a dollar, but I tell you I don't like to let her
+know what's happened to her relatives.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+The little one began to wail in a frightened way, being alone in the
+dim corner.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;There she goes now; she's wantin' to go home! That's what she's
+askin', jes' like's not. Say, Bert, what the devil can I do?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Talk to her, Ans; chuckle to her.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Talk! She'll think I'm threatenin' to knock her head off, or
+somethin'. There there, don't ee cry! We'll go see papa
+soon.&mdash;Confound it, man, I can't go on with this thing!
+There, there! See, child, we're goin' to have some nice hot
+pancakes now; goin' to have breakfast
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_024" id="Page_024">24</a></span>
+now. See, ol' pap's goin' to fry some pancakes. Whoop&mdash;see!&#34;
+He took down the saucepan, and flourished it in order to make his
+meaning plainer. Bert laughed.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;That's as bad as your fist. Put that down, Ans. You'll scare the
+young one into a fit; you ain't built f'r a jumpin'-jack.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+The child did indeed set up a louder and more distracting yell.
+Getting desperate, Anson seized her in his arms, and, despite her
+struggles, began tossing her on his shoulder. The child understood
+him and ceased to cry, especially as Gearheart began to set the
+table, making a pleasant clatter, whistling the while.
+</p>
+<p>
+The glorious light of the morning made its way only dimly through
+the thickly frosted window-panes; the boards snapped in the horrible
+cold; out in the barn the cattle were bellowing and kicking with pain.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Do you know,&#34; said Bert, impressively, &#34;I couldn't keep
+that woman out o' my mind. I could see her layin' there without
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_025" id="Page_025">25</a></span>
+any quilts on her, an' the mice a-runnin' over her. God! it's tough,
+this bein' alone on a prairie on such a night.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I knew I'd feel so, an' I jest naturally covered her up an' tucked
+the covers in, the child a-lookin' on. I thought she'd feel better,
+seein' her ma tucked in good an' warm. Poor little rat!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Did you do that, ol' man?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;You bet I did! I couldn't have slep' a wink if I hadn't.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, why didn't y' tell me, so't <em>I</em> could sleep?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I didn't think you'd think of it that way, not havin' seen her.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+The child now consented to sit in one of the chairs and put her feet
+down by the stove. She wept silently now, with that infrequent, 
+indrawn sob, more touching than wails. She felt that these strangers
+were her friends, but she wanted her mother. She ate well, and soon
+grew more resigned. She looked first at one and then at the other of
+the men as they talked, trying to understand their strange language.
+Then she fell to watching 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_026" id="Page_026">26</a></span>
+a mouse that stole out from behind the flour-barrels, snatching a crumb
+occasionally and darting back, and laughed gleefully once, and clapped
+her hands.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Now, the first thing after the chores, Ans, is that woman over
+there. Of course it's out o' the question buryin' her, but we'd better
+go over an' git what things there is left o' the girl's, an' fasten up
+the shanty to keep the wolves out.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;But then&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;The mice. You can't shut them out.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;That's so. I never thought o' that. We've got to make a box, I
+guess; but it's goin' to be an awful job for me, Ans, to git her
+into it. I thought I wouldn't have to touch her.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Le' me go; I've seen her once an' you hain't. I'd just as soon.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Heaven an' earth! what could I do with the babe? She'd howl like
+a coyote, an' drive me plumb wild. No: you're elected to take care o'
+the child. I ain't worth a picayune at it. Besides, you had your share
+yesterday.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_027" id="Page_027">27</a></span>
+And so, in the brilliant sunshine of that bitterly cold morning, 
+Gearheart crunched away over the spotless snow, which burned under
+his feet&mdash;a land mocking, glorious, pitiless. Far off some
+slender columns of smoke told of two or three hearth-fires, but
+mainly the plain was level and lifeless as the Polar Ocean, 
+appallingly silent, no cry or stir in the whole expanse, no tree
+to creak nor bell to ring.
+</p>
+<p>
+It required strong effort on the part of the young man to open the
+door of the cottage, and he stood for some time with his hand on the
+latch, looking about. There was perfect silence without and within,
+no trace of feet or hands anywhere. All was as peaceful and unbroken
+as a sepulchre.
+</p>
+<p>
+Finally, as if angry with himself, Gearheart shook himself and pushed
+open the door, letting the morning sun stream in. It lighted the bare
+little room and fell on the frozen face and rigid, half-open eyes of
+the dead woman with a strong, white glare. The thin face and worn,
+large-jointed hands lying outside the quilt told
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_028" id="Page_028">28</a></span>
+of the hardships which had been the lot of the sleeper. Her clothing
+was clean and finer than one would expect to see.
+</p>
+<p>
+Gearheart stood looking at her for a long time, the door still open,
+for he felt re-enforced in some way by the sun. If any one had come
+suddenly and closed the door on him and the white figure there, he
+would have cried out and struggled like a madman to escape, such was
+his unreasoning fear of the dead.
+</p>
+<p>
+At length, with a long breath, he backed out and closed the door. Going
+to the barn, he found a cow standing at an empty manger, and some hens
+and pigs frozen in the hay. Looking about for some boards to make a coffin, 
+he came upon a long box in which a reaper had been packed, and this he
+proceeded to nail together firmly, and to line with pieces of an old
+stove-pipe at such places as he thought the mice would try to enter.
+</p>
+<p>
+When it was all prepared, he carried the box to the house and managed
+to lay it down beside the bed; but he could not bring himself to
+touch the body. He
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_029" id="Page_029">29</a></span>
+went out to see if some one were not coming. The sound of a human
+voice would have relieved him at once, and he could have gone on
+without hesitation. But there was no one in sight, and no one was
+likely to be; so he returned, and summoning all his resolution,
+took one of the quilts from the bed and placed it in the bottom of
+the box. Then he removed the pillow from beneath the head of the
+dead woman and placed that in the box. Then he paused, the cold
+moisture breaking out on his face.
+</p>
+<p>
+Like all young persons born far from war, and having no knowledge of
+death even in its quiet forms, he had the most powerful organic
+repugnance toward a corpse. He kept his eye on it as though it were
+a sleeping horror, likely at a sudden sound to rise and walk. More
+than this, there had always been something peculiarly sacred in the
+form of a woman, and in his calmer moments the dead mother appealed
+to him with irresistible power.
+</p>
+<p>
+At last, with a sort of moan through 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_030" id="Page_030">30</a></span>
+his set teeth, he approached the bed and threw the sheet over
+the figure, holding it as in a sling; then, by a mighty effort,
+he swung it stiffly off the bed into the box.
+</p>
+<p>
+He trembled so that he could hardly spread the remaining quilts
+over the dead face. The box was wide enough to receive the stiff,
+curved right arm, and he had nothing to do but to nail the cover on,
+which he did in feverish haste. Then he rose, grasped his tools,
+rushed outside, slammed the door, and set off in great speed across
+the snow, pushed on by an indescribable horror.
+</p>
+<p>
+As he neared home, his fresh young blood asserted itself more and
+more; but when he entered the cabin he was still trembling, and
+dropped into a chair like a man out of breath. At sight of the
+ruddy face of Anson, and with the aid of the heat and light of
+the familiar little room, he shook off part of his horror.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Gi' me a cup o' coffee, Ans. I'm kind o' chilly an' tired.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Before drinking he wiped his face and 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_031" id="Page_031">31</a></span>
+washed his hands again and again at the basin in the corner, as though
+there were something on them which was ineffably unclean. The little
+one, who had been weeping again, stared at him with two big tears
+drying on her hollow cheeks.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well?&#34; interrogated Anson.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I nailed her up safe enough for the present. But what're we
+goin' to do next?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I can't see 's we can do anythin' as long as such weather as
+this lasts. It ain't safe f'r one of us to go out an' leave the
+other alone. Besides, it's thirty below zero, an' no road, Moccasin's
+full of snow, an' another wind likely to rise at any time. It's
+mighty tough on this little one, but it can't be helped. As soon
+as it moderates a little, we'll try to find a woman an' a preacher,
+an' bury that&mdash;relative.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;The only woman I know of is ol' Mrs. Cap Burdon, down on the
+Third Moccasin, full fifteen miles away.&#34;
+</p>
+
+<div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_032" id="Page_032">32</a></span>
+<a name="IV"></a>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER IV.</a></h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+FLAXEN ADOPTS ANSON AS &#34;PAP.&#34;
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+For nearly two weeks they waited, while the wind alternately raved and
+whispered over them as it scurried the snow south or east, or shifted
+to the south in the night, bringing &#34;the north end of a south
+wind,&#34; the most intolerable and cutting of winds. Day after day
+the restless snow sifted or leaped across the waste of glittering
+crust; day after day the sun shone in dazzling splendor, but so
+white and cold that the thermometer still kept down among the
+thirties. They were absolutely alone on the plain, except that now
+and then a desperate wolf or inquisitive owl came by.
+</p>
+<p>
+These were long days for the settlers. They would have been longer had
+it not been for little Elga, or &#34;Flaxen,&#34; 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_033" id="Page_033">33</a></span>
+as they took to calling her. They racked their brains to amuse her,
+and in the intervals of tending the cattle and of cooking, or of
+washing dishes, rummaged through all their books and pictures,
+taught her &#34;cat's cradle,&#34; played &#34;jack-straws&#34; 
+with her, and with all their resources of song and pantomime
+strove to fill up the little one's lonely days, happy when they
+succeeded in making her laugh.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;That settles it!&#34; said Bert one day, whanging the basin
+back into the empty flour-barrel.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What's the matter?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Matter is, we've reached the bottom o' the flour-barrel, an'
+it's got to be filled; no two ways about that. We can get along
+on biscuit an' pancakes in place o' meat, but we can't put anythin'
+in the place o' bread. If it looks favorable to-morrow, we've got
+to make a break for Summit an' see if we can't stock up.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Early the next morning they brought out the shivering team and piled
+into the box all the quilts and robes they had, and bundling little
+Flaxen in, started across
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_034" id="Page_034">34</a></span>
+the trackless plain toward the low line of hills to the east,
+twenty-five or thirty miles. From four o'clock in the morning till
+nearly noon they toiled across the sod, now ploughing through the
+deep snow where the unburned grass had held it, now scraping across
+the bare, burned earth, now wandering up or down the swales, seeking
+the shallowest places, now shovelling a pathway through.
+</p>
+<p>
+The sun rose unobscured as usual, and shone down with unusual warmth,
+which afforded the men the satisfaction of seeing little Flaxen warm
+and merry. She chattered away in her own tongue, and clapped her little
+hands in glee at sight of the snowbirds running and fluttering about.
+As they approached the low hills the swales got deeper and more
+difficult to cross, but about eleven o'clock they came to Burdon's
+Ranch, a sort of half-way haven between their own claim and Summit,
+the end of the railway.
+</p>
+<p>
+Captain Burdon was away, but Mrs. Burdon, a big, slatternly
+Missourian, with all the kindliness of a universal mother in
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_035" id="Page_035">35</a></span>
+her swarthy face and flaccid bosom, ushered them into the cave-like
+dwelling set in the sunny side of Water Moccasin.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Set down, set right down. Young uns, git out some o' them cheers
+an' let the strangers set. Purty tol'able tough weather? A feller
+don't git out much such weather as this 'ere 'thout he's jes' naturally
+'bleeged to. Suse, heave in another twist, an' help the little un to
+take off her shawl.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+After Mrs. Burdon's little flurry of hospitality was over, Anson found
+time to tell briefly the history of the child.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Heavens to Betsey! I wan' to know!&#34; she cried, her fat hands
+on her knees and her eyes bulging. &#34;Wal! wal! I declare, it beats
+the Dutch! So that woman jest frizzed right burside the babe! Wal, I
+never! An' the ol' man he ain't showed up? Wal, now, he ain't likely to.
+I reckon I saw that Norsk go by here that very day, an' I says to Cap'n,
+says I, 'If that feller don't reach home inside an hour, he'll go through
+heaven a-gittin' home,' says I to the Cap'n.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_036" id="Page_036">36</a></span>
+&#34;Well, now,&#34; said Anson, stopping the old woman's garrulous flow,
+&#34;I've got to be off f'r Summit, but I wish you'd jest look after this
+little one here till we git back. It's purty hard weather f'r her to be
+out, an' I don't think she ought to.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yaas; leave her, o' course. She'll enjoy playin' with the young
+uns. I reckon y' did all y' could for that woman. Y' can't burry her
+now; the ground's like linkum-vity.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+But as Anson turned to leave, the little creature sprang up with a
+torrent of wild words, catching him by the coat, and pleading
+strenuously to go with him. Her accent was unmistakable.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;You wan' to go with Ans?&#34; he inquired, looking down into the
+little tearful face with a strange stirring in his bachelor heart.
+&#34;I believe on my soul she does.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Sure's y're born!&#34; replied Mrs. Burdon. &#34;She'd rather go
+with you than to stay an' fool with the young uns; that's what she's
+tryin' to say.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_037" id="Page_037">37</a></span>
+&#34;Do y' wan' to go?&#34; asked Ans again, opening his arms. She sprang
+toward him, raising her eager little hands as high as she could, and when
+he lifted her she twined her arms around his neck.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Poor little critter! she ain't got no pap ner mam now,&#34; the
+old woman explained to the ring of children, who still stared silently
+at the stranger almost without moving.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Ain't he her pa-a-p?&#34; drawled one of the older girls, sticking
+a finger at Anson.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;He is now,&#34; laughed Ans, and that settled the question over
+which he had been pondering for days. It meant that as long as she
+wanted to stay she should be his Flaxen and he would be her &#34;pap.&#34; 
+&#34;And you can be Uncle Bert, hey?&#34; he said to Bert.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Good enough,&#34; said Bert.
+</p>
+
+<div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_038" id="Page_038">38</a></span>
+<a name="V"></a>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER V.</a></h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+FLAXEN BECOMES INDISPENSABLE TO THE TWO OLD BACHELORS.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+They never found any living relative, and only late in the spring was
+the fate of the poor father revealed. He and his cattle were found side
+by side in a deep swale, where they had foundered in the night and tempest.
+</p>
+<p>
+As for little Flaxen, she soon recovered her cheerfulness, with the
+buoyancy natural to childhood, and learned to prattle in broken English
+very fast. She developed a sturdy self-reliance that was surprising in
+one so young, and long before spring came was indispensable to the two
+&#34;old baches.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Now, Bert,&#34; said Ans one day, &#34;I don't wan' to hear you talk
+in that slipshod way any longer before Flaxen. You
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_039" id="Page_039">39</a></span>
+know better; you've had more chance than I have&mdash;be'n to school
+more. They ain't no excuse for you, not an ioty. Now, I'm goin' to
+say to her, 'Never mind how I talk, but talk like Bert does.'&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, say, now, look here, Ans, I can't stand the strain. Suppose
+she'd hear me swearin' at ol' Barney or the stove?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;That's jest it. You ain't goin' to swear,&#34; decided Anson; and
+after that Bert took the education of the little waif in hand, for he
+was a man of good education; his use of dialect and slang sprang mainly
+from carelessness.
+</p>
+<p>
+But all the little fatherly duties and discipline fell to Anson, and
+much perplexed he often got. For instance, when he bought her an outfit
+of American clothing at the store they were strange to her and to him,
+and the situation was decidedly embarrassing when they came to try them.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Now, Flaxie, I guess this thing goes on this side before, so's you can
+button it. If it went on so, you <em>couldn't</em> reach around to button
+it, don't you see? I guess
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_040" id="Page_040">40</a></span>
+you'd better try it so. An' this thing, I judge, is a shirt, an' goes on
+under that other thing, which I reckon is called a shimmy. Say, Bert,
+shouldn't you call that a shirt?&#34; holding up a garment.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;W-e-l-l, yes&#34; (after a close scrutiny). &#34;Yes: I should.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;And this a shimmy?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, now, you've got me, Ans. It seems to me I've heard the women
+folks home talk about shimmies, but they were always kind o' private
+about it, so I don't think I can help you out. That little thing goes
+underneath, sure enough.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;All right, here goes, Flax; if it should turn out to be hind side
+before, no matter.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Then again little Flaxen would want to wear her best dress on week-days,
+and Ans was unable to explain. Here again Bert came to the rescue.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Git her one dress fer ev'ry day in the week, an' make her wear
+'em in rotation. Hang 'em up an' put a tag on each one&mdash;Sunday,
+Monday, an' so on.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Good idea.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_041" id="Page_041">41</a></span>
+And it was done. But the embarrassments of attending upon the child
+soon passed away; she quickly grew independent of such help, dressed
+herself, and combed her own hair, though Anson enjoyed doing it
+himself when he could find time, and she helped out not a little
+about the house. She seemed to have forgotten her old life, awakening
+as she had from almost deathly torpor into a new home&mdash;almost a
+new world&mdash;where a strange language was spoken, where no woman was,
+and where no mention of her mother, father, or native land was ever made
+before her. The little waif was at first utterly bewildered, then
+reconciled, and by the time spring came over the prairie was almost
+happy in the touching way of a child deprived of childish things.
+</p>
+<p>
+Oh, how sweet spring seemed to those snow-weary people! Day after day
+the sun crept higher up in the sky; day after day the snow gave way a
+little on the swells, and streams of water began to trickle down under
+the huge banks of snow, filling the ravines; and then at last
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_042" id="Page_042">42</a></span>
+came a day when a strange, warm wind blew from the northwest. Soft and sweet
+and sensuous it was, as if it swept some tropic bay filled with a thousand
+isles&mdash;a wind like a vast warm breath blown upon the land. Under
+its touch the snow did not melt; it vanished. It fled in a single day
+from the plain to the gullies. Another day, and the gullies were rivers.
+</p>
+<p>
+It was the &#34;chinook,&#34; which old Lambert, the trapper and surveyor,
+said came from the Pacific Ocean.
+</p>
+<p>
+The second morning after the chinook began to blow, Anson sprang to his
+feet from his bunk, and standing erect in the early morning light, yelled:
+&#34;Hear that?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What is it?&#34; asked Bert.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;There! Hear it?&#34; Anson smiled, holding up his hand
+joyfully as a mellow &#34;Boom&mdash;boom&mdash;boom&#34; broke
+through the silent air. &#34;Prairie-chickens! Hurrah! Spring
+has come! That breaks the back o' winter short off.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Hurrah! de 'pring ees come!&#34; cried little Flaxen, gleefully
+clapping her hands in imitation.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_043" id="Page_043">43</a></span>
+No man can know what a warm breeze and the note of a bird can mean
+to him till he is released, as these men were released, from the
+bondage of a horrible winter. Perhaps still more moving was the
+thought that with the spring the loneliness of the prairie would
+be broken, never again to be so dread and drear; for with the
+coming of spring came the tide of land-seekers pouring in: teams
+scurried here and there on the wide prairie, carrying surveyors,
+land agents, and settlers. At Summit trains came rumbling in by
+the first of April, emptying thousands of men, women, and children
+upon the sod, together with cattle, machinery, and household
+articles, to lie there roofed only by the blue sky. Summit, from
+being a half-buried store and a blacksmith's shop, bloomed out
+into a town with saloons, lumber-yards, hotels, and restaurants;
+the sound of hammer and anvil was incessant, and trains clanged
+and whistled night and day.
+</p>
+<p>
+Day after day the settlers got their wagons together and loaded up,
+and then
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_044" id="Page_044">44</a></span>
+moved down the slope into the fair valley of the sleepy James. Mrs.
+Cap Burdon did a rushing business as a hotel-keeper, while Cap sold
+hay and oats at rates which made the land-seekers gasp.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I'm not out here f'r my health,&#34; was all the explanation
+he ever made.
+</p>
+<p>
+Soon all around the little shanty of Anson and Bert other shanties
+were built and filled with young, hopeful, buoyant souls. The railway
+surveyors came through, locating a town about three and another about
+twelve miles away, and straightway the bitter rivalry between Boomtown
+and Belleplain began. Belleplain being their town, Bert and Anson
+swore by Belleplain, and correspondingly derided the claims of 
+Boomtown.
+</p>
+<p>
+With the coming of spring began the fiercest toil of the
+pioneers&mdash;breaking the sod, building, harvesting, ploughing;
+then the winter again, though not so hard to bear; then the same
+round of work again. So the land was settled, the sod was turned
+over; sod shanties gave way to little frame houses; the tide of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_045" id="Page_045">45</a></span>
+land-seekers passed on, the boom burst, but the real workers, like
+Wood and Gearheart, went patiently, steadily on, founding a great State.
+</p>
+<div>
+<a name="VI"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_046" id="Page_046">46</a></span>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER VI.</a></h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+A QUESTION OF DRESS.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+One morning eight years later Flaxen left the home of Gearheart and
+Wood with old Doll and the buggy, bound for Belleplain after groceries
+for harvest. She drove with a dash, her hat on the back of her head.
+She was seemingly intent on getting all there was possible out of a
+chew of kerosene gum, which she had resolved to throw away upon
+entering town, intending to get a new supply.
+</p>
+<p>
+She had thriven on Western air and gum, and though hardly more than
+fourteen years of age, her bust and limbs revealed the grace of
+approaching womanhood, however childish her short dress and
+braided hair might still show her to be. Her face was large and
+decidedly of Scandinavian type, fair in spite of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_047" id="Page_047">47</a></span>
+wind and sun, and broad at the cheekbones. Her eyes were as blue and
+clear as winter ice.
+</p>
+<p>
+As she rode along she sang as well as she could without neglecting
+the gum, sitting at one end of the seat like a man, the reins held
+carelessly in her left hand, notwithstanding the swift gait of the
+horse, who always knew when Flaxen was driving. She met a friend on
+the road, and said, &#34;Hello!&#34; pulling up her horse with one
+strong hand.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Can't stop,&#34; she explained; &#34;got to go over to the city
+to get some groceries for harvest. Goin' to the sociable to-morrow?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;You bet,&#34; replied the friend, &#34;You?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I d'know; mebbe, if the boys'll go. Ta-ta; see ye later.&#34;
+And away she spun.
+</p>
+<p>
+Belleplain had not thriven, or, to be more exact, it had had a rise
+and fall; and as the rise had been considerable, so the fall was
+something worth chronicling. It was now a collection of wooden
+buildings, mostly empty, graying under the storms and suns of
+pitiless winters and 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_048" id="Page_048">48</a></span>
+summers, and now, just in mid-summer, surrounded by splendid
+troops and phalanxes of gorgeous sunflowers, whose brown crowns,
+gold-dusted, looked ever toward the sun as it swung through the
+wide arch of cloudless sky. The signs of the empty buildings
+still remained, and one might still read the melancholy decline
+from splendours of the past in &#34;emporiums,&#34; &#34;palace
+drug stores,&#34; and &#34;mansion-houses.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+As Flaxen would have said, &#34;Belleplain's boom had bu'sted.&#34;
+Her glory had gone with the C., B. and Q., which formed the junction
+at Boomtown and left the luckless citizens of Belleplain &#34;high
+and dry&#34; on the prairie, with nothing but a &#34;spur&#34; to
+travel on. However, a few stores yet remained in the midst of 
+desolation.
+</p>
+<p>
+After making her other purchases, Flaxen entered the &#34;red-front
+drug store&#34; to secure the special brand of gum which seemed most
+delectable and to buy a couple of cigars for the &#34;boys.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+The clerk, who was lately from the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_049" id="Page_049">49</a></span>
+East, and wore his moustache curled upward like the whiskers of a cat,
+was &#34;gassing&#34; with another young man, who sat in a chair
+with his heels on the counter.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, my dear, what can I do for you to-day?&#34; he said,
+winking at the loafer, as if to say, &#34;Now watch me.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I want some gum.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What kind, darling?&#34; he asked, encouraged by the
+fellow in the chair.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I ain't your darling.&mdash;Kerosene, shoofly, an' ten cents' worth.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Say, Jack,&#34; drawled the other fellow, &#34;git onto the ankles!
+Say, sissy, you picked your dress too soon. She's goin' to be a daisy,
+first you know. Ain't y', honey?&#34; he said, leaning over and
+pinching her arm.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Let me alone, you great, mean thing! I'll tell ol' pap on you,
+see if I don't,&#34; cried Flaxen, her eyes filling with angry tears.
+And as they proceeded to other and bolder remarks she rushed out,
+feeling vaguely the degradation of being so spoken to and so touched.
+It seemed to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_050" id="Page_050">50</a></span>
+become more atrocious the more she thought upon it.
+</p>
+<p>
+When she reached home there were still signs of tears on her face,
+and when Anson came out to help her alight, and noticing it asked,
+&#34;What's the matter?&#34; she burst out afresh, crying, and
+talking incoherently. Anson was astonished.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Why, what's the matter, Flaxie? Can't you tell ol' pap?
+Are ye sick?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+She shook her head, and rushed past him into the house and into
+her bedroom, like a little cyclone of wrath. Ans slowly followed
+her, much perplexed. She was lying face downward on the bed, sobbing.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What's the matter, little one? Can't y' tell ol' pap?
+Have the girls be'n makin' fun o' yeh again?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+She shook her head.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Have the boys be'n botherin' yeh?&#34; No reply. &#34;Who was
+it?&#34; Still silence. He was getting stern now. &#34;Tell me right
+now.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Jack Reeves&mdash;an'&mdash;an' another feller.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wha' d' they do?&#34; Silence. &#34;Tell me.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_051" id="Page_051">51</a></span>
+&#34;They&mdash;pinched me, an'&mdash;an'&mdash;talked mean to me,&#34;
+she replied, breaking down again with the memory of the insult.
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson began to understand.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wal, there! You dry y'r eyes, Flaxie, an' go an' git supper;
+they won't do it again&mdash;not
+<em>
+this
+</em>
+harvest,&#34; he added grimly as he marched to the door to enter the buggy.
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert, coming along from the barn and seeing Anson about to drive away,
+asked where he was going. Anson tried to look indifferent.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, I've got a little business to transact with Reeves and
+some other smart Aleck downtown.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What's up? What have they be'n doing?&#34; asked Gearheart,
+reading trouble in the eyes of his friend.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, they have be'n a little too fresh with Flaxen to-day,
+an' need a lesson.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;They're equal to it. Say, Anson, let me go,&#34; laying his
+hand on the dasher, ready to leap in.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;No: you're too brash. You wouldn't know when to quit. No:
+you stay right 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_052" id="Page_052">52</a></span>
+here. Don't say anything to Flaxen about it; if she wants to know
+where I'm gone, tell her I found I was out o' nails.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+As Anson drove along swiftly he was in a savage mood and thinking
+deeply. Two or three times of late some of his friends had touched
+rather freely upon the fact that Flaxen was becoming a woman. 
+&#34;Girls ripen early out in this climate,&#34; one old chap had
+said, &#34;and your little Norsk there is likely to leave you one
+of these days.&#34; He felt now that something deliberately and
+inexpressibly offensive had been said and done to his little girl.
+He didn't want to know just what it was, but just who did it;
+that was all. It was time to make a protest.
+</p>
+<p>
+Hitching his horse to a ring in the sidewalk upon arrival, he
+walked into the drug store, which was also the post-office.
+Young Reeves was inside the post-office corner giving out the
+mail, and Anson sauntered about the store waiting his chance.
+</p>
+<p>
+He was a dangerous-looking man just now. Ordinarily his vast frame,
+huge, 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_053" id="Page_053">53</a></span>
+grizzled beard, and stern, steady eyes would quell a panther; but
+now as he leaned against the counter a shrewd observer would have
+said, &#34;Lookout for him; he's dangerous.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+His gray shirt, loose at the throat, showed a neck that resembled
+the spreading base of an oak tree, and his crossed limbs and
+half-recumbent pose formed a curious opposition to the look in his eyes.
+</p>
+<p>
+Nobody noticed him specially. Most comers and goers, being occupied
+with their mail, merely nodded and passed on.
+</p>
+<p>
+Finally some one called for a cigar, and Reeves, having finished in
+the post-office department, came jauntily along behind the counter
+directly to where Anson stood. As he looked casually into the giant's
+eyes he started back, but too late; one vast hand had clutched him
+by the collar, and he was jerked over the counter and cuffed from
+hand to hand, like a mouse in the paws of a cat. Though Ans used
+his open palm, the punishment was fearful. Blood burst from his
+victim's nose and mouth; he yelled with fright and pain.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_054" id="Page_054">54</a></span>
+The rest rushed to help.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Stand back! This is a private affair,&#34; said Ans, throwing up
+a warning hand. They paused; all knew his strength.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;It wasn't me!&#34; screamed Reeves as the punishment increased;
+&#34;it was Doc Coe.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Coe, his hands full of papers and letters, horrified at what had
+overtaken Reeves, stood looking on. But now he tried to escape. 
+Flinging the battered, half-senseless Reeves back over the counter,
+where he lay in a heap, Anson caught Coe by the coat just as he was
+rushing past him, and duplicated the punishment, ending by kicking
+him into the street, where he lay stunned and helpless. Ans said
+then, in a voice that the rest heard, &#34;The next time you insult
+a girl, you'd better inquire into the qualities of her guardeen.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+This little matter attended to, he unhitched his horse from the
+sidewalk, and refusing to answer any questions, rode off home,
+outwardly as calm as though he had just been shaking hands.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_055" id="Page_055">55</a></span>
+Supper was about ready when he drove up, and through the open door
+he could see the white-covered table and could hear the cheerful
+clatter of dishes. Flaxen was whistling. Eight years of hard work
+had not done much for these sturdy souls, but they had managed to
+secure with incredible toil a comfortable little house surrounded
+with outbuildings. Calves and chickens gave life to the barn-yard,
+and fields of wheat rippled and ran with swash of heavy-bearded
+heads and dapple of shadow and sheen.
+</p>
+<p>
+Flaxen was now the housewife and daughter of these hard-working
+pioneers, and a cheery and capable one she had become. No one had
+ever turned up with a better claim to her, and so she had grown up
+with Ans and Bert, going to school when she could spare the time,
+but mainly being adviser and associate at the farm.
+</p>
+<p>
+Ans and Bert had worked hard winter and summer trying to get ahead,
+but had not succeeded as they had hoped. Crops had failed for three
+or four years, and money was scarce with them; but they
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_056" id="Page_056">56</a></span>
+had managed to build this small frame house and to get a little stock
+about them, and this year, with a good crop, would &#34;swing clear,&#34;
+and be able to do something for Flaxen&mdash;perhaps send her to
+Belleplain to school, togged out like a little queen.
+</p>
+<p>
+When Anson returned to the house after putting out the horse, he found
+Bert reading the paper in the little sitting-room and Flaxen putting the
+tea on the stove.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wha' d' y' do to him, pap?&#34; laughed she, all her anger gone.
+Bert came out to listen.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, nothin' p'tic'lar,&#34; answered Ans, flinging his hat at a
+chicken that made as though to come in, and rolling up his sleeves
+preparatory to sozzling his face at the sink. &#34;I jest cuffed 'em
+a little, an' let 'em go.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Is that all?&#34; said Flaxen, disappointedly, a comical
+look on her round face.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Now, don't you worry,&#34; put in Bert. &#34;Anson's cuffin' a man
+is rather severe experience. I saw him cuff a man once; it ain't anythin'
+to be desired a second time.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_057" id="Page_057">57</a></span>
+They all drew about the table. Flaxen looked very womanly as she sat
+cutting the bread and pouring the tea. She had always been old in her
+ways about the house, for she had very early assumed the housewife's
+duties and cares. Her fresh-coloured face beamed with delight as she
+watched the hungry men devouring the fried pork, potatoes, and cheese.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;When y' goin' to begin cuttin', boys?&#34; Collectively they were
+boys to her, but when addressing them separately they were &#34;Bert&#34;
+and &#34;Pap.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;To-morrow 'r nex' day, I guess,&#34; answered Anson, looking out of
+the open door. &#34;Don't it look fine&mdash;all yeller an' green? I tell
+ye they ain't anything lays over a ripe field o' wheat in my eyes. You
+jest take it when the sun strikes it right, an' the wind is playin' on
+it&mdash;when it kind o' sloshes around like water&mdash;an' the clouds
+go over it, droppin' shadders down on it, an' a hawk kind o' goes skimmin'
+over it, divin' into it once in a while&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+He did not finish; it was not necessary.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_058" id="Page_058">58</a></span>
+&#34;Yes, sir!&#34; adjudged Gearheart, after a pause, leaning his
+elbows on the table and looking out of the door on the far-stretching,
+sun-glorified plain.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;The harvest kind o' justifies the winter we have out here.
+That is, when we have a harvest such as this. Fact is, we fellers
+live six months o' the year lookin' ahead to harvest, an' t'other
+six months lookin' back to it. Well, this won't buy the woman a
+dress, Ans. We must get that header set up to-night if we can.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+They pushed their chairs back noisily and rose to go out. Flaxen said:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Say, which o' you boys is goin' to help me churn to-night?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson groaned, while she laughed.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I don't know, Flax; ask us an easier one.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;We'll attend to that after it gets too dark to work on the
+machine,&#34; added Bert.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, see 't y' do. I can't do it; I've got bread to mix an' a
+chicken to dress. Say, if you don't begin cuttin' till day after
+to-morrow, we can go down to the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_059" id="Page_059">59</a></span>
+sociable to-morrow night. Last one o' the season.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I wish it was the last one before the kingdom come,&#34; growled
+Bert as he &#34;stomped&#34; out the door. &#34;They're a bad lot.
+The idea o' takin' down four dollars' worth o' grub an' then payin'
+four dollars for the privilege of eatin' half of it! I'll take my
+chicken here, when I'm hungry.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Bert ain't partial to sociables, is he, pap?&#34; laughed Flaxen.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I should hate to have the minister dependin' on Bert for a livin'.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Sa-ay, pap!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wal, babe?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I expect I'll haf t' have a new dress one o' these days.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Think so?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;You bet.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Why, what's the matter with the one y' got on? Ain't no holes in
+it that I can see,&#34; looking at it carefully and turning her around
+as if she were on a pivot.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, ain't it purty short, pap?&#34; she said suggestively.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_060" id="Page_060">60</a></span>
+&#34;I swear, I don't know but it is,&#34; conceded Anson, scratching
+his head; &#34;I hadn't paid much 'tention to it before. It certainly
+is a lee-tle too short. Lemme see: ain't no way o' lettin' it down,
+is they?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Nary. She's clean down to the last notch now,&#34; replied
+Flaxen convincingly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Couldn't pull through till we thrash?&#34; he continued,
+still in a tentative manner.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Could, but don't like to,&#34; she answered, laughing again,
+and showing her white teeth pleasantly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I s'pose it'll cost suthin',&#34; he insinuated in a dubious tone.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Mattie Stuart paid seven dollars fer her'n, pap, an' I&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Seven how manys?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Dollars, pap, makin' an' everythin'. An' then I ought to have a
+new hat to go with the dress, an' a new pair o' shoes. All the girls
+are wearin' white, but I reckon I can git along with a good coloured
+one that'll do fer winter.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wal, all right. I'll fix it&mdash;some way,&#34; Ans said, turning
+away only to look back
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_061" id="Page_061">61</a></span>
+and smile to see her dancing up and down and crying:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, goody, goody!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I'll do it if I haf to borrow money at two per cent a month,&#34;
+said he to Bert, as he explained the case. &#34;Hear her sing! Why,
+dern it! I'd spend all I've got to keep that child twitterin' like
+that. Wouldn't you, eh?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert was silent, thinking deeply on a variety of matters suggested by
+Anson's words. The crickets were singing from out the weeds near by;
+a lost little wild chicken was whistling in plaintive sweetness down
+in the barley-field; the flaming light from the half-sunk sun swept
+along the green and yellow grain, glorifying as with a bath of gold
+everything it touched.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I wish that grain hadn't ripened so fast, Ans. It's blightin'.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Think so?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;No: I know it. I went out to look at it before supper, an' every
+one of those spots that look so pretty are just simply burnin' up!
+But, say, ain't it a little singular that Flaxen should blossom out
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_062" id="Page_062">62</a></span>
+in a desire for a new dress all at once? Ain't it rather sudden?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wal, no: I don't think it is. Come to look it all over, up one side
+an' down the other, she's been growin' about an inch a month this summer,
+an' her best dress is gittin' turrible short the best way you can fix it.
+She's gittin' to be 'most a woman, Bert.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yes: I know she is,&#34; said Bert, significantly. &#34;An'
+something's got to be done right off.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wha' d' ye mean by that, ol' man?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I mean jest this. It's time we did something religious for that
+girl. She ain't had much chance since she's been here with us. She
+ain't had no chance at all. Now I move that we send her away to school
+this winter. Give her a good outfit an' send her away. This ain't no
+sort o' way for a girl to grow up in.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wal, I've be'n thinkin' o' that myself; but where'll we send her?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, back to the States somewhere; Wisconsin or
+Minnesota&mdash;somewhere.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Why not to Boomtown?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_063" id="Page_063">63</a></span>
+&#34;Well, I'll tell yeh, Ans. I've been hearing a good 'eal off an' on
+about the way we're bringin' her up here 'alone with two rough old
+codgers,' an' I jest want to give her a better chance than the Territory
+affords. I want her to git free of us and all like us, for a while; let
+her see something of the world. Besides, that business over in Belleplain
+to-day kind o' settled me. The plain facts are, Ans, the people are a
+little too free with her because she is growin' up here&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I know some fellers that won't be again.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, they are beginnin' to wink an' nudge each other an' to
+say&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Go on! What do they say?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;They say she's goin' to be a woman soon; that this fatherly
+business is bound to play out.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I'd like to see anybody wink when I'm around. I'd smash 'em!&#34;
+said Anson through his set teeth. &#34;Why, she's our little babe,&#34;
+he broke out, as the full significance of the matter came to him. 
+&#34;My little un; I'm her ol' pap. Why&mdash;&#34; 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_064" id="Page_064">64</a></span>
+He ended in despair. &#34;It's none o' their darn business.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;There ain't no use o' howlin', Ans. You can't smash a whole
+neighborhood.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;But what are we goin' to do?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, I'll tell ye what we mustn't do. We mustn't tog her out
+jest yet.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Why not?&#34; asked Anson, not seeing these subtle distinctions
+of time and place.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Because, you tog her out this week or next, without any apparent
+reason, in a new hat an' dress an' gloves, an' go down to one o' these
+sociables with her, an' you'd have to clean out the whole crowd. They'd
+all be winkin' an' nudgin' an' grinnin'&mdash;see?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wal, go on,&#34; said the crushed giant. &#34;What'll we do?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Just let things go on as they are for the present till we git
+ready to send her to school.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;But I promised the togs.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;All right. I've stated the case,&#34; Gearheart returned, with the
+air of a man who washed his hands of the whole affair.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_065" id="Page_065">65</a></span>
+Anson rose with a sudden gesture. &#34;Jest hear her! whistlin' away
+like a lark. I don't see how I'm goin' to go in there an' spoil all
+her fun; I can't do it, that's all.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, now, you leave it all to me. I'll state the case to her
+in a way that'll catch her&mdash;see if I don't. She ain't no common
+girl.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+It was growing dark as they went in, and the girl's face could not
+be seen.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, Bert, are y' ready to help churn?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yes, I guess so, if Ans'll milk.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, he'll milk; he jest loves to milk ol' Brindle when the
+flies are thick.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, you bet,&#34; said Ans, to make her laugh.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Now, Flaxen,&#34; coughed Gearheart in beginning, &#34;we've been
+discussin' your case, an' we've come to the conclusion that you ought
+to have the togs specified in the indictment&#34; (this to take away
+the gravity of what was to follow); &#34;but we're kind o' up a tree
+about just what we'd better do. The case is this. We've
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_066" id="Page_066">66</a></span>
+got to buy a horse to fill out our team, an' that's a-goin' to take
+about all we can rake an' scrape.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;We may have to git our groceries on tick. Now, if you could only
+pull through till after&mdash;&#34; Anson broke in.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;It's purty tough, Flaxie, an' pap's awful sorry; but if you could
+jest pull through&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+It was a great blow to poor little Flaxen, and she broke down and cried
+unrestrainedly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I&mdash;I&mdash;don't see why I can't have things like the rest o'
+the girls.&#34; It was her first reproach, and it cut to the heart.
+Anson swore under his breath, and was stepping forward to say something
+when Gearheart restrained him.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;But, y' see, Flaxie, we ain't askin' you to give up the dress,
+only to wait on us for a month or so, till we thrash.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;That's it, babe,&#34; said Anson, going over to where she sat,
+with her arms lying on the table and her face hidden upon them.
+&#34;We could spend dollars then where we couldn't cents now.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_067" id="Page_067">67</a></span>
+&#34;And they won't be any more thingumyjigs at the church, anyhow,
+an' the wheat's blightin' on the knolls, besides.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+But the first keen disappointment over, she was her brave self once
+more.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, all right, boys,&#34; she said, her trembling voice
+curiously at variance with her words; &#34;I'll get along somehow,
+but I tell you I'll have something scrumptious to pay for
+this&mdash;see if I don't.&#34; She was smiling again faintly,
+&#34;It'll cost more'n <em>one</em> ten dollars for my togs, as
+you call 'em. Now, pap, you go an' milk that cow! An', Bert, you
+glue yerself to that churn-dasher, an' don't you stop to breathe
+or swear till it's done.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;That's the girl to have&mdash;that's our own Flaxie! She knows
+how hard things come on a farm,&#34; cheered Anson.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I bet I do,&#34; she said, wiping away the last trace of her
+tears and smiling at her palpable hit. And then began the thump of
+the dasher, and out in the dusk Anson was whistling as he milked.
+</p>
+<p>
+She went down to the sociable the next night in her old dress,
+and bravely looked
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_068" id="Page_068">68</a></span>
+happy for pap's sake. Bert did not go. Anson was a rather handsome
+old fellow. Huge, bearded like a Russian, though the colour of his
+beard was a wolf brindle, resembling a bunch of dry buffalo-grass,
+Bert was accustomed to say that he looked the father of the girl,
+for she had the same robust development, carried herself as erect,
+and looked everybody in the eye with the same laughing directness.
+</p>
+<p>
+There were some sly remarks among a ribald few, but on the whole
+everything passed off as usual. They were both general favorites,
+and as a matter of fact few people remarked that Flaxen's dress
+was not good enough. She certainly forgot all about it, so
+complete was her absorption in the gayety of the evening.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wal, now for four weeks' hard times, Flaxen,&#34; said Anson,
+as they were jogging homeward about eleven o'clock.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I can stand <em>my</em> share of it, pap,&#34; she stoutly
+replied. &#34;I'm no chicken.&#34;
+</p>
+
+<div>
+<a name="VII"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_069" id="Page_069">69</a></span>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER VII.</a></h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+AFTER HARVEST.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+All through those four or five weeks, at every opportunity, the
+partners planned the future of their waif. In the harvest-field,
+when they had a moment together, one would say to the other:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;We'll let her stay two years if she likes it, eh?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Certainly; she needn't come back till she wants to. We may
+be rich enough to sell out then, and move back ourselves. I'm
+gittin' tired o' this prairie myself. If we could sell, we'd
+put her through a whole course o' sprouts.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;You bet! Sell when you can find a buyer. I'll sign the deed.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;All right.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+And then they would go to work again toiling and planning for
+the future. Every
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_070" id="Page_070">70</a></span>
+day during August these men worked with the energy of demons, up early
+in the morning and out late at night, harvesting their crop. All day
+the header clattered to and fro with Bert or Ans astride the rudder,
+a cloud of dust rolling up from the ground, out of which the painted
+flanges of the reel flashed like sword-strokes. All day, and day after
+day; while the gulls sailed and soared in the hazy air and the larks
+piped from the dun grass, these human beings, covered with grime and
+sweat, worked in heat and parching wind. And never for an hour did they
+forget their little waif and her needs. And she did her part in the
+house. She rose as early as they and worked almost as late. It was
+miraculous, they admitted.
+</p>
+<p>
+One night toward the last of the harvest they were returning along
+the road from a neighboring farm, where they had been to head some
+late wheat. The tired horses with down-hung heads and swinging
+traces were walking sullenly but swiftly along the homeward road, the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_071" id="Page_071">71</a></span>
+wagon rumbling sleepily; the stars were coming out in the east, while
+yet the rose and amethyst of the fallen sun lighted the western sky.
+Through the air, growing moist, came the sound of reapers still going.
+Men were shouting blithely, while voices of women and children came 
+from the cabins, where yellow lights began to twinkle.
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson and Bert, blackened with dust and perspiration and weary to the
+point of listlessness, sat with elbows on knees, talking in low, slow
+tones on the never-failing topic, crops and profits. Their voices
+chimed with the sound of the wagon.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;There's the light,&#34; broke out Ans, rousing himself and the team;
+&#34;Flaxen's got supper all ready for us. She's a regular little Trojan,
+that girl is. They ain't many girls o' fourteen that 'u'd stay there
+contented all day alone an' keep all the whole business in apple-pie
+order. She'll get her pay some day.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;We'll try to pay her; but say, ol' man, ain't it about time to
+open up our plans to her?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_072" id="Page_072">72</a></span>
+&#34;Wal, yes; it is. You kind o' start the thing to-night, an' we'll
+have it over with.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+As they drove up, Flaxen came to the door. &#34;Hello, boys!
+What makes ye so late?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Finishin' up a field, babe. All done.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+She clapped her hands and danced up and down.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Goody! all done at last. Well, yank them horses out o' their
+harnesses an' come to biscuits. They're jest sizzlin' hot.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;All right. We'll be there in about two jerks of a lamb's tail
+in fly-time. Bert, grab a tug; I'm hungry as a wolf.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+It was about the first of September and the nights were getting
+cool, and the steaming supper seemed like a feast to the chilled
+and stiffened men coming in a little later and sitting down with
+the sound of the girl's cheery voice in their ears. The tea was
+hot; so were the biscuits. The pyramid of hot mashed potato had
+a lump of half-melted butter in the hollow
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_073" id="Page_073">73</a></span>
+top, and there were canned peaches and canned salmon.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yes: we're about finished up harvestin',&#34; said Bert, as
+they settled themselves at the table, &#34;an' it's about time to
+talk about gittin' you off to school.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Don't worry about that. It ain't no great job, I reckon. I
+can git ready in about seventeen jiffies, stop-watch time.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Not if you are goin' away off to some city in the
+East&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yes: but I ain't, y' see.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, yes, you are. Bert an' I've be'n talkin' it all over f'r
+the last three weeks. We're goin' to send you back to St. Peter
+to the seminary.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I guess not, pap. I'd like to know what you think you're a-doin'
+sendin' me 'way back there. Boomtown's good enough fer me.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;There, there, Flaxie; don't git mad. Y' see, we think they ain't
+anythin' good enough for you. Nothin' too good for a girl that stays
+to home an' cooks f'r two old cusses&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;You ain't cusses! You're jest as
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_074" id="Page_074">74</a></span>
+good as you can be; but I ain't a-goin'&mdash;there!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Why not?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;'Cause I ain't; that's why.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Why, don't y' wan' to go back there where the people have nice
+houses, an' where they's a good&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, I don't know enough; that's why. I ain't goin' back to no
+seminary to be laughed at 'cause I don't know beans.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;But you do,&#34; laughed Bert, with an attempt to lighten the
+gloom&mdash;&#34;you know canned beans.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;They'd laff at me, I know, an' call me a little Norsk.&#34; 
+She was ready to cry.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I'll bet they won't, not when they see our new dress an' our
+new gold watch&mdash;dress jest the color o' crow's-foot grass,
+watch thirty carats fine. I'd laugh to see 'em callin' my babe
+names then!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+And so by bribing, coaxing, and lying they finally obtained her
+tearful consent. They might not have succeeded even then had it
+not been for a young lady in Boomtown who was going back to the
+same school, and who offered to take her in
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_075" id="Page_075">75</a></span>
+charge. But there was hardly a day that she did not fling herself
+down into a chair and cry out:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I jest ain't goin'. I'm all right here, an' I don't see why you
+can't let me stay here. <em>I</em> ain't made no fuss. Seems as if
+you thought it was fun f'r me to go 'way off there where I don't
+know anythin' an' where I don't know anybody.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+But having come to a conclusion, the men were relentless. They hired
+sewing-girls, and skirmished back and forth between Boomtown and the
+farm like mad. Their steady zeal made up for her moody and fitful
+enthusiasm. However, she grew more resigned to the idea as the days
+wore on toward the departure, though her fits of dark and unusual
+musing were alarming to Anson, who feared a desperate retreat at
+the last moment.
+</p>
+<p>
+He took her over to see Miss Holt one day, but not before he had
+prepared the way.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I s'pose things are in purty good shape around this
+seminary?&#34; he asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, yes, indeed. There are three
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_076" id="Page_076">76</a></span>
+large buildings; libraries, picture-galleries, and music-rooms.
+The boarding-halls are carpeted and the parlors are really elegant.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Uh-hum!&#34; commented Anson. &#34;Well, now, I'm goin' to bring
+my girl over to see you, an' I guess it 'u'd be jest as well if you
+didn't mention these fineries an' things. Y' see, she's afraid of all
+such things. It 'u'd be better to tell her that things weren't very
+gorgeous there&mdash;about like the graded school in Boomtown, say.
+She ain't used to these music-halls an' things. Kind o' make her
+think St. Peter ain't no great shakes, anyhow.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I see,&#34; laughed the quick-witted girl. And she succeeded in
+removing a good deal of Flaxen's dread of the seminary.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wal, babe, to-morrow,&#34; said Anson, as they were eating supper,
+and he was astonished to see her break out in weeping.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Why don't you keep harpin' away on that the whole while?&#34; she
+exclaimed. &#34;Can't you leave me alone a minute? Seems to me you're
+jest crazy to git rid o' me.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_077" id="Page_077">77</a></span>
+&#34;Oh, we are,&#34; put in Bert. &#34;We're jest lickin' our chops to
+git back to sour flapjacks an' soggy bread. Jest seems as though we
+couldn't wait till to-morrow noon, to begin doing our own cookin' again.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+This cleared the air a little, and they spent the rest of the evening
+without saying very much directly upon the departure. The two men sat
+up late after Flaxen had gone to bed. There was the trunk and valise
+which would not let them forget even for a moment what was coming on
+the morrow. Every time Anson looked at her he sighed and tried to
+swallow the lump in his throat.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Say, Bert, let's let her stay if she wants to,&#34; he said suddenly
+after they had been in silence for a long time.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Don't make a cussed fool of yourself, Ans,&#34; growled Bert, who
+saw that heroic measures were necessary. &#34;Go to bed an' don't you
+say another word; we've got to take our medicine like men.&#34;
+</p>
+<div>
+<a name="VIII"></a>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER VIII.</a>
+</h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+AN EMPTY HOUSE.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+Anson was the more talkative of the two next morning, however.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Come, come, brace up, babe! Anybody 'u'd think we'd lost all the
+rest of our family, when we're only doin' the square thing by our
+daughter. That's all. Why, you'll be as happy as a canary in less'n
+two weeks. Young folks is about the same everywhere, an' you'll git
+acquainted in less'n two jiffies.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+They were on the road to Boomtown to put Flaxen on the train. It was
+about the tenth of September, early in the cold, crisp air of a perfect
+morning. In the south there was a vast phantom lake, with duplicate
+cities here and there along the winding shores, which stretched from
+east to west. The grain-stacks stood around
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_079" id="Page_079">79</a></span>
+so thickly that they seemed like walls of a great, low-built town,
+the mirage bringing into vision countless hundreds of them commonly
+below the horizon.
+</p>
+<p>
+The smoke of steam threshing-machines mounted into the still air here
+and there, and hung long in a slowly drifting cloud above the land.
+The prairie-lark, the last of the singing birds, whistled softly and
+infrequently from the dry grass. The gulls were streaming south from
+the lakes.
+</p>
+<p>
+They were driving her to Boomtown to avoid the inquisitive eyes of the
+good people of Belleplain. &#34;I may break down an' blubber,&#34; 
+said Anson to Bert; &#34;an' if I do, I don't want them cussed idiots
+standin' around laughin'&mdash;it's better to go on the 
+C., B. and Q., anyhow.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Notwithstanding his struggle to keep talk going, Anson was unsuccessful
+from the very moment that Belleplain faded to an unsubstantial group of
+shadows and disappeared from the level plain into the air, just as
+Boomtown correspondingly wavered into sight ahead. Silence so
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_080" id="Page_080">80</a></span>
+profound was a restraint on them all, and poor Flaxen with wide eyes
+looked wistfully on the plain that stretched away into unknown regions.
+She was thinking of her poor mother, whom she dimly remembered in the
+horror of that first winter. Naturally of a gay, buoyant disposition,
+she had not dwelt much upon her future or her past; but now that the
+familiar plain seemed slipping from her sight entirely, she was
+conscious of its beauty, and, rapt with the associated emotions which
+came crowding upon her, she felt as though she were leaving the tried
+and true for the unknown and uncertain.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Boys,&#34; she said finally, &#34;do you s'pose I've got any
+folks?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I shouldn't wonder if y' had, babe, somewhere back in the ol'
+country.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;They couldn't talk with me if I could find 'em, could they?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I reckon not, 'less you study so hard that you can learn their
+lingo,&#34; said Ans, seeing another opportunity to add a reason for
+going to school.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, boys, that's what I'm goin' to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_081" id="Page_081">81</a></span>
+do, an' by an' by we'll go over there an' see if we can't find 'em,
+won't we?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;That's the talk; now you're gittin' down to business,&#34; rejoined Ans.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I s'pose St. Peter is a good 'eal bigger'n Boomtown,&#34; she said
+sighfully, as they neared the &#34;emporium of the sleepy James.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;A little,&#34; said the astute Gearheart.
+</p>
+<p>
+The clanging of the engines and the noise of shouting gave her a
+sinking sensation in the chest, and she clung to Anson's arm as
+they drove past the engine. She was deafened by the hiss of the
+escaping steam of the monster standing motionless, headed toward
+the east, ready to leap on its sounding way.
+</p>
+<p>
+On the platform they found Miss Holt and a number of other friends
+waiting. There was a great deal of clanging and whanging and
+scuffling, it seemed to the poor, overwrought girl. Miss Holt took
+her in charge at once and tried to keep her cheerful. When they
+had checked her trunk and the train was about ready to start, Ans
+looked uneasy and fidgeted 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_082" id="Page_082">82</a></span>
+about. Bert looked on, silent and dark. Flaxen, with her new long
+dress and new hat, looked quite the woman, and Miss Holt greeted
+her as such; indeed, she kept so close to her that Anson looked
+in vain for a chance to say something more which was on his mind.
+Finally, as the train was about going, he said hesitatingly:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Elga, jest a minute.&#34; She stared for a moment, then 
+came up to him.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I didn't want to call y' Flaxen afore her,&#34; he explained;
+&#34;but you&mdash;ain't&mdash;kissed us good-bye.&#34; He ended
+hesitatingly.
+</p>
+<p>
+The tears were already streaming down her cheeks, and this was too
+much. She flung her arms about his neck and sobbed on his bosom
+with the abandon of girlish grief.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I don't wan' to go 't all, pap.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, yes, y' do, Elga; yes; y' do! Don't mind us; we'll be all
+right. I'll have Bert writin' a full half the time. There, kiss me
+good-bye an' git on&mdash;Bert here, too.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_083" id="Page_083">83</a></span>
+She kissed him twice through his bristling moustache, and going to Bert
+offered her lips, and then came back to Anson and threw herself against
+his broad, strong breast. She had no one to love but these two. It
+seemed as if she were leaving everything in the world. Anson took her
+on his firm arm and helped her on the car, and followed her till she
+ was seated beside Miss Holt.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Don't cry, babe; you'll make ol' pap feel turrible. He'll break
+right down here afore all these people, an' blubber, if y' don't cheer
+up. Why, you'll soon be as happy as a fly in soup. Good-bye, good-bye!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+The train started, and Anson, brushing his eyes with his great brown
+hand, swung himself off and stood looking at her. As the train passed
+him she rushed to the rear end of the car, and remained there looking
+back at the little station till the sympathetic Miss Holt gently led
+her back to her seat. Then she flattened her round cheek against the
+pane and tried to see the boys. When the last house of the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_084" id="Page_084">84</a></span>
+town passed by her window she sank back in her seat and sobbed silently.
+</p>
+<hr class="break" />
+<p>
+&#34;I feel as if I'd be'n attendin' my own funeral,&#34; said Anson,
+after they had got into their wagon and the train had gone out of
+sight in the haze of the prairie.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, it's pretty tough on that child to go off that way. To her
+the world is all a great mystery. When you an' I go to heaven it won't
+be any greater change for us than this change for Flaxen&mdash;every
+face strange, every spot new.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wal, she ain't far away but we can look out for her. She ain't
+poor n'r fatherless as long as we live, hey?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+And then silence fell on them. As they were jogging homeward they saw
+the gray gulls rise from the sod and go home to the lake for the night.
+They heard the crickets' evening chorus broaden and deepen to an
+endless and monotonous symphony, while behind fantastic, thin, and
+rainless clouds the sun sank in unspeakable glory of colour. The air,
+perfectly still, was cool almost to frostiness, 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_085" id="Page_085">85</a></span>
+and, far above, the fair stars broke from the lilac and gold of the
+sun-flushed sky. Lights in the farm-houses began to appear.
+</p>
+<p>
+Once or twice Anson said: &#34;She's about at Summit now. I hope
+she's chirked up.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+They met threshing-crews going noisily home to supper. Once they
+met an &#34;outfit,&#34; engine, tank, separator, all moving along
+like a train of cars, while every few minutes the red light from
+the furnace gleamed on the man who was stuffing the straw into the
+furnace-door, bringing out his face so plainly that they knew him.
+As the night grew deeper, an occasional owl flapped across the
+fields in search of mice.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;We're bound to miss her like thunder, Bert; no two ways about
+that. Can't help but miss her on the cookin', hey?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert nodded without looking up. As they came in sight of home at last,
+and saw the house silhouetted against the faintly yellow sky, Ans said
+with a sigh:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;No light an' no singin' there to-night.&#34;
+</p>
+
+<div>
+<a name="IX"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_086" id="Page_086">86</a></span>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER IX.</a>
+</h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+&#34;BACHING&#34; IT AGAIN.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+&#34;The fact is, Flaxen has sp'iled us,&#34; laughed Anson, a couple
+of days later, when Bert was cursing the soggy biscuit. &#34;We've got
+so high-toned that we can't stand common cookin'. Time was we'd 'a'
+thought ourselves lucky to git as good as that. Rec'lect them flapjacks
+we ust to make? By mighty! you could shoe a horse with 'em. Say, I wish
+I could jest slip in an' see what she's a-doin' about now, hey?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She's probably writin' a letter. She won't do much of anythin'
+else for the first week.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I hope you're right,&#34; said Anson.
+</p>
+<p>
+They got a queer little letter every Wednesday, each one for several
+weeks pitifully like the others.
+</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p class="no-space-bottom">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_087" id="Page_087">87</a></span>
+Dear boys i thought i would take my pen in hand to tell you i dont like
+it one bit the school is just as mene as it can be the girls do laugh
+at me they call me toe-head. if i catch em right i will fix their heads.
+They is one girl who i like she is from pipestone she dont know no
+moren i do she says my dress is pritty&mdash;ol nig an the drake all
+rite i wish i was home.</p>
+<p class="no-space-top sig sc">Elga.
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>
+The wish to be home was in all these letters like a sob. The men read them
+over carefully and gravely, and finally Anson would put them away in the
+Bible (bought on Flaxen's account) for safe-keeping.
+</p>
+<p>
+As the letters improved in form their exultation increased.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Say, Bert, don't you notice she writes better now? She makes big I's
+now in place o' little ones. Seems 's if she runs the sentence all
+together, though.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She'll come out all right. You see, she goes into the preparatory
+department, where they teach writin' an' spellin'. You'll see her hand
+improve right along now.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_088" id="Page_088">88</a></span>
+And it did, and she ceased to wail for home and ceased to say that
+she hated her studies.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I am getting along splendid,&#34; she wrote some weeks after this.
+&#34;I like my teacher; her name is Holt. She is just as nice as she
+can be. She is cousin to the one who came with me; I live with her
+uncle, and I can go to soshibles whenever I want to; but the other
+girls cant. I am feeling pretty good, but I wish you boys was here.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+She did not wish to be at home this time!
+</p>
+<p>
+Winter shut down on the broad land again with that implacable,
+remorseless brilliancy of fierce cold which characterises the
+northern plain, stopping work on the farm and bolting all doors.
+Hardly a day that the sun did not shine; but the light was hard,
+white, glittering, and cold, the winds treacherous, the snow wild
+and restless. There was now comparatively little danger of being
+lost even in the fiercest storms, but still life in one of these
+little cabins had an isolation almost
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_089" id="Page_089">89</a></span>
+as terrible as that of a ship wedged amid the ice-floes of the
+polar regions.
+</p>
+<p>
+Day after day rising to feed the cattle, night after night bending
+over the sooty stove listening to the ceaseless voice of the wind
+as it beat and brushed, whispered, moaned, and piped or screamed
+around the windows and eaves&mdash;this was their life, varied with
+an occasional visit to the store or the post-office, or by the call
+of a neighbour. It is easy to conceive that Flaxen's bright letters
+were like bursts of bird-song in their loneliness. Many of the young
+men, their neighbours, went back East to spend the winter&mdash;back
+to Michigan, Iowa, New York, or elsewhere.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Ans, why don't you go back an' visit your folks?&#34; asked Bert,
+one day. &#34;I'll take care o' things.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wal, the fact is, I've be'n away so long they don't care whether
+I'm alive er dead. I ain't got no near relatives except a sister, an'
+she's got all the fam'ly she can 'tend to.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Same here. We ain't very affectionate,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_090" id="Page_090">90</a></span>
+anyway; our fam'ly and I don't write. Still I'd like to go back,
+just to see how they all are.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Why not go?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, I don't know. I guess I must one o' these days. I've kind
+o' be'n waitin' till we got into a little better shape. I hate to go
+back poor.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;So do I. It's hard work f'r me to give up beat; I ain't goin'
+to do it yet awhile.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Sometimes a neighbour dropped in during the middle of the day, and
+on pleasant days they would harness up the team and take a drive
+down to the store and the post-office; but mainly they vegetated
+like a couple of huge potatoes in a cellar, as did most of the
+settlers. There was nothing else to do.
+</p>
+<p>
+It was the worst winter since the first that they had spent in the
+country. The snow seemed never still. It slid, streamed, rose in
+the air ceaselessly; it covered the hay, drifted up the barn door,
+swept the fields bare, and, carrying the dirt of the ploughed
+fields with it, built huge black 
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_091" id="Page_091">91</a></span>
+drifts wherever there was a wind-break, corn-field, or other obstruction.
+</p>
+<p>
+There were moments when Bert was well-nigh desperate. Only contact with
+hard work and cold winds saved him. He was naturally a more ambitious,
+more austere man than Anson. He was not content to vegetate, but longed
+to escape. He felt that he was wasting his life.
+</p>
+<p>
+It was in December that the letter first came from Flaxen which
+mentioned Will Kendall.
+</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p>
+O boys! I had the best time. We had a party at our house and lots of
+boys came and girls too, and they were nice, the boys, I mean. Will
+Kendall he is the nicest feller you ever seen. He has got black eyes
+and brown hair and a gold watch-chain with a locket with some girl's
+hair in it, and he said it was his sister's hair, but I told him I
+didn't believe it, do you? We had cake and popcorn and lasses candy;
+and Will he took me out to supper.
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>
+Bert was reading the letter, and at this point he stopped and raised
+his eyes, and the two men gazed at each other without
+ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_092" id="Page_092">92</a></span>
+a word for a long time. Then Anson laughed.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She's gittin' over her homesickness. She's all right now she's got
+out to a sociable.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+After that there was hardly a letter that did not mention Kendall in some
+innocent fashion among the other boys and girls who took part in the
+sleigh-rides, parties, and sociables. But the morbidly acute Bert, if he
+saw, said nothing, and Anson did not see.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Who d' y' s'pose this Kendall is?&#34; asked Anson, one night late
+in the winter, of Gearheart, who was reading the paper while his
+companion reread a letter from Flaxen. &#34;Seems to me she's writin'
+a good 'eal about him lately.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, some slick little dry-goods clerk or druggist,&#34; said Bert,
+with unwarrantable irritation.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She seems to have a good 'eal to say about him, anyway,&#34; repeated Anson, in a meditative way.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, that's natural enough. They are two young folks together,&#34;
+replied Bert,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_093" id="Page_093">93</a></span>
+with a careless accent, to remove any suspicion which his hasty utterance
+might have raised in Anson's mind.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wal, I guess you're right,&#34; agreed Anson, after a pause, relieved.
+This relief was made complete when in other letters which came she said
+less and less about Kendall. If they had been more experienced, they would
+have been disturbed by this suspicious fact.
+</p>
+<p>
+Then again, when Anson wrote asking &#34;What has become of that Kendall
+you wrote so much about?&#34; she replied that he was there, and began
+writing of him again in a careless sort of way, with the craft of woman
+already manifest in the change of front.
+</p>
+<p>
+Spring came again, and that ever-recurring miracle, the good green grass,
+sprang forth from its covering of ice and snow, up from its hiding-place
+in the dark, cold sod.
+</p>
+<p>
+Again the two men set to work ferociously at the seeding. Up early in
+the wide, sweet dawn, toiling through the day behind harrow and seeder,
+coming in
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_094" id="Page_094">94</a></span>
+at noon to a poor and badly cooked meal, hurrying back to the field
+and working till night, coming in at sundown so tired that one leg
+could hardly be dragged by the other&mdash;this was their daily life.
+</p>
+<p>
+One day, as they were eating their supper of sour bread and canned
+beans, Gearheart irritatedly broke out: &#34;Ans, why don't you git
+married? It 'u'd simplify matters a good 'eal if you should.
+'Old Russ' is no good.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What's the matter with <em>your</em> gittin' married?&#34; replied
+Anson, imperturbably pinching off the cooked part of the loaf, skilfully
+leaving the doughy part.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I ain't on the marry; that's all.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Neither am I.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, you ought to be.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Don't see it.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, now, let me show it. We can't go on this way. I'm gittin'
+so poor you can count my ribs through my shirt. Jest think how
+comfortable it would make things! No more awful coffee; no more
+canned baked beans; no more cussed, infernal, everlastin', leathery
+flapjacks; no
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_095" id="Page_095">95</a></span>
+more soggy bread&mdash;confound it!&#34; Here he seized the round
+inner part of the loaf, from which the crust had been flaked, and
+flung it through the open door far down toward the garden.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Bert! that's the last bit of bread we've got in the house.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What's the odds? We couldn't eat it.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;We could 'a' baked it over.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;We <em>could</em> eat dog, but we don't,&#34; replied Bert gloomily.
+His temper was getting frightful of late.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;We'll be all right when Flaxen comes back,&#34; said Ans, laughing.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Say, now, you've said that a thousand times this winter. You
+know well enough Flaxen's out o' this. We ain't countin' on her,&#34;
+blurted Gearheart, just in the mood to say disagreeable things.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wha' d' y' mean? Ain't she comin' back in June?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Probably; but she won't stay.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;No: that's so. She'll have to go back in September; but that's three
+months, an' we may sell out by that time if we have a good crop.
+Anyway, we'll live
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_096" id="Page_096">96</a></span>
+high fer a spell. We ought to have a letter from her to-night, hadn't we?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I'm goin' down to see, if you'll wash the dishes.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;All right. Take a horse.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;No: the horses are tired. I'll foot it.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wal, ain't you too?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Want anythin' from the store?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yes: git a hunk o' bacon an' some canned corn, tomatoes, an' some
+canned salmon; if y' think we can stand the pressure, bring home a can 
+o' peaches.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+And so Gearheart started off for town in the dusk, afoot, in order to spare
+the horse, as though he had not himself walked all day long in the soft,
+muddy ground. The wind was soft and moist, and the light of the stars
+coming out in the east fell upon his upturned eyes with unspeakable majesty.
+Yet he saw them but dimly. He was dreaming of a face which was often in his
+mind now&mdash;a face not unlike Flaxen's, only older, more glorified, more
+womanly. He was asking himself some searching questions to-night
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_097" id="Page_097">97</a></span>
+as his tired limbs dragged themselves over the grassy road.
+</p>
+<p>
+What was he toiling for, anyway? What mattered all this terrible
+tramping to and fro&mdash;was it an end or only a means? Would
+there ever come anything like satisfaction of desire? Life for
+him had been a silent, gloomy, and almost purposeless struggle.
+He had not looked forward to anything very definite, though
+vaguely he had hoped for something better.
+</p>
+<p>
+As his eyes fell upon the twinkling, yellow lights of the village
+his thoughts came back to Flaxen and to the letter which he
+expected to receive from her. He quickened his steps, though his
+feet were sore and his limbs stiff and lame.
+</p>
+<p>
+The one little street presented its usual Saturday-night appearance.
+Teams were hitched to the narrow plank walk before the battlemented
+wooden stores. Men stood here and there in listless knots, smoking,
+talking of the weather and of seeding, while their wives, surrounded
+by shy children, traded within. Being
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_098" id="Page_098">98</a></span>
+Saturday night, the saloons were full of men, and shouts and the
+clink of beer-mugs could be heard at intervals. But the larger
+crowd was gathered at the post-office: uncouth farmers of all
+nationalities, clerks, land-sharks, lawyers, and giggling girls
+in couples, who took delight in mingling with the crowd.
+</p>
+<p>
+Judge Sid Balser was over from Boomtown, and was talking expansively
+to a crowd of &#34;leading citizens&#34; about a scheme to establish
+a horse-car line between Boomtown and Belleplain.
+</p>
+<p>
+Colonel Arran, of the Belleplain <i>Argus</i>, in another corner, not
+ten feet away, was saying that the judge was &#34;a scoundrel, a
+blow-hard, and would down his best lover for a pewter cent,&#34; to
+all of which the placid judge was accustomed and gave no heed.
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert paid no attention to the colonel or to the judge, or to any of this
+buzzing. &#34;They are just talking to hear themselves make a noise,
+anyway. They talk about building up the country&mdash;they who are a
+rope and a grindstone around the 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_099" id="Page_099">99</a></span>
+necks of the rest of us, who do the work.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+When Gearheart reached his box he found a large, square letter in it,
+and looking at it saw that it was from Flaxen directed to Anson.
+&#34;Her picture, probably,&#34; he said as he held it up. As he was
+pushing rapidly out he heard a half-drunken fellow say, in what he
+thought was an inaudible tone:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;There's Gearheart. Wonder what's become of his little Norsk.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Gearheart turned, and pushing through the crowd, thrust his eyes
+into the face of the speaker with a glare that paralysed the poor fool.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What's become o' your sense?&#34; he snarled, and his voice
+had in it a carnivorous note.
+</p>
+<p>
+With this warning he turned contemptuously and passed out, leaving
+the discomfited rowdy to settle accounts with his friends. But
+there was a low note in the ruffian's voice, an insinuating
+inflection, which stayed with him all along the way home, like a
+bad taste in the mouth. 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span>
+He saw by the aid of a number of these side-lights of late that Flaxen
+never could come back to them in the old relation; but how could she 
+come back?
+</p>
+<p>
+Gearheart stopped and gazed thoughtfully upward. She must come back
+as the wife of Ans or himself. &#34;Pooh! she is only a child,&#34;
+he said, snapping his finger and walking on. But the insistence
+remained. &#34;She is not a child&mdash;she is a maiden, soon to be
+a woman; she has no relatives, no home to go to but ours after her
+two or three years of schooling are over. It must still be her home;
+no breath of scandal shall touch her if I can prevent it; and after
+her two years are up&#34;&mdash;after a long, motionless reverie he
+strode forward&mdash;&#34;she shall choose between us.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+There had grown up between the two friends of late a constraint, or,
+to be more exact, Gearheart had held himself in before his friend, 
+had not discussed these problems with him at all. &#34;Ans is just
+like a boy,&#34; he had said to himself; &#34;he don't seem to
+understand the case, and I 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span>
+don't know as it's my duty to enlighten him; he either feels very sure
+about her, or he has not understood the situation.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+He was thinking this now as he strode across the spongy sod toward the
+lighted windows of the shanty. The air was damp and chill, for the ice
+was not yet out of the ponds or swamps of tall grasses. An occasional
+prairie-cock sent forth a muffled, drowsy &#34;boom&#34;; low-hung
+flights of geese, gabbling anxiously, or the less-orderly ducks, with
+hissing wings, swept by overhead, darkly limned against the stars.
+There was a strange charm in the raw air. The weary man almost forgot
+his pain as he drew deep breathings of the night.
+</p>
+<p>
+It was significant of the restraint that had grown up between him and
+Anson that he held the letter from Flaxen unopened in his hand simply
+because it was directed to his friend. He knew that it was as much to
+him as to Anson, and yet, feeling as he had of late, he would not open
+it, for he would have been angry if Anson had opened one directed to 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span>
+him. He simply judged Anson by himself.
+</p>
+<p>
+The giant was asleep when he entered. His great, shaggy head lay beside
+the lamp on his crossed arms. Bert laid the letter down beside him and 
+shook him.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Hello! got back, hey?&#34; the sleeper said, rousing up sluggishly.
+&#34;Anything?&#34; Then he caught sight of the letter. &#34;Oh, bless
+her little heart! Wonder what it is? Picture, bet my hat!&#34; Here he
+opened it.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Gee whittiker, thunder and turf, gosh-all&mdash;Friday!&mdash;look
+a-there! Ain't she growed!&#34; he yelled, holding the picture by the
+corner and moving it into all sorts of positions. &#34;That's my little
+girl&mdash;our Flaxen; she can't grow so purty but what I'd know her.
+See that hair done up on the top of her head! Look at that dress, an'
+the thingumajigs around her neck! Oh, she's gittin' there, Smith, hey?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She's changing pretty fast,&#34; said Bert listlessly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Changin' fast! Say, ol' man, what's the matter with you? Are y' sick?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span>
+&#34;I'm played out, that's all.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Darn my skin! I should think y' would be, draggin' all day, an' then
+walkin' all o' four mile to the post-office. Jest lay down on the bed
+there, ol' boy, while I read the letter to yeh. Say, ol' man, don't you
+git up in the mornin' till you please. I'll look after the breakfast,&#34; 
+insisted Anson, struck with remorse by the expression on Bert's face.
+&#34;But here's the letter. Short an' sweet.&#34;
+</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p class="noindent no-space-bottom">
+<span class="sc">
+Dear Boys
+</span>
+[Bless the little fist that wrote that!]. I send my picture. I think it
+is a nice one. The girls say it flatters me, but Will says it don't
+[What the devil do we care what Will says?]&mdash;I guess it does,
+don't you? I wish I had a picture of you both; I want to show the
+girls how handsome you are [she means me, of course. No, confound it]
+how handsome you are both of you. I wish you would send me your
+pictures both of you. I ain't got much to say. I will write again 
+soon.
+</p>
+<p class="no-space-top sig sc">
+Elga.
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>
+Bert looked at the picture over Anson's shoulder, but did not seem to
+pay much attention to it.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span>
+&#34;Wal, I'll go out an' shut the barn door. Nights git cold after the
+sun goes down. You needn't peel the 'taters to-night. We'll bake 'em,
+brussels an' all, to-morrow mornin'.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+When Anson had gone, Bert snatched up the picture with great eagerness
+and gazed upon it with a steady, devouring glance. How womanly she
+looked with her hair done up so, and the broad, fair face and full
+bosom.
+</p>
+<p>
+He heard Anson returning from the barn, and hastily laid the picture
+down, and when Anson entered was apparently dropping off to sleep.
+</p>
+
+<div>
+<a name="X"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER X.</a></h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+FLAXEN COMES HOME ON A VACATION.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+It was in June, just before the ending of the school, that Flaxen
+first began to write about delaying her return. Anson was wofully
+disappointed. He had said all along that she would make tracks
+for home just as soon as school was out, and he had calculated
+just when she would arrive; and on the second day after the close
+of school for the summer he drove down to the train to meet her.
+She did not come, but he got a letter which said that one of her
+friends wanted her to stay two weeks with her, until after the 
+Fourth of July.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She's an awful nice girl, and we will have a grand time; she
+has a rich father and a piano and a pony and a buggy. It will just
+be grand.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span>
+&#34;I don't blame her none,&#34; sighed Anson to Bert. &#34;I don't
+want her to come away while she's enjoyin' herself. It'll be a big
+change for her to come back an' cook f'r us old mossbacks after
+bein' at school an' in good company all these months.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+He was plainly disturbed. Her vacation was going to be all too short
+at the best, and he was so hungry for the sight of her! Still, he
+could not blame her for staying, under the circumstances; as he told
+Bert, his feelings did not count. He just wanted her to get all she
+could out of life; &#34;there ain't much, anyway, for us poor devils,
+but what little there is we want her to have.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+The Fourth of July was the limit of her stay, and on the sixth,
+seventh, and eighth Anson drove regularly to the evening train
+to meet her.
+</p>
+<p>
+On the third day another letter came, saying that she would reach
+home the next Monday. With this Anson rode home in triumph. During
+the next few days he went to the barber's and had his great
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span>
+beard shaved off. &#34;Made me look so old,&#34; he explained, seeing
+Bert's wild start of surprise. &#34;I've be'n carryin' that mop o'
+hair round so long I'd kind o' got into the notion o' bein' old
+myself. Got a kind o' crick in the back, y' know. But I ain't;
+I ain't ten years older'n you be.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+And he was not. His long blond moustache, shaved beard, and clipped
+hair made a new man of him, and a very handsome man, too, in a large
+way. He was curiously embarrassed by Bert's prolonged scrutiny, and 
+said jocosely:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;We've got to brace up a little now. Company boarders comin', young
+lady from St. Peter's Seminary, city airs an' all that sort o' thing.
+Don't you let me see you eatin' pie with y'r knife. I'll break the
+shins of any man that feeds himself with anythin' 'cept the
+silver-plated forks I've bought.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Flaxen had been gone almost a year, and a year counts for much at her
+age. Besides, Anson had exaggerated ideas of the amount of learning
+she could absorb in a year at a boarding-seminary, and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span>
+he had also a very vague idea of what &#34;society&#34; was in St.
+Peter, although he seemed suddenly to awake to the necessity of 
+&#34;bracing up&#34; a little and getting things generally into
+shape. He bought a new suit of clothes and a second-hand two-seated
+carriage, notwithstanding the sarcastic reflection of his partner,
+who was making his own silent comment upon this thing.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;The paternal business is <i>auskerspeelt</i>,&#34; he said to
+himself. &#34;Ans is goin' in on shape now. Well, it's all right;
+nobody's business but ours. Let her go, Smith; but they won't be no
+talk in this neighbourhood when they get hold of what's goin'
+on&mdash;oh, no!&#34; He smiled grimly. &#34;We can stand it, I
+guess; but it'll be hard on her. Ans is a little too previous.
+It's too soon to spring this trap on the poor little thing.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+They stood side by side on the platform the next Monday when the
+train rolled into the station at Boomtown, panting with fatigue
+from its long run. Flaxen caught sight of Bert first as she
+sprang off
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span>
+the train, and running to him, kissed him without much embarrassment.
+Then she looked around, saying:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Where's ol' pap? Didn't he&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Why, Flaxen, don't ye know me?&#34; he cried out at her elbow.
+</p>
+<p>
+She knew his voice, but his shaven face, so much more youthful, was
+so strange that she knew him only by his eyes laughing down into hers.
+Nevertheless she kissed him doubtfully.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, what've you done? You've shaved off your whiskers; you don't
+look a bit natural. I&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+She was embarrassed, almost frightened, at the change in him. He 
+&#34;looked so queer&#34;; his fair, untroubled, smiling face and
+blond moustache made him look younger than Bert.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Nev' mind that! She'll grow again if y' like it better. Get int'
+this new buggy&mdash;it's ours. They ain't no flies on us to-day; not
+many,&#34; said Ans in high glee, elaborately assisting her to the
+carriage, not appreciating the full meaning of the situation.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span>
+As they rode home he was extravagantly gay. He sat beside her, and she
+drove, wild with delight at the prairie, the wheat, the gulls, everything.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Ain't no dust on our clo'es,&#34; said Ans, coughing, winking at Bert,
+and brushing off with an elaborately finical gesture an imaginary fleck
+from his knee and elbow. &#34;Ain't we togged out? I guess nobody said
+'boo' to us down to St. Peter, eh?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;You like my clo'es?&#34; said Flaxen, with charming directness.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;You bet! They're scrumptious.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, they ought to be; they're my best, except my white dress.
+I thought you'd like 'em; I wore 'em a-purpose.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Like 'em? They're&mdash;you're jest as purty as a red lily er a
+wild rose in the wheat&mdash;ahem! Ain't she, Bert, ol' boy? We're
+jest about starvin' to death, we are.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I knew you'd be. What'll I stir up for supper? Biscuits?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Um, um! Say, what y' s'pose I've got to go with 'em?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Honey.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, you're too sharp,&#34; wailed Ans,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span>
+while Flaxen went off into a peal of laughter. &#34;Say, Bert's be'n in
+the <em>damnedest</em>&mdash;excuse me&mdash;plaguedest temper fer the
+last two munce as you ever did see.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+While this chatter was going on Bert sat silent and unsmiling on
+the back seat. He was absorbed in seeing the exquisite colour that
+played in her cheek and the equally charming curves of her figure.
+She was well dressed and was wonderfully mature. He was saying to
+himself: &#34;Ans ain't got no more judgment than a boy. We can't
+keep that girl here. More'n that, the girl never'll be contented
+again, unless&mdash;&#34; He did not allow himself to go farther. 
+He dared not even think farther.
+</p>
+<p>
+They had a merry time that night, quite like old times. The biscuits
+were light and flaky, the honey was delightsome, and the milk and
+butter (procured specially) were fresh. They shouted in laughter as
+Flaxen insisted on their eating potatoes with a fork, and opposed
+the use of the knife in scooping up the honey from their plates!
+Even the saturnine
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span>
+Bert forgot his gloom and laughed too, as Ans laboriously dipped his
+honey with a fork, and, finally growing desperate, split a biscuit in
+half, and in the good old boyish way sopped it in the honey.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;There, that's the Christian way of doing things!&#34; he exulted,
+while Flaxen laughed. How bright she was&mdash;how strange she acted!
+There were moments when she embarrassed them by some new womanly grace
+or accomplishment, some new air which she had caught from her
+companions or teachers at school. It was truly amazing how much she
+had absorbed outside of her regular studies. She indeed was no longer
+a girl; she was a young woman, and to them a beautiful one.
+</p>
+<p>
+Not a day passed without some added surprise which made Anson exult
+and say, &#34;She's gettin' her money's worth down there&mdash;no
+two ways about that.&#34;
+</p>
+
+<div>
+<a name="XI"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER XI.</a></h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+FLAXEN GROWS RESTLESS.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+But as the excitement of getting back died out, poor Flaxen grew
+restless, moody, and unaccountable. Before, she had always been
+the same cheery, frank, boyish creature. As Bert said, 
+&#34;You know where to find her.&#34; Now she was full of strange
+tempers and moods. She would work most furiously for a time, and
+then suddenly fall dreaming, looking away out on the shimmering
+plain toward the east.
+</p>
+<p>
+At Bert's instigation, a middle-aged widow had been hired, at a
+fabulous price, to come and do the most of the work for them,
+thus releasing Flaxen from the weight of the hard work, which
+perhaps was all the worse for her. Hard work might have prevented
+the unbearable, sleepless pain within. She hated
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span>
+the slatternly Mrs. Green at once for her meddling with her affairs,
+though the good woman meant no offence. She was jocose in the broad
+way of middle-aged persons, to whom a love-affair is legitimate
+food for raillery.
+</p>
+<p>
+But Gearheart's keen eye was on Flaxen as well. He saw how eagerly she
+watched for the mail on Tuesdays and Fridays, and how she sought a
+quiet place at once in order to read and dream over her letters.
+She was restless a day or two before a certain letter came, with an
+eager, excited, expectant air. Then, after reading it, she was
+absent-minded, flighty in conversation, and at last listlessly uneasy,
+moving slowly about from one thing to another, in a kind of restless
+inability to take continued interest in anything.
+</p>
+<p>
+All this, if it came to the attention of Anson at all, was laid to the
+schooling the girl had had.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Of course it'll seem a little slow to you, Flaxie, but harvestin'
+is comin' on soon, an' then things'll be a little more lively.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span>
+But Gearheart was not so slow-witted. He had had sisters and girl
+cousins, and knew &#34;the symptoms,&#34; as Mrs. Green would have
+put it. He noticed that when Flaxen read her letters to them there
+was one which she carefully omitted. He knew that this was the
+letter which meant the most to her. He saw how those letters
+affected her, and thought he had divined in what way.
+</p>
+<p>
+One day when Flaxen, after reading her letters, sprang up and ran
+into her bedroom, her eyes filled with sudden tears, Gearheart
+crooked his finger at Ans, and they went out to the barn together.
+</p>
+<p>
+It was nearly one o'clock on an intolerable day peculiar to the
+Dakota plain. A frightfully hot, withering, and powerful wind was
+abroad. The thermometer stood nearly a hundred in the shade, and
+the wind, so far from being a relief, was suffocating because of
+its heat and the dust it swept along with it.
+</p>
+<p>
+The heavy-headed grain and russet grass writhed and swirled as if
+in agony, and dashed high in waves of green and
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span>
+yellow. The corn-leaves had rolled up into long cords like the lashes
+of a whip, and beat themselves into tatters on the dry, smooth spot
+their blows had made beneath them; they seemed ready to turn to flame
+in the pitiless, furnace-like blast. Everywhere in the air was a
+silver-white, impalpable mist, which gave to the cloudless sky a
+whitish cast. The glittering gulls were the only living things that
+did not move listlessly and did not long for rain. They soared and
+swooped, exulting in the sounding wind; now throwing themselves upon
+it, like a swimmer, then darting upward with miraculous ease, to dip
+again into the shining, hissing, tumultuous waves of the grass.
+</p>
+<p>
+Along the roads prodigious trains of dust rose hundreds of feet in
+the air, and drove like vast caravans with the wind. So powerful
+was the blast that men hesitated about going out with carriages,
+and everybody watched feverishly, expecting to see fire break
+out on the prairie and sweep everything before it. Work in the
+fields had stopped long before dinner, and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span>
+the farmers waited, praying or cursing, for the wheat was just at
+the right point to be blighted.
+</p>
+<p>
+As the two men went out to the shed side by side, they looked out on
+the withering wheat-stalks and corn-leaves with gloomy eyes.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Another day like this, an' they won't be wheat enough in this
+whole county to make a cake,&#34; said Anson, with a calm intonation,
+which after all betrayed the anxiety he felt. They sat down in the
+wagon-shed near the horses' mangers. They listened to the roar of
+the wind and the pleasant sound of the horses eating their hay, a
+good while before either of them spoke again. Finally Bert said sullenly:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;We can't put up hay such a day as this. You couldn't haul it home
+under lock an' key while this infernal wind is blowin'. It's gittin'
+worse, if anythin'.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson said nothing, but waited to hear what Bert had brought him out
+here for. Bert speared away with his knife at a strip of board.
+Anson sat on a wagon-tongue, 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span>
+his elbows on his knees, looking intently at the grave face of his
+companion. The horses ground cheerily at the hay.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Ans, we've got to send Flaxen back to St. Peter; she's so homesick
+she don't know what to do.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Ans' eyes fell.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I know it. I've be'n hopin' she'd git over that, but it's purty
+tough on her, after bein' with the young folks in the city f'r a year,
+to come back here on a farm.&#34; He did not finish for a moment.
+&#34;But she can't stand it. I'd looked ahead to havin' her here till
+September, but I can't stand it to see her cryin' like she did to-day.
+We've got to give up the idee o' her livin' here. I don't see any other
+way but to sell out an' go back East somewhere.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert saw that Anson was still ignorant of the real state of
+affairs, but thought he would say nothing for the present.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yes: that's the best thing we can do. We'll send her right back,
+an' take our chances on the crops. We can git enough to live on an'
+keep her at school, I guess.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span>
+They sat silent for a long time, while the wind tore round the shed,
+Bert spearing at the stick, and Anson watching the hens as they
+vainly tried to navigate in the wind. Finally Anson spoke:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;The fact is, Bert, this ain't no place f'r a woman, anyway&mdash;such
+a woman as Flaxen's gittin' to be. They ain't nothin' goin' on, nothin'
+to see 'r hear. You can't expect a girl to be contented with this
+country after she's seen any other. No trees; no flowers; jest a lot o'
+little shanties full o' flies.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I knew all that, Ans, a year ago. I knew she'd never come back here,
+but I jest said it's the thing to do&mdash;give her a chance, if we don't
+have a cent; now let's go back to the house an' tell her she needn't
+stay here if she don't want to.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wha' d' ye s'pose was in that letter?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Couldn't say. Some girl's description of a pic-nic er somethin'.&#34;
+Bert was not yet ready to tell what he knew. When they returned to the
+house the girl was still invisible, in her room. Mrs. Green was busy
+clearing up the dinner-dishes.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span>
+&#34;I don't know's I ever see such a wind back to Michigan. Seems as if
+it 'u'd blow the hair off y'r head.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, this ain't nothin'. This is a gentle zephyr. Wait till y' see
+a wind.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Wal, I hope to goodness I won't never see a wind. Zephyrs is all
+I can mortally stand.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson went through the little sitting-room and knocked on Flaxen's door.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Flaxie, we want to talk to yeh.&#34; There was no answer, and he
+came back and sat down. Bert pointed to the letter which Flaxen had
+flung down on the table. The giant took it, folded it up, and called,
+&#34;Here's y'r letter, babe.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+The door opened a little, and a faint, tearful voice said:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Read it, if ye want to, boys.&#34; Then the door closed tightly
+again, and they heard her fling herself on the bed. Anson handed the
+letter to Bert, who read it in a steady voice.
+</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p class="no-space-bottom">
+<span class="sc">
+Dear Darling</span>: I have good news to tell you. My uncle was out
+from Wisconsin to see me, and he was pleased with what I had
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span>
+done, and he bought out Mr. Ford, and gave me the whole half interest.
+I'm to pay him back when I please. Ain't that glorious? Now we can
+get married right off, can't we, darling? So you just show this
+letter to your father, and tell him how things stand. I've got a
+good business. The drug store is worth $1,200 a year&mdash;my
+half&mdash;but knock off fifty per cent and we could live nicely.
+Don't you think so? I want to see you so bad, and talk things over.
+If you can't come back soon, I will come on. Write soon.
+</p>
+<p class="no-space-top no-space-bottom sig sincerely-yours-pad">
+Yours till death,
+</p>
+<p class="no-space-top sig sc">
+Will.
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>
+From the first word Anson winced, grew perplexed, then suffered. His
+head drooped forward on his hands, his elbows rested on his vast,
+spread knees. He drew his breath with a long, grieving gasp. Bert
+read on steadily to the end, then glanced at his companion with a
+deep frown darkening his face; but he was not taken by surprise.
+He had not had paternal affection change to the passion of a lover
+only to have it swept down like a half-opened flower. For the
+first time in his life Anson writhed in mental agony. He saw it
+all. It meant eternal
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span>
+separation. It meant a long ache in his heart which time could
+scarcely deaden into a tolerable pain.
+</p>
+<p>
+Gearheart rose and went out, unwilling to witness the agony of
+his friend and desiring himself to be alone. Anson sat motionless,
+with his hands covering his wet eyes, going over the past and
+trying to figure the future.
+</p>
+<p>
+He began in that storm: felt again the little form and face of the
+wailing child; thought of the frightful struggle against the wind
+and snow; of the touch of the little hands and feet; of her pretty
+prattle and gleeful laughter; then of her helpful and oddly-womanish
+ways as she grew older; of the fresh, clear voice calling him
+&#34;pap&#34; and ordering him about with a roguish air; of her
+beauty now, when for the first time he had begun to hope that she
+might be something dearer to him.
+</p>
+<p>
+How could he live without her? She had grown to be a part of him.
+He had long ceased to think of the future without her. As he sat
+so, the bedroom door
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span>
+opened, and Flaxen's tearful face looked out at him. He did not
+seem to hear, and she stole up to him and, putting her arm around
+his neck, laid her cheek on his head&mdash;a dear, familiar,
+childish gesture, used when she wished to propitiate him. He
+roused himself and put his arm about her waist, tried to speak, and
+finally said in a sorry attempt at humor, wofully belied by the
+tears on his face and the choking in his throat:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;You tell that feller&mdash;if he wants ye, to jest come
+an'&mdash;git ye&mdash;that's all!&#34;
+</p>
+
+
+<div>
+<a name="XII"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER XII.</a>
+</h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+FLAXEN SAYS GOOD-BYE.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+Elga went back to her friends, the Holts, in the course of a week.
+It hurt Anson terribly to see how eager she was to get away, and
+he grew a little bitter&mdash;a quality of temper Bert did not know
+he possessed.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What's that little whipper-snapper ever done for her, that she
+should leave us in the shade f'r him&mdash;f'rget us an' all we've
+done f'r her, an' climb out an' leave us just at his wink? It beats
+me, but it's all right. I don't blame her if she feels so&mdash;only
+it does seem queer, now don't it?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;It does, that's a fact&mdash;'specially the idea of leaving us
+for a thing like that.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+After arriving at a complete understanding
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span>
+of the matter, they said no more about it, but went to work to make
+everything as pleasant for Flaxen as possible. Again they rode down
+to the station with her, down past the wide, level fields of grain
+which the blazing sun had ripened prematurely. Again they parted from
+her at the train, but this time the girl was eager to go; and yet a
+peculiar feeling of sadness was mixed with her eagerness to be off.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Now, boys, you'll come down just as soon as you can this fall,
+won't you?&#34; she said, tearfully, as they stood in the aisle of
+the car. &#34;I wish't you'd sell out an' come back there an'
+live&mdash;I want you to.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, we'll try,&#34; Anson said, speaking with difficulty, the
+lump in his throat was so big and so dry.
+</p>
+<p>
+They rode home in silence again, but this time there was something
+darker and more sullen in their thoughts.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, Ans, that settles it. We're orphaned again, sure.&#34; He
+tried to give a little touch of jocoseness to it, but failed miserably.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span>
+&#34;Yes,&#34; Anson sighed deeply, &#34;we'll haf t' stand it, I s'pose,
+but it's tough.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+It was hard, but it would have been harder had not the rush and push of
+the harvest come upon them just as it did. They never spoke of the matter
+again, except as a matter settled, till they received a letter from the
+young people asking their consent to an early marriage.
+</p>
+<p>
+They both read the letter, and then Anson said, without raising his eyes:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, what d' you think of it?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, we might as well say yes,&#34; replied Bert irritably.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;But she's so young.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She seems so to us, but my mother was married at fifteen. If she's
+going to leave us, why, the sooner she has a home the better, I s'pose.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I s'pose you're right. But I'd rather have 'em put it off a year.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, a year wouldn't make any difference, and besides, you can't
+stop the thing now. She's out of our hands.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+They wrote giving their consent, and the wedding was fixed for late
+September
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span>
+to enable the fall's work to be put out of the way. For Elga's sake
+they bought new suits and hats before starting on their trip, though
+the harvest hardly justified any extravagance.
+</p>
+<p>
+Under other circumstances they would have rejoiced over the trip,
+for it was carrying them back to the gleam of leaf-dappled streams
+and waving trees and deep, cool forests. It made their nostrils
+dilate with pleasure as they whirled past fern-filled ravines, out
+of which the rivulets stole with stealthy circuits under mossy rocks.
+They were both forest-born, and it was like getting back home out of
+a strange desert country to come back into &#34;the States.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+St. Peter was a small town, situated on the steep bank of a broad
+river&mdash;that is to say, the business street was there, but the
+seminary and the residence part of the town was on a high and
+beautiful plateau. The country was well diversified with wood and
+prairie.
+</p>
+<p>
+Kendall and Elga met them at the station. Elga with flushed face was searching
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span>
+the car-windows with eager glance, when Anson appeared on the
+platform. The quick rush she made for him drove out all his
+bitterness. It made him understand that she loved him as if
+he were her father.
+</p>
+<p>
+She greeted Bert with a little less warmth, and chattering with
+joy she led the way up the street with Anson. She had a hundred
+things to tell him, and he listened in a daze. She seemed so
+different from his Flaxen. Bert walked behind with Kendall, who
+did not impress him favourably.
+</p>
+<p>
+He was a harmless little creature enough&mdash;small, a little
+inclined to bow-legs, and dudish in manner and dress. His hair
+was smoothed till it shone like ebony, and he wore the latest
+designs in standing collars, high on his slim neck. His hands
+were beautifully small and white and held several rings. He had
+the manners of a dry-goods clerk.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;He can't abuse her, that's one good thing about the whelp,&#34;
+thought Bert as he crushed the young bridegroom's hand
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span>
+in his brown palm, just to see him cringe.
+</p>
+<p>
+As for Kendall, he was a little afraid of these big fellows, so
+sullen and strong; and he tried his best to please them, chirping
+away brightly upon all kinds of things, ending up by telling them
+his business plans.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;We're one o' the best cities on the river. Couldn't be a better
+place fer a business stand, don't you see? And we're getting to the
+front with our wholesale department (of course&mdash;ha! ha! my wife's
+father ought to know how I'm getting on), so you're welcome to look
+over my books. Our trade is a cash trade so far as our retail trade
+goes, and we're mighty careful who gets tick from us on the wholesale
+trade. We're developing a great business.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert and Anson made no replies to his chatter, and he pattered along
+by Anson's side like a small boy, showing them the town and its beauties.
+Anson inwardly despised the little man, but held it a sort of treason
+to think so, and tried to look upon him kindly.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span>
+The wedding took place in the house of the Holt family, and was
+in charge of Miss Holt, Elga's teacher. Kendall's parents could
+not be present, which was a great disappointment to Elga, but 
+Will was secretly glad of it. His father was a very crusty and
+brutal old fellow, and he would not have fitted in smoothly beside
+Bert and Anson, who were as uncomfortable as men could well be.
+Both wished to avoid it, but dared not object.
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson stood bravely through the ceremony as the father of the bride,
+and bore himself with his usual massive, rude dignity. But he inwardly
+winced as he saw Elga, looking very stately and beautiful in her
+bride's veil, towering half a head above the sleek-haired little
+clerk. Not a few of the company smiled at the contrast, but she had no
+other feeling than perfect love and happiness.
+</p>
+<p>
+When the ceremony was over and Anson looked around for Bert, he was
+gone. He couldn't stand the pressure of the crowd and the whispered
+comments, and had slipped away early in the evening.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span>
+Among the presents which were laid on the table in the dining-room was
+a long envelope addressed to Mrs. Will Kendall. It contained a deed for
+a house and lot in one of the most desirable parts of the suburbs.
+It was from Gearheart, but there was no other written word. This gift
+meant the sale of his claim in Dakota.
+</p>
+<p>
+When Anson got back to the hotel that night, wondering and alarmed at
+his partner's absence, he found a letter from him. It was savage and 
+hopeless.
+</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p>
+This climate is getting too frigid for my lungs. I'm going to emigrate
+to California. I made a mistake: I ought to have gone in for stand-up
+collars, shiny hair, and bow-legs. You'd better skip back to Dakota
+and sell your claim. Keep my share of the stock and tools; it ain't
+worth bothering about. Don't try to live there alone, old man. If you 
+can't sell, marry. Don't let that girl break you all up too. We are all
+fools, but some can get over it quicker than others.
+</p>
+<p>
+If that little bow-legged thing gets under your feet or abuses her,
+jest get your toe under him and hoist him over into the alley.
+</p>
+<p class="no-space-bottom">
+Good-bye and good luck, old man.
+</p>
+<p class="no-space-top sig sc">
+Bert.
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span>
+And the next day the doubly bereaved man started on his lonely
+journey back to the Dakota claim, back to an empty house, with
+a gnawing pain in his heart and a constriction like an iron band
+about his throat; back to his broad fields to plod to and fro alone.
+</p>
+<p>
+As he began to realize it all and to think how terrible was this
+loss, he laid his head down on the car-seat before him and cried.
+His first great trial had come to him, and meeting it like a man,
+he must now weep like a woman.
+</p>
+
+<div>
+<a name="XIII"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER XIII.</a>
+</h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+FLAXEN'S GREAT NEED.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+Flaxen wrote occasionally, during the next year, letters all too
+short and too far between for the lonely man toiling away on his
+brown farm. These letters were very much alike, telling mainly of
+how happy she was, and of what she was going to do by and by, on
+Christmas or Thanksgiving. Once she sent a photograph of herself
+and husband, and Anson, after studying it for a long time, took a
+pair of shears and cut the husband off, and threw him into the fire.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;That fellow gives me the ague,&#34; he muttered.
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert did not write, and there was hardly a night that Ans lay down on
+his bed that he did not wonder where his chum was,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span>
+especially as the winter came on unusually severe, reminding him of
+that first winter in the Territory. Day after day he spent alone in
+his house, going out only to feed the cattle or to get the mail. The
+sad wind was always in his ears. But with the passage of time the
+pain in his heart lost its intensity.
+</p>
+<p>
+One day he got a letter from Flaxen that startled and puzzled him.
+It was like a cry for help, somehow.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Dear old pap, I wish you was here,&#34; and then in another place
+came the piteous cry, &#34;Oh, I wish I had some folks!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+All night long that cry rang in the man's head with a wailing, falling
+cadence like the note of a lost little prairie-chicken.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I wonder what that whelp has been doin' now. If he's begun to
+abuse her I'll wring his neck. She wants me an' da'sn't ask me to
+come. Poor chick, I'll be pap an' mam to ye, both,&#34; he said at
+last, with sudden resolution.
+</p>
+<p>
+The day after the receipt of this letter a telegram was handed to him
+at the post-office,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span>
+which he opened with trembling hands:
+</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p class=" no-space-bottom">
+<span class="sc">
+Anson Wood</span>: Your daughter is ill. Wants you. Come at once.
+</p>
+<p class="no-space-top sig sc">
+Dr. Dietrich.
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>
+He got into his wagon mechanically and lashed his horses into a run.
+He must get home and arrange about his stock and catch the seven
+o'clock train. His mind ran the round of the possibilities in the
+case until it ached with the hopeless fatigue of it. When he got
+upon the train for an all-night ride, he looked like a man suffering
+some great physical pain.
+</p>
+<p>
+He sat there all night in a common seat&mdash;he could not afford to
+pay for a sleeper; sat and suffered the honest torture that can come
+to a man&mdash;to sit and think the same dread, apprehensive wondering
+thoughts; to strain at the seat as if to push the train faster, and to
+ache with the desire to fly like the eagle. He tried to be patient,
+but he could only grow numb with the effort.
+</p>
+<p>
+A glorious winter sun was beginning to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span>
+light up the frost foliage of the maples lining St. Peter's streets
+when Anson, stiff with cold and haggard with a night of sleepless
+riding, sprang off the train and looked about him. The beauty of
+the morning made itself felt even through his care. These rows of
+resplendent maples, heavy with iridescent frost, were like
+fairy-land to him, fresh from the treeless prairie. As he walked on
+under them, showers of powdered rubies and diamonds fell down upon
+him; the colonnades seemed like those leading to some enchanted
+palace, such as he had read of in boyhood. Every shrub in the
+yards was similarly decked, and the snug cottages were like the
+little house which he had once seen at the foot of the Christmas-tree
+in a German church years before.
+</p>
+<p>
+Feet crunched along cheerily on the sidewalks, bells of dray-teams
+were beginning to sound, and workmen to whistle.
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson was met at the door by a hard-faced, middle-aged woman.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;How's my girl?&#34; he asked.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, she's nicely. Walk in.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span>
+&#34;Can I see her now?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She's sleepin'; I guess you better wait a little while till
+after breakfast.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Where's Kendall?&#34; was his next question.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I d'n' know. Hain't seen 'im sence yesterday. He don't amount
+to much, anyway, and in these cases there ain't no dependin' on a
+boy like that. It's nachel fer girls to call on their mothers an'
+fathers in such cases.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson was about to ask her what the trouble was with his girl, when
+she turned away. She could not be dangerously ill; anyway, there was
+comfort in that.
+</p>
+<p>
+After he had eaten a slight breakfast of bad coffee and yellow biscuits,
+Mrs. Stickney came back.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She's awake an' wants to see yeh. Now don't get excited. She
+ain't dangerous.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson was alarmed and puzzled at her manner. Her smile mystified him.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What is the matter?&#34; he demanded.
+</p>
+<p>
+Her reply was common enough, but it stopped him with his foot on
+the threshold. 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span>
+He understood at last. The majesty and mystery of birth was like a light
+in his face, and dazzled him. He was awed and exalted at the same time.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Open the door; I want to see her,&#34; he said in a new tone.
+</p>
+<p>
+As they entered the darkened chamber he heard his girl's eager cry.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Is that you, pap?&#34; wailed her faint, sweet voice.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yes: it's me, Flaxie.&#34; He crossed the room and knelt by
+the bed. She flung her arms round his neck.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;O pappy! pappy! I wanted you. Oh, my poor mamma! O pap, I don't
+like her,&#34; she whispered, indicating the nurse with her eyes.
+&#34;O pap, I hate to think of mother lying there in the snow&mdash;an'
+Bert&mdash;where is Bert, pap? Perhaps he's in the blizzard too&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She's a little flighty,&#34; said the nurse in her matter-of-fact tone.
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson groaned as he patted the pale cheek of the sufferer.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Don't worry, Flaxie; Bert's all right. He'll come home soon.
+Why don't you
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span>
+send for the doctor?&#34; he said to the nurse.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;He'll be here soon. Don't worry over that,&#34; indicating
+Flaxen, who was whispering to herself. &#34;They of'n do that.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Do you s'pose I can find my folks if I go back to Norway?&#34;
+she said to Anson a little after.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yes: I guess so, little one. When you get well, we'll try an'
+see.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Perhaps if I found my aunt she'd look like mamma, an' I'd know then
+how mamma looked, wouldn't I? Perhaps if the wheat is good this year we
+can go back an' find her, can't we?&#34; Then her words melted into a
+moan of physical pain, and the nurse said:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Now I guess you'd better go an' see if you can't hurry the doctor up.
+Yes: now he's got to go,&#34; she went on to Flaxen, drowning out her
+voice and putting her imploring hands back upon the bed.
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson saw it all now. In her fear and pain she had turned to him&mdash;poor,
+motherless little bird&mdash;forgetting her boy-husband or feeling the need
+of a broader
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span>
+breast and stronger hand. It was a beautiful trust, and as the great,
+shaggy man went out into the morning he was exalted by the thought.
+&#34;My little babe&mdash;my Flaxen!&#34; he said with unutterable love 
+and pity.
+</p>
+<p>
+Again his mind ran over the line of his life&mdash;the cabin, the dead
+woman, the baby face nestling at his throat, the girl coming to him
+with her trials and triumphs. His heart swelled so that he could not
+have spoken, but deep in his throat he muttered a dumb prayer. And how
+he suffered that day, hearing her babble mixed with moanings every
+time the door opened. Once the doctor said:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;It's no use for you to stand here, Wood. It only makes you suffer
+and don't help her a particle.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;It <em>seems</em> 's if it helped her, an' so&mdash;I guess I'll
+stay. She may call for me, an' if she does,&#34; he said resolutely,
+&#34;I'm goin' in, doctor. How is she now?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She's slightly delirious now, but still she knows you're here.
+She now and then speaks of you, but doesn't call for you.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span>
+But she did call for him, and he went in, and kneeling by her side he
+talked to her and held her hands, stroked her hair and soothed her as
+he used to when a little child unable to speak save in her pretty
+Norseland tongue, and at last when opiates were given, and he rose and
+staggered from the room, it seemed as though he had lived years.
+</p>
+<p>
+So weary was he that, when the doctor came out and said, &#34;You may
+go to sleep now,&#34; he dropped heavily on a lounge and fell asleep
+almost with the motion. Even the preparations for breakfast made by
+the hoarse-voiced servant-girl did not wake him, but the drawling,
+nasal tone of Kendall did. He sat up and looked at the oily little
+clerk. It was after seven o'clock.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Hello!&#34; said Kendall, &#34;when d' you get in?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Shortly after you went out,&#34; said Anson in reply.
+</p>
+<p>
+Kendall felt the rebuke, and as he twisted his cuffs into place said,
+&#34;Well, y' see I couldn't do no good&mdash;a man ain't
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span>
+any good in such cases, anyway&mdash;so I just thought I'd run down
+to St. Paul an' do a little buying.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson turned away and went into the kitchen to wash his face and to
+comb his hair, glad to get rid of the sight of Kendall for a moment.
+Mrs. Stickney was toasting some bread.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She's awake an' wants to see you when you woke up. It's a
+girl&mdash;thought I'd tell ye&mdash;yes: she's comfortable. Say,
+'tween you an' me, a man 'at 'u'd run off&mdash;waal&mdash;&#34;
+she ended, expressively glancing at Kendall.
+</p>
+<p>
+Once more Anson caught his breath as he entered the darkened chamber.
+He was a rough, untaught man, but there was something in him that
+made that room holy and mysterious. But the figure on the bed was
+tranquil now, and the voice, though weak and low, was Flaxen's own.
+</p>
+<p>
+He stopped as his eyes fell on her. She was no longer a girl. The
+majesty of maternity was on her pale face and in her great eyes. 
+A faint, expectant smile
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span>
+was on her lips; her eyes were fixed on his face as she drew the cover
+from the little red, weirdly-wrinkled face at her throat.
+</p>
+<p>
+Before he could speak, and while he was looking down at the mite of
+humanity, Kendall stepped into the room.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Hello, Ellie! How are&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+A singular revulsion came out on her face. She turned to Anson.
+&#34;Make him go 'way; I don't want him.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;All right,&#34; said Kendall cheerfully, glad to escape.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Isn't she beautiful?&#34; the mother whispered. &#34;Does she
+look like me?&#34; she asked artlessly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;She's beautiful to me because she's yours, Flaxie,&#34; replied
+Anson, with a delicacy all the more striking because of the contrast
+with his great frame and hard, rough hands. &#34;But there, my girl,
+go to sleep like baby, an' don't worry any more.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;You ain't goin' away while I'm sick?&#34; she asked, following
+him with her eyes, unnaturally large.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span>
+&#34;I won't never go 'way again if you don't want me to,&#34;
+he replied.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, I'm so glad!&#34; she sighed restfully.
+</p>
+<p>
+He was turning to go when she wailed reproachfully, 
+&#34;Pap, you didn't kiss baby!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson turned and came back. &#34;She's sleepin', an'
+I thought it wasn't right to kiss a girl without she
+said so.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+This made Flaxen smile, and Anson went out with a lighter
+heart than he had had for two years. Kendall met him
+utside and said confidentially:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I don't s'pose it was just the thing for me to do;
+but&mdash;confound it! I never could stand a sick-room,
+anyway. I couldn't do any good, anyway&mdash;just been
+in the way. She'll get over her mad in a few days.
+Think so?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+But she did not. Her singular and sudden dislike of him continued,
+and though she passively submitted to his being in the room, she
+would not speak a word to him nor look at him as long as she could
+avoid it; and when he approached
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span>
+the baby or took it in his arms a jealous frown came on her face.
+</p>
+<p>
+As for Anson, he grew to hate the sound of that little chuckle
+of Kendall's; the part in the man's hair and the hang of his
+cut-away coat made him angry. The trim legs, a little bowed,
+the big cuffs hiding the small, cold hands, and the peculiar
+set of his faultless collar, grew daily more insupportable.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Say, looky here, Kendall,&#34; said he in desperation one
+day, &#34;I wish you didn't like me quite so well. We don't
+hitch first rate&mdash;at least, I don't. Seems to me you're
+neglectin' your business too much.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+He was going to tell him to keep away, but he relented as he
+looked down at the harmless little man, with his thin, boyish face.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Oh, my business is all right. Gregory looks after it mostly,
+anyhow. But, I say, if you wanted to go into the dray business,
+there's a first-class opening now. Clark wants to sell.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+It ended in Anson seeing Clark and buying out his line of drays,
+turning in 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span>
+his claim toward the payment&mdash;a transaction which made
+Flaxen laugh for joy, for she had not felt certain before
+that he would remain in St. Peter. She was getting about the
+house now, looking very wifely in her long, warm wraps, her
+slow motions contrasting strongly with the old restless,
+springing steps Anson remembered so well.
+</p>
+<p>
+Night after night, as he sat beside the fire and held baby,
+listening to the changed voice of his girl and watching the
+grave, new expressions of her face, the tooth of time took
+hold upon him powerfully, and he would feel his shaggy head
+and think, &#34;I'll soon be gray, soon be gray!&#34; while
+the little one cooed, and sprang, and pulled at his beard,
+which had grown long again and had white hairs in it.
+</p>
+<p>
+Kendall spent most of his time at the store, or downtown somewhere,
+and so all of those long, delicious winter evenings were Flaxen's
+and Anson's. And his enjoyment of them was pathetic. The cheerful
+little sitting-room, the open 
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span>
+grate, the gracious, ever-growing womanliness of Elga, the pressure
+of soft little limbs, and the babble of a liquid baby language, were
+like the charm of an unexpected Indian-summer day between two gray
+November storms.
+</p>
+
+<div>
+<a name="XIV"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER XIV.</a>
+</h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+KENDALL STEPS OUT.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+One night Kendall did not come home, but as he had been talking of
+going to St. Paul they were not disturbed about it&mdash;in fact,
+they both took but very mild interest in his coming or going. In
+the morning, while they were at breakfast, there came a knock at the door.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Come in,&#34; shouted Anson in the Western way, not rising.
+</p>
+<p>
+McDaniel, the county sheriff, entered.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Where's Kendall?&#34; he asked without ceremony.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I don't know; went away yesterday.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+The sheriff looked at his companion. &#34;Skipped between two days.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What's up?&#34; asked Anson, while Elga
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span>
+stared and baby reached slyly for the sugar-bowl.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Nothing,&#34; the sheriff said in a tone which meant everything.
+&#34;Come out here,&#34; he said to Anson. Anson went out with him,
+and he told him that Kendall had purchased goods on credit and
+gambled the money away, and was ruined.
+</p>
+<p>
+His stock of goods was seized, and the house was saved only through
+the firmness of Anson.
+</p>
+<p>
+Flaxen shut her lips and said nothing, and he could not read her
+silence. One day she came to him with a letter.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Read that!&#34; she exclaimed scornfully. He saw that it was
+dated from Eau Claire, Wisconsin:
+</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p class="no-space-bottom noindent">
+<span class="sc">
+Dear Darling Wife</span>: I'm all right here with father. It was
+all Gregory's fault&mdash;he was always betting on something.
+I'm coming back as soon as the old man can raise the money to pay
+Fitch. Don't worry about me. They can't take the house, anyway.
+You might rent the house, sell the furniture on the sly, and come
+back here. The old man will give me another show. I don't owe more
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span>
+than a thousand dollars, anyway. Write soon. Your loving
+</p>
+<p class="no-space-top sig sc">
+Will.
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>
+She did not need to say what she thought of the advice the little villain gave.
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson went quietly on with his work, making a living for himself and
+Flaxen and baby. It never occurred to either of them that any other
+arrangement was necessary. Kendall wrote once or twice a month for
+a while, saying each time, &#34;I'll come back and settle up,&#34;
+and asking her to come to him; but she did not reply, and never
+referred to him outside her home, and when others inquired after him
+she replied evasively:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;He's in Wisconsin somewhere; I don't know where.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Is he coming back?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I don't know.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+She often spoke of Bert, and complained of his silence. Once she said:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I guess he's forgot us, pap.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I guess not. More likely he's thinkin' we've fergot him.
+He'll turn up some
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span>
+bright mornin' with a pocketful o' rocks. He ain't no spring chicken,
+Bert ain't.&#34; (&#34;All the same, I wish't he'd write,&#34; Anson
+said to himself.)
+</p>
+<hr class="break" />
+<p>
+The sad death of Kendall came to them without much disturbing force.
+He had been out of their lives so long that when Anson came in with
+the paper and letter telling of the accident, and with his instinctive
+delicacy left her alone to read the news, Flaxen was awed and saddened,
+but had little sense of personal pain and loss.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Young Kendall,&#34; the newspaper went on under its scare-heads,
+&#34;was on a visit to La Crosse, and while skating with a party on
+the bayou, where the La Crosse River empties into the Father of Waters,
+skated into an air-hole. The two young ladies with him were rescued,
+but the fated man was swept under the ice. He was the son,&#34; etc.
+</p>
+<p>
+When Anson came back Flaxen sat with the letter in her hand and the
+paper on her lap. She was meditating deeply, but
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span>
+what was in her mind Anson never knew. She had grown more and more
+reticent of late. She sighed, rose, and resumed her evening tasks.
+</p>
+
+<div>
+<a name="XV"></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span>
+<h2><a href="#contents">CHAPTER XV.</a>
+</h2>
+</div>
+<p class="head">
+BERT COMES BACK.
+</p>
+<p class="noindent">
+One raw March evening, when the wind was roaring among the gray
+branches of the maples like a lion in wrath, some one knocked
+on the door.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Come in!&#34; shouted Anson, who was giving baby her regular
+ride on his boots.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Come in!&#34; added Flaxen.
+</p>
+<p>
+Gearheart walked in slowly, closed the door behind his back,
+and stood devouring the cheerful scene. He was poorly dressed
+and wore a wide, limp hat; they did not know him till he bared
+his head.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Bert!&#34; yelled Anson, tossing the baby to his shoulder
+and leaping toward his chum, tramping and shaking and clapping
+like a madman, scaring the child.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;My gosh-all-hemlock! I'm glad to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span>
+see ye! Gimme that paw again. Come to the fire. This is Flaxie&#34;
+(as though he had not had his eyes on her face all the time).
+&#34;Be'n sick?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert's hollow cough prompted this question.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Yes. Had some kind of a fever down in Arizony. Oh, I'm all right
+now,&#34; he added in reply to an anxious look from Flaxen.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;An' this is&mdash;&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Baby&mdash;Elsie,&#34; she replied, putting a finishing touch
+to the little one's dress, mother-like.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Where's he?&#34; he asked a little later.
+</p>
+<p>
+Anson replied with a little gesture, which silenced Bert at the same
+time that it explained. And when Flaxen was busy a few moments later,
+Anson said:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Gone up the spout.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+At the table they grew quite gay, talking over old times, and Bert's
+pale face grew rosier, catching a reflection of the happy faces opposite.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Say, Bert, do you remember the time you threw that pan o'
+biscuits I made
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span>
+out into the grass an' killed every dog in the township?&#34;
+Then they roared.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I remember your flapjacks that always split open in the middle,
+an' no amount o' heat could cook 'em inside,&#34; Bert replied.
+</p>
+<p>
+Then they grew sober again when Bert said with a pensive cadence:
+&#34;Well, I tell you, those were days of hard work; but many's
+the time I've looked back at 'em these last three years, wishin'
+they'd never ended an' that we'd never got scattered.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;We won't be again, will we, pap?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Not if I can help it,&#34; Anson replied.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;But how are you, Bert? Rich?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Bert put his hand into his pocket and laid a handful of small coins on the table.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;That's the size o' my pile&mdash;four dollars,&#34; he said,
+smiling faintly; &#34;the whole o' my three years' work.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Well, never mind, ol' man. I've got a chance fer yeh.
+Still an ol' bach?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Still an old bach.&#34; He looked at Flaxen, irresistibly
+drawn to her face.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span>
+She dropped her eyes; she could not have told why.
+</p>
+<p>
+And so &#34;Wood &#38; Gearheart&#34; was painted on the sides of
+the drays, and they all continued to live in the little yellow
+cottage, enjoying life much more than the men, at least, had ever
+dared to hope; and little Elsie grew to be a &#34;great girl,&#34;
+and a nuisance with her desire to &#34;yide&#34; with &#34;g'an'pap.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+There is no spot more delightful in early April than the sunny side
+of the barn, and Ans and Bert felt this, though they did not say it.
+The eaves were dripping, the doves cooing, the hens singing their
+harsh-throated, weirdly suggestive songs, and the thrilling warmth
+and vitality of the sun and wind of spring made the great, rude
+fellows shudder with a strange delight. Anson held out his palm to
+catch the sunshine in it, took off his hat to feel the wind, and mused:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;This is a great world&mdash;and a great day. I wish't it was
+always spring.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Say,&#34; began Bert abruptly, &#34;it seems
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span>
+pretty well understood that you're her father&mdash;but where do I come in?&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;You ought to be her husband.&#34; A light leaped into the younger
+man's face. &#34;But go slow,&#34; Anson went on gravely. &#34;This
+package is marked 'Glass; handle with care.'&#34;
+</p>
+
+<p class="quad-space-top ctr sc">
+The End.
+</p>
+
+
+<div>
+		  <a name="Publications"></a>
+			<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_DA1" id="Page_DA1">DA1</a></span>
+      <br /> <br /> <br />
+</div>
+<h2>
+    <a href="#contents">D. Appleton &amp; Co's Publications.</a>
+</h2>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="box">
+<h3>Appleton's Summer Series, 1891</h3>
+
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+TOURMALIN'S TIME CHEQUES.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">F. Anstey</span>, author of "Vice Vers&acirc;,"
+"The Giant's Robe," etc. 
+</p>
+<p>
+"Its author has struck another rich vein of whimsicality and 
+humor."&mdash;<i>San Francisco Argonaut.</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+"His special gift is in making the impossible appear 
+probable."&mdash;<i>St. Louis Republic</i>
+</p>
+<p> 
+"A curious conceit and very entertaining story."&mdash;<i>Boston Advertiser</i>.
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Each cheque is good for several laughs."&mdash;<i>New York Herald</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>
+"Certainly one of the most diverting books of the 
+season."&mdash;<i>Brooklyn Times</i>.
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Sets a handsome example for the 'Summer Series,' with its 
+neat and portable style of half cloth binding and good paper and 
+typography."&mdash;<i>Brooklyn Eagle</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+FROM SHADOW TO SUNLIGHT.</big>
+</i>
+By the <span class="sc">Marquise of Lorne</span>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"In these days of princely criticism&mdash;that is to say, criticism of
+princes&mdash;it is refreshing to meet a really good bit of aristocratic
+literary work, albeit the author is only a prince-in-law.&hellip; 
+The theme chosen by the Marquis makes his story attractive to 
+Americans."&mdash;<i>Chicago Tribune</i>.
+</p>
+<p> 
+"A charming book."&mdash;<i>Cincinnati Enquirer</i>.
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+ADOPTING AN ABANDONED FARM.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Kate Sanborn</span>. 
+</p> 
+<p> 
+"It may be mythical, but it reads like a true narrative taken from a 
+strong memory that has been re-enforced by a diary and corrected by the 
+parish register. It is not only as natural as life, but, as Josh Billings
+used to say, 'even more so.'"&mdash;<i>New York Journal of Commerce</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"A sunny, pungent, humorous sketch.&hellip; A bright, amusing book, 
+which is thoughtful as well as amusing, and may stimulate, somewhere, 
+thinking that shall bear fruit in some really effective remedial 
+action."&mdash;<i>Chicago Times</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+ON THE LAKE OF LUCERNE, AND OTHER STORIES.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Beatrice Whitby</span>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Six short stories carefully and conscientiously finished, and told with 
+the graceful ease of the practiced <i>raconteur</i>."&mdash;<i>Literary
+Digest</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The stories are pleasantly told in light and delicate vein, and are sure 
+to be acceptable to the friends Miss Whitby has already made on this side 
+of the Atlantic."&mdash;<i>Philadelphia Bulletin</i>.
+</p>
+ <p> 
+"Very dainty, not only in mechanical workmanship but in matter and 
+manner."&mdash;<i>Boston Advertiser</i>. 
+</p>
+<hr />
+<p class="noindent">
+Each, 16mo, half cloth, with specially designed cover, 50 cents. 
+</p>
+<hr  />
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_DA2" id="Page_DA2">DA2</a></span>
+<h3>Recent Issues in Appletons' Town and Country Library</h3> 
+
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+STEPHEN ELLICOTT'S DAUGHTER.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Mrs. J. H. Needell</span>, 
+author of "The Story of Philip Methuen." 
+12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"I am desirous to bear my humble testimony to the great ability and 
+high aim of the work."&mdash;Hon. <span class="sc">W. E. Gladstone</span>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"From first to last an exceptionally strong and beautiful 
+story."&mdash;<i>London Spectator</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+ONE REASON WHY.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Beatrice Whitby</span>, 
+author of "The Awakening of Mary Fenwick," 
+"Part of the Property," etc. 
+12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"A remarkably well-written story.&hellip; The author makes her people 
+speak the language of every-day life, and a vigorous and attractive 
+realism pervades the book, which provides excellent entertainment
+from beginning to 
+end."&mdash;<i>Boston Saturday Evening Gazette</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+THE TRAGEDY OF IDA NOBLE.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">W. Clark Russell</span>, 
+author of "The Wreck of the Grosvenor," etc. 
+12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The best sea-story since 'The Wreck of the Grosvenor.' It shows a 
+determination to abandon the well-worn tracks of fiction and to evolve
+a new and striking plot.&hellip; There is no sign of exhausted
+imagination in this strong tale."&mdash;<i>Philadelphia Public
+Ledger.</i> 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+THE JOHNSTOWN STAGE AND OTHER STORIES.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Robert H. Fletcher</span>, 
+author of "A Blind Bargain," etc. 
+12mo. Paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.
+</p>
+<p> 
+"A collection of as charming short stories as one could wish to find, 
+most of them Western in scene."&mdash;<i>San Francisco 
+Argonaut</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Nine real stories, not studies of character, but narratives of 
+interest &hellip; vivaciously and pleasantly
+told."&mdash;<i>Boston Pilot</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+A WIDOWER INDEED.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Rhoda Broughton</span> and  
+<span class="sc">Elizabeth Bisland.</span>
+12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Done with masterly skill. The whole work is strong and well worth 
+reading."&mdash;<i>New York Journal of Commerce.</i> 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The story is written with great strength, and possesses a 
+powerful interest that never flags."&mdash;<i>Boston Home
+Journal</i>. 
+</p>
+
+<p class="book-info">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_DA3" id="Page_DA3">DA3</a></span>
+<i>
+<big>
+THE FLIGHT OF THE SHADOW.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">George MacDonald</span>, 
+author of "Malcolm," "Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood," etc.
+12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"It is extremely entertaining, contains a charming love-story, 
+and is beautifully written, like everything from Mr. MacDonald's 
+pen."&mdash;<i>St. Paul Pioneer-Press</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+LOVE OR MONEY.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Katharine Lee</span>, 
+author of "A Western Wildflower," "In London Town," etc. 
+12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"In point of cleverness this novel is quite up to the standard
+of the excellent Town and Country Library in which it appears. Most 
+of the characters are well drawn, and there are some singularly
+strong scenes in the book."&mdash;<i>Charleston News and
+Courier</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+NOT ALL IN VAIN.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Ada Cambridge</span>, 
+author of "The Three Miss Kings," "My Guardian," etc. 
+12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.  
+</p>
+<p> 
+"A worthy companion to the best of the author's former efforts, 
+and in some respects superior to any of them."&mdash;<i>Detroit
+Free Press</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"A better story has not been published in many 
+moons."&mdash;<i>Philadelphia Inquirer</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+IT HAPPENED YESTERDAY.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Frederick Marshall</span>, 
+author of "Claire Brandon." 
+12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"An odd, fantastic tale, whose controlling agency is an occult
+power which the world thus far has doubted and wondered at alternately
+rather than studied."&mdash;<i>Chicago Times</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"A psychological story of very powerful 
+interest"&mdash;<i>Boston Home Journal</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+MY GUARDIAN.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Ada Cambridge</span>, 
+author of "The Three Miss Kings," "Not All in Vain," etc. 
+12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+</p>
+<p> 
+"A story which will, from first to last, enlist the sympathies of the 
+reader by its simplicity of style and fresh, genuine feeling.&hellip; 
+The author is <i>au fait</i> at the delineation of 
+character.&mdash;<i>Boston Transcript</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The <i>d&eacute;no&ucirc;ment</i> is all that the most ardent 
+romance-reader could desire."&mdash;<i>Chicago Evening Journal.</i> 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_DA4" id="Page_DA4">DA4</a></span>
+<i>
+<big>
+ELINE VERE.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Louis Couperus.</span> 
+Translated from the Dutch by <span class="sc">J. T. Grein</span>. 
+With an Introduction by <span class="sc">Edmund Gosse</span>. 
+Holland Fiction Series. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The established authorities in art and literature retain their
+exclusive place in dictionaries and hand-books long after the claim
+of their juniors to be observed with attention has been practically
+conceded at home. For this reason, partly, and partly also because
+the mental life of Holland receives little attention in this country, 
+no account has yet been taken of the revolution in Dutch taste which
+has occupied the last six or seven yean. I believe that the present
+occasion is the first on which it has been brought to the notice of
+any English-speaking public.&hellip; 'Eline Vere' is an admirable 
+performance."&mdash;<span class="sc">Edmund Gosse</span>, 
+<i>in Introduction</i>.
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Most careful in its details of description, most picturesque in its
+coloring."&mdash;<i>Boston Post</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"A vivacious and skillful performance, giving an evidently faithful 
+picture of society, and evincing the art of a true 
+story-teller."&mdash;<i>Philadelphia Telegraph</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Those who associate Dutch characters and Dutch thought with ideas 
+of the purely phlegmatic, will read with astonishment and pleasure
+the oft-times stirring and passionate sentences of this 
+novel."&mdash;<i>Public Opinion</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The <i>d&eacute;no&ucirc;ment</i> is tragical, thrilling, and
+picturesque."&mdash;<i>New York World</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"If modern Dutch literature has other books as good as this to offer, 
+we hope that they will soon find a 
+translator."&mdash;<i>Chicago Evening Journal</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+A PURITAN PAGAN.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Julien Gordon,</span> 
+author 
+of "A Diplomat's Diary," etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger grows stronger as she writes.&hellip; The 
+lines in her story are boldly and vigorously 
+etched."&mdash;<i>New York Times</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The author's recent books have made for her a secure place in current 
+literature, where she can stand fast.&hellip; Her latest production, 
+'A Puritan Pagan,' is an eminently clever story, in the best sense of
+the word clever."&mdash;<i>Philadelphia Telegraph</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Has already made its mark as a popular story, and will have an
+abundance of readers.&hellip; It contains some useful lessons that
+will repay the thoughtful study of persons of both 
+sexes."&mdash;<i>New York Journal of Commerce</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"This brilliant novel will without doubt add to the repute of the writer 
+who chooses to be known as Julien Gordon.&hellip; The ethical purpose 
+of the author is kept fully in evidence through a series of intensely
+interesting situations."&mdash;<i>Boston Beacon</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"It is obvious that the author is thoroughly at home in illustrating the 
+manner and the sentiment of the best society of both America and 
+Europe."&mdash;<i>Chicago Times.</i> 
+</p>
+
+<p class="book-info">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_DA5" id="Page_DA5">DA5</a></span>
+<i>
+<big>
+THE FAITH DOCTOR.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Edward Eggleston,</span> 
+author of "The Hoosier Schoolmaster," "The Circuit Rider," etc. 
+12mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"An excellent piece of work.&hellip; With each new novel the author of 
+'The Hoosier Schoolmaster' enlarges his audience, and surprises old
+friends  by reserve forces unsuspected. Sterling integrity of character
+and high moral motives illuminate Dr. Eggleston's fiction, and assure
+its place in the literature of America which is to stand as a worthy
+reflex of the best thoughts of this age."&mdash;<i>New York World</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"One of <em>the</em> novels of the decade."&mdash;<i>Rochester Union and 
+Advertiser</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"It is extremely fortunate that the fine subject indicated in the title 
+should have fallen into such competent hands."&mdash;<i>Pittsburgh 
+Chronicle-Telegraph</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Much skill is shown by the author in making these 'fads' the basis of 
+a novel of great interest.&hellip; One who tries to keep in the current
+of good novel-reading must certainly find time to read 'The Faith 
+Doctor.'"&mdash;<i>Buffalo Commercial</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"A vivid and life-like transcript from several phases of society. Devoid 
+of literary affectation and pretense, it is a wholesome American novel
+well worthy of the popularity which it has won."&mdash;<i>Philadelphia
+Inquirer</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The author of 'The Hoosier Schoolmaster' has enhanced his reputation
+by this beautiful and touching study of the character of a girl to
+love whom proved a liberal education to both of her 
+admirers."&mdash;<i>London Athen&aelig;um</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+AN UTTER FAILURE.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Miriam Coles Harris,</span> 
+author of "Rutledge." 
+12mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
+</p>
+<p>
+"A story with an elaborate plot, worked out with great cleverness and 
+with the skill of an experienced artist in fiction. The interest is
+strong and at times very dramatic.&hellip; Those who were attracted
+by 'Rutledge' will give hearty welcome to this story, and find it
+fully as enjoyable as that once immensely popular novel."&mdash;<i>Boston
+Saturday Evening Gazette</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>
+"The pathos of this tale is profound, the movement highly dramatic, the 
+moral elevating."&mdash;<i>New York World</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>
+"In this new story the author has done some of the best work that she 
+has ever given to the public, and it will easily class among the most
+meritorious and most original novels of the year."&mdash;<i>Boston Home
+Journal</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>
+"The author of 'Rutledge' does not often send out a new volume, but 
+when she does it is always a literary event.&hellip; Her previous books
+were sketchy and slight when compared with the finished and trained
+power evidenced in 'An Utter Failure.'"&mdash;<i>New Haven Palladium</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>
+"Exhibits the same literary excellence that made the success of the 
+author's first book."&mdash;<i>San Francisco Argonaut</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>
+"American girls with a craving for titled husbands will find instructive 
+reading in this story."&mdash;<i>Boston Traveller</i>. 
+</p>
+
+
+<p class="book-info">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_DA6" id="Page_DA6">DA6</a></span>
+<i>
+<big>
+ON THE PLANTATION.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Joel Chandler Harris,</span>
+author of "Uncle Remus." 
+With 23 Illustrations by <span class="sc">E. W. Kemble</span>, 
+and Portrait of the Author. 
+12mo. Cloth, $1.50.  
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The book is in the characteristic vein which has made the author so 
+famous and popular as an interpreter of plantation 
+character."&mdash;<i>Rochester Union and Advertiser</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Those who never tire of Uncle Remus and his stories&mdash;with whom we 
+would be accounted&mdash;will delight in Joe Maxwell and his
+exploits."&mdash;<i>London Saturday Review</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Altogether a most charming book."&mdash;<i>Chicago Times</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Really a valuable, if modest, contribution to the history of the civil 
+war within the Confederate lines, particularly on the eve of the 
+catastrophe. Two or three new animal fables are introduced with effect; 
+but the history of the plantation, the printing-office, the black 
+runaways, and white deserters, of whom the impending break-up made 
+the community tolerant, the coon and fox hunting, forms the serious
+purpose of the book, and holds the reader's interest from beginning
+to end."&mdash;<i>New York Evening Post</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_DA7" id="Page_DA7">DA7</a></span>
+<i>
+<big>UNCLE REMUS:</big> His Songs and his Sayings.</i> 
+The Folk-lore of the Old Plantation.
+By <span class="sc">Joel Chandler Harris.</span>
+Illustrated from Drawings by <span class="sc">F. S. Church</span> 
+and <span class="sc">J. H. Moser</span>, of Georgia. 
+12mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The idea of preserving and publishing these legends, in the form in 
+which the old plantation negroes actually tell them, is altogether one of the 
+happiest literary conceptions of the day. And very admirably is the work 
+done.&hellip; In such touches lies the charm of this fascinating little
+volume of legends, which deserves to be placed on a level with <i>Reincke
+Fuchs</i> for its quaint humor, without reference to the ethnological
+interest possessed by these stories, as indicating, perhaps, a common
+origin for very widely severed races."&mdash;<i>London Spectator</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"We are just discovering what admirable literary material there is at 
+home, what a great mine there is to explore, and how quaint and peculiar 
+is the material which can be dug up. Mr. Harris's book may be looked on 
+in a double light&mdash;either as a pleasant volume recounting the
+stories told by a typical old colored man to a child, or as a valuable
+contribution to our somewhat meager folk-lore.&hellip; To Northern
+readers the story of Brer (Brother&mdash;Brudder) Rabbit may be novel. To
+those familiar with plantation life, who have listened to these quaint
+old stories, who have still tender reminiscences of some good old mauma
+who told these wondrous adventures to them when they were children,
+Brer Rabbit, the Tar Baby, and Brer Fox come back again with all the
+past pleasures of younger days."&mdash;<i>New York Times</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Uncle Remus's sayings on current happenings are very shrewd and 
+bright, and the plantation and revival songs are choice specimens
+of their sort."&mdash;<i>Boston Journal</i>. 
+</p>
+
+<p class="book-info">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_DA8" id="Page_DA8">DA8</a></span>
+<i>
+<big>
+THE LAST WORDS OF THOMAS CARLYLE.</big> 
+</i>
+Including <i>Wotton Reinfred</i>, Carlyle's only essay in 
+fiction; the <i>Excursion (Futile Enough) to Paris</i>; and 
+letters from Thomas Carlyle, also letters from Mrs. 
+Carlyle, to a personal friend. With Portrait. 
+12mo. Cloth, gilt top, $1.75.
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The interest of 'Wotton Reinfred' to me is considerable, from the 
+sketches which it contains of particular men and women, most of whom
+I knew and could, if necessary, identify. The story, too, is taken
+generally from real life, and perhaps Carlyle did not finish it, from
+the sense that it could not be published while the persons and things
+could be recognized. That objection to the publication no longer exists.
+Eveybody is dead whose likenesses have been drawn, and the incidents
+stated have long been 
+forgotten."&mdash;<span class="sc">James Anthony Froude</span>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"'Wotton Reinfred' is interesting as a historical document. It gives 
+Carlyle before he had adopted his peculiar manner, and yet there are some 
+characteristic bits&mdash;especially at the beginning&mdash;in the Sartor 
+Resartus vein. I take it that these are reminiscences of Irving and of the 
+Thackeray circle, and there is a curious portrait of Coleridge, not very 
+thinly veiled.  There is enough autobiography, too, of interest in its
+way."&mdash;<span class="sc">Leslie Stephen</span>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"No complete edition of the Sage of Chelsea will be able to ignore these
+manuscripts."&mdash;<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i><big>MEN, MINES, AND ANIMALS IN SOUTH AFRICA.</big></i>
+By <span class="sc">Lord Randolph S. Churchill.</span>
+With Portrait, Sixty-five Illustrations, and a Map. 
+8vo. 337 pages. Cloth, $5.00. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The subject-matter of the book is of unsurpassed interest to all who 
+either travel in new countries, to see for themselves the new
+civilizations, or follow closely the experiences of such travelers. 
+And Lord Randolph's eccentricities are by no means such as to make his
+own reports of what he saw in the new states of South Africa any the
+less interesting than his active eyes and his vigorous pen naturally
+make them."&mdash;<i>Brooklyn Eagle</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Lord Randolph Churchill's pages are full of diversified adventures and 
+experience, from any part of which interesting extracts could be
+collected.&hellip; A thoroughly attractive book."&mdash;<i>London 
+Telegraph</i>.
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Provided with amusing illustrations, which always fall short of
+caricature, but perpetually suggest mirthful
+entertainment."&mdash;<i>Philadelphia Ledger</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The book is the better for having been written somewhat in the line of 
+journalism. It is a volume of travel containing the results of a
+journalist's trained observation and intelligent reflection upon
+political affairs. Such a work is a great improvement upon the ordinary
+book of travel. Lord Randolph Churchill thoroughly enjoyed his
+experiences in the African bush, and has produced a record of his
+journey and exploration which has hardly a dull page in
+it."&mdash;<i>New York Tribune</i>. 
+</p>
+
+
+
+<p class="book-info">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_DA9" id="Page_DA9">DA9</a></span>
+<i>
+<big>
+LIFE IN ANCIENT EGYPT AND ASSYRIA.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">G. Masp&eacute;ro,</span>
+late Director of Arch&aelig;ology in Egypt, 
+and Member of the Institute of France. 
+Translated by <span class="sc">Alice Morton</span>. 
+With 188 Illustrations. 
+12mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+"A lucid sketch, at once popular and learned, of daily life in Egypt in 
+the time of Rameses II, and of Assyria in that of Assurbanipal.&hellip; 
+As an Orientalist, M. Masp&eacute;ro stands in the front rank, and his learning
+is so well digested and so admirably subdued to the service of popular
+exposition, that it nowhere overwhelms and always interests the
+reader."&mdash;<i>London Times</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+"Only a writer who had distinguished himself as a student of Egyptian 
+and Assyrian antiquities could have produced this work, which has none
+of the features of a modern book of travels in the East, but is an
+attempt to deal with ancient life as if one had been a contemporary
+with the people whose civilization and social usages are very largely
+restored."&mdash;<i>Boston Herald</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+"The ancient artists are copied with the utmost fidelity, and verify the 
+narrative so attractively presented."&mdash;<i>Cincinnati Times-Star</i>. 
+</p>
+
+<p class="book-info">
+<i><big>THE THREE PROPHETS:</big> 
+Chinese Gordon; Mohammed-Ahmed; Araby Pasha.</i>
+Events before, during, and after the Bombardment of Alexandria. 
+By Colonel <span class="sc">Chaille-Long,</span>
+ex-Chief of Staff to Gordon in Africa, ex-United States Consular
+Agent in Alexandria, etc. With Portraits. 16mo. Paper, 50 cents. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Comprises the observations of a man who, by reason of his own military 
+experience in Egypt, ought to know whereof he
+speaks."&mdash;<i>Washington Post</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"Throws an entirely new light upon the troubles which have so long 
+agitated Egypt, and upon their real
+significance."&mdash;<i>Chicago Times</i>. 
+</p>
+
+
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+THE MEMOIRS OF AN ARABIAN PRINCESS.</big>
+</i>
+By <span class="sc">Emily Ruete,</span>
+<i>n&eacute;e</i> Princess of Oman and Zanzibar. 
+Translated from the German. 12mo. Cloth, 75 cents.  
+</p>
+<p> 
+"A remarkably interesting little volume.&hellip; As a picture of Oriental
+court life, and manners and customs in the Orient, by one who is to the 
+manner born, the book is prolific in entertainment and 
+edification."&mdash;<i>Boston Gazette</i>. 
+</p>
+<p> 
+"The interest of the book centers chiefly in its minute description of
+the daily life of the household from the time of rising until the time
+of retiring, giving the most complete details of dress, meals, 
+ceremonies, feasts, weddings, funerals, education, slave service, 
+amusements, in fact everything connected with the daily and yearly
+routine of life."&mdash;<i>Utica (N.&nbsp;Y.) Herald</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p class="book-info">
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_DA10" id="Page_DA10">DA10</a></span>
+<i>
+<big>
+THE SOVEREIGNS AND COURTS OF EUROPE.</big>
+</i>
+The Home and Court Life and Characteristics of the Reigning Families. 
+By <span class="sc">"Politikos."</span> 
+With many Portraits. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+"A remarkably able book.&hellip; A great deal of the inner history of 
+Europe is to be found in the work, and it is illustrated by admirable
+portraits."&mdash;<i>The Athen&aelig;um</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+"Its chief merit is that it gives a new view of several 
+sovereigns.&hellip; The anonymous author seems to have sources of
+information that are not open to the foreign correspondents who
+generally try to convey the impression that they are on terms of
+intimacy with royalty."&mdash;<i>San Francisco Chronicle</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+"The anonymous author of these sketches of the reigning sovereigns of 
+Europe appears to have gathered a good deal of curious information about 
+their private lives, manners, and customs, and has certainly in several
+instances had access to unusual sources. The result is a volume which 
+furnishes views of the kings and queens concerned far fuller and more 
+intimate than can be found elsewhere."&mdash;<i>New York Tribune</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+"&hellip; A book that would give the truth, the whole truth, 
+and nothing but the truth (so far as such comprehensive accuracy
+is possible), about these exalted personages, so often heard about
+but so seldom seen by ordinary mortals, was a desideratum, and this
+book seems well fitted to satisfy the demand. The author is a 
+well-known writer on questions indicated by his 
+pseudonym."&mdash;<i>Montreal Gazette</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+"A very handy book of reference."&mdash;<i>Boston Transcript</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+MY CANADIAN JOURNAL, 1872-'78.</big>
+</i> 
+By <span class="sc">Lady Dufferin.</span>
+Extracts from letters home written while Lord Dufferin was
+Governor-General of Canada. With Portrait, Map, and Illustrations
+from sketches by Lord Dufferin. 12mo. Cloth, $2.00.  
+</p>
+<p>  
+"A graphic and intensely interesting portraiture of out-door life in the 
+Dominion, and will become, we are confident, one of the standard works
+on the Dominion.&hellip; It is a charming
+volume."&mdash;<i>Boston Traveller</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+"In every place and under every condition of circumstances the
+Marchioness shows herself to be a true lady, without reference to her
+title. Her book is most entertaining, and the abounding good-humor of
+every page must stir a sympathetic spirit in its
+readers."&mdash;<i>Philadelphia Bulletin</i>. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+"The many readers of Lady Dufferin's Journal of 'Our Vice-Regal 
+Life in India' will welcome this similar record from the same vivacious 
+pen, although it concerns a period antecedent to the other, and takes
+one back many years. The book consists of extracts from letters written
+home by Lady Dufferin to her friends (her mother chiefly) while her
+husband was Governor-General of Canada; and describes her experiences
+in the same chatty and charming style with which readers were before
+made familiar."&mdash;<i>Cincinnati Commercial-Gazette</i>. 
+</p>
+
+
+<hr />
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_DA11" id="Page_DA11">DA11</a></span>
+<h3>HAND-BOOKS OF SOCIAL USAGES.</h3>
+
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+SOCIAL ETIQUETTE OF NEW YORK.</big>
+</i>
+Rewritten and enlarged. 
+18mo. Cloth, gilt, $1.00. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+Special pains have been taken to make this work represent accurately 
+existing customs in New York society.  The subjects treated are of 
+visiting and visiting-cards, giving and attending balls, receptions,
+dinners, etc., d&eacute;buts, chaperons, weddings, opera and theatre
+parties, costumes and customs, addresses and signatures, and funeral
+customs, covering so far as practicable all social usages. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<big>
+<i>DON'T;</i> or, Directions for avoiding Improprieties in 
+Conduct and Common Errors of Speech. </big>
+By <span class="sc">Censor</span>. 
+<i>Parchment-Paper Edition</i>, square l8mo, 30 cents. 
+<i>Vest-Pocket Edition</i>, cloth, flexible, gilt edges, 
+red lines, 30 cents. <i>Boudoir Edition</i> (with a new chapter 
+designed for young people), cloth, gilt, 30 cents. 
+130th thousand. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+"Don't" deals with manners at the table, in the drawing-room, and in 
+public, with taste in dress, with personal habits, with common mistakes
+in various situations in life, and with ordinary errors of speech. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+WHAT TO DO.</big>
+</i>  
+A Companion to "Don't." 
+By <span class="sc">Mrs. Oliver Bell Bunce</span>. 
+Small 18mo, cloth, gilt, uniform with <i>Boudoir Edition</i> of 
+"Don't," 30 cents. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+A dainty little book, containing helpful and practical explanations of 
+social usages and rules. It tells the reader how to entertain and how to 
+be entertained, and it sets forth the etiquette of engagements and 
+marriages, introductions and calls. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<i>
+<big>
+"GOOD FORM" IN ENGLAND.</big>
+</i>  
+By <span class="sc">An American</span>, 
+resident in the United Kingdom. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+"The <i>raison d'&ecirc;tre</i> of this book is to provide 
+Americans&mdash;and especially those visiting England&mdash;with
+a concise, comprehensive, and comprehensible hand-book which will
+give them all necessary information respecting 'how things are' 
+in England."&mdash;<i>From the Preface</i>. 
+</p>
+<p class="book-info">
+<big>
+<i>HINTS ABOUT MEN'S DRESS:</i> Right Principles Economically Applied.</big>
+By a <span class="sc">New York Clubman</span>.
+18mo. Parchment-paper, 30 cents. 
+</p>
+<p>  
+A useful manual, especially for young men desirous of dressing 
+economically and yet according to the canons of good taste.
+</p> 
+<hr />
+<p class=" noindent ctr">
+New York: D. APPLETON &amp; CO., 1, 3, and 5 Bond Street.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="chapterhead">
+      <br />
+			<a name="transNotes" id="transNotes"></a>
+			<br /><br /><br />
+	 <h2><a href="#contents">Transcriber's Notes.</a></h2>
+	 <p><br /></p>
+	 <h3>Introduction.</h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>
+Welcome to <span class="smcap">Project Gutenberg's</span> edition of
+<i>A Little Norsk, or Ol' Pap's Flaxen</i> by Hamlin Garland.  This 
+novel was published in 1892, and it was not reprinted.  A scanned
+copy of this book is available through Hathitrust, courtesy
+of the University of California. </p>
+
+<h3>Emendations.</h3>
+<p>We have made the following emendations to the text:
+</p>
+
+<div id="notes">
+
+<p><br /></p>
+<h4>Chapter 9.</h4>
+<p>
+   On <a href="#Page_102">Page 102</a>: The mark in the book between 
+	 <strong>Gee whittiker</strong> is assumed to be an imperfection
+	 in the page.
+</p>
+<p><br /></p>
+<h4>Chapter 11.</h4>
+<p>
+   On <a href="#Page_121">Page 121</a>: The mark in the book between 
+	 <strong>drug store</strong> is assumed to be an imperfection
+	 in the page.  There are three other occurrences of drug store
+	 in the novel without the hyphen, and none with.
+</p>
+<h4>D. Appleton and Co.</h4>
+<p>
+   <a href="#Page_DA11">Page DA11</a>: removed single quote before
+	 ending double quote (after England) in 
+	 <strong>'how things are' in England.'</strong>
+</p>
+<p><br /></p>
+
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="quad-space-bottom"><br /></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="boilerplate">
+<p class="bold">
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE NORSK ***
+</p>
+
+<p class="double-space-top">
+***** This file should be named 21850-h.htm or 21850-h.zip *****
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br />
+<span class="neat-left-margin">
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/8/5/21850/</span>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Updated editions will replace the previous one&mdash;the old editions
+will be renamed.
+</p>
+
+<br />
+<p>
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
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+and given away&mdash;you may do practically <em>anything</em> with
+public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is subject to the trademark
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+<br />
+<p class="bold ctr">
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***</p>
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+<p class="italic">Please read this before you distribute or use this work.
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Little Norsk; Or, Ol' Pap's Flaxen, by
+Hamlin Garland.
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost
+no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
+under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
+eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+Title: A Little Norsk; Or, Ol' Pap's Flaxen
+Author: Hamlin Garland
+Posting Date: June 18, 2007 [EBook #21850]
+Last Updated: May 16, 2017
+Character set encoding: utf-8
+
+Produced by Robert Homa, David Yingling and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from
+scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.)
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE NORSK ***
+
+A Little Norsk
+Or
+Ol' Paps' Flaxen
+
+By
+Hamlin Garland
+
+Author of
+Main Traveled Roads, A Member of the Third House, A Spoil of Office,
+Jason Edwards, etc.
+
+Publisher's logo
+
+
+
+New York
+D. Appleton and Company
+1892
+
+
+
+
+Copyright, 1892,
+By D. Appleton and Company.
+
+Printed at the Appleton Press, U.S.A.
+
+On the Plain.
+
+My cabin cowers in the pathless sweep
+Of the terrible northern blast;
+Above its roof the wild clouds leap
+And shriek as they hurtle past.
+The snow-waves hiss along the plain,
+Like spectral wolves they stretch and strain
+And race and ramp--with hissing beat,
+Like stealthy tread of myriad feet,
+I hear them pass; upon the roof
+The icy showers swirl and rattle;
+At times the moon, from storms aloof,
+Shines white and wan within the room--
+Then swift clouds drive across the light
+And all the plain is lost to sight,
+The cabin rocks, and on my palm
+The sifted snow falls, cold and calm.
+
+God! What a power is in the wind!
+I lay my cheek to the cabin side
+To feel the weight of his giant hands--
+A speck, a fly in the blasting tide
+Of streaming, pitiless, icy sands;
+A single heart with its feeble beat--
+A mouse in the lion's throat--
+A swimmer at sea--a sunbeam's mote
+In the grasp of a tempest of hail and sleet!
+
+
+
+
+
+Table of Contents.
+                   A Little Norsk
+                                                      Page
+
+                      CHAPTER I
+Her Adoptive Parents                                     1
+
+                      CHAPTER II.
+Her First Trip in a Blizzard                             9
+
+                      CHAPTER III.
+The Burial of her Dead Mother                           22
+
+                      CHAPTER IV.
+Flaxen Adopts Anson as "Pap"                            32
+
+                      CHAPTER V.
+Flaxen Becomes Indispensable to the Two Old Bachelors   38
+
+                      CHAPTER VI.
+A Question of Dress                                     46
+
+                      CHAPTER VII.
+After Harvest                                           69
+
+                      CHAPTER VIII.
+An Empty House                                          78
+
+                      CHAPTER IX.
+"Baching" it Again                                      86
+
+                      CHAPTER X.
+Flaxen Comes Home on a Vacation                        105
+
+                      CHAPTER XI.
+Flaxen Grows Restless                                  113
+
+                      CHAPTER XII.
+Flaxen Says Good-bye                                   124
+
+                      CHAPTER XIII.
+Flaxen's Great Need                                    133
+
+                      CHAPTER XIV.
+Kendall Steps Out                                      148
+
+                      CHAPTER XV.
+Bert Comes Back                                        153
+
+
+
+A LITTLE NORSK.
+CHAPTER I.
+
+HER ADOPTIVE PARENTS.
+
+"Ans, the next time you twist hay f'r the fire, I wish't you'd dodge the
+damp spots," said the cook, rising from a prolonged scrutiny of the
+stove and the bread in the oven. His pose was threatening.
+
+"Cooks are always grumblin'," calmly remarked Anson, drawing on his
+gloves preparatory to going out to the barn; "but seein' 's this is
+Chris'mus, I'll go out an' knock a barrel to pieces. I want them biscuit
+to be O. K. See?"
+
+"Yes: I see."
+
+"Say, Bert!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Can't we have some sugar-'lasses on our biscuits, seein' it's
+Chris'mus?"
+
+"Well, I s'pose we can, Ans; but we're gittin' purty low on the thing
+these days, an' they ain't no tellin' when we'll be able to git more."
+
+"Well, jes' as you say, not as I care." Anson went out into the roaring
+wind with a shout of defiance, but came back instantly, as if to say
+something he had forgotten. "Say, wha' d'ye s'pose is the trouble over
+to the Norsk's? I hain't seen a sign o' smoke over there f'r two 'r
+three days."
+
+"Well, now you speak of it, Ans, I've be'n thinkin' about that myself.
+I'm afraid he's out o' coal, 'r sick, 'r somethin'. It 'u'd be mighty
+tough f'r the woman an' babe to be there without any fire, an' this
+blizzard whoopin' her up. I guess you'd better go over an' see what's
+up. I was goin' to speak of it this mornin', but f'rgot it. I'm cook
+this week, so I guess the job falls on you."
+
+"All right. Here goes."
+
+"Better take a horse."
+
+"No: I guess not. The snow is driftin' purty bad, an' he couldn't git
+through the drifts, anyway."
+
+"Well, lookout f'r y'rself, ol' man. It looks purty owly off in the
+west. Don't waste any time. I'd hate like thunder to be left alone on a
+Dakota prairie f'r the rest o' the winter."
+
+Anson laughed back through the mist of snow that blew in the open door,
+his great-coat and cap allowing only a glimpse of his cheeks.
+
+The sky was bright overhead, but low down around the horizon it looked
+wild. The air was frightfully cold--far below zero--and the wind had
+been blowing almost every day for a week, and was still strong. The snow
+was sliding fitfully along the sod with a stealthy, menacing motion, and
+far off in the west and north a dense, shining cloud of frost was
+hanging.
+
+The plain was almost as lone and level and bare as a polar ocean, where
+death and silence reign undisputedly. There was not a tree in sight, the
+grass was mainly burned, or buried by the snow, and the little shanties
+of the three or four settlers could hardly be said to be in sight, half
+sunk, as they were, in drifts. A large white owl seated on a section
+stake was the only living thing to be seen.
+
+The boom had not yet struck Buster County. Indeed, it did not seem to
+Bert Gearheart at this moment that it would ever strike Buster County.
+It was as cold, dreary, and unprofitable an outlook as a man could face
+and not go utterly mad. If any of these pioneers could have forecast the
+winter, they would not have dared to pass it on the plains.
+
+Bert watched his partner as he strode rapidly across the prairie, now
+lost to sight as a racing troop of snow-waves, running shoulder-high,
+shot between, now reappearing as the wind lulled.
+
+"This is gittin' pretty monotonous, to tell the honest truth," he
+muttered as he turned from the little window. "If that railroad don't
+show up by March, in some shape or other, I'm goin' to give it up.
+Gittin' free land like this is a little too costly for me. I'll go back
+to Wiscons', an' rent land on shares."
+
+Bert was a younger-looking man than his bachelor companion; perhaps
+because his face was clean-shaven and his frame much slighter. He was a
+silent, moody young fellow, hard to get along with, though of great good
+heart. Anson Wood succeeded in winning and holding his love even through
+the trials of masculine housekeeping. As Bert kept on with the dinner,
+he went often to the little window facing the east and looked out, each
+time thawing a hole in the frost on the window-panes.
+
+The wind was rising again, and the night promised to be wild, as the two
+preceding nights had been. As he moved back and forth setting out their
+scanty meal, he was thinking of the old life back in Wisconsin in the
+deeps of the little coulée; of the sleigh-rides with the boys and girls;
+of the Christmas doings; of the damp, thick-falling snow among the
+pines, where the wind had no terrors; of musical bells on swift horses
+in the fragrant deeps, where the snowflakes fell like caresses through
+the tossing branches of the trees.
+
+By the side of such a life the plain, with its sliding snow and
+ferocious wind, was appalling--a treeless expanse and a racing-ground
+for snow and wind. The man's mood grew darker while he mused. He served
+the meal on the rude box which took the place of table, and still his
+companion did not come. He looked at his watch. It was nearly one
+o'clock, and yet there was no sign of the sturdy figure of Anson.
+
+The house of the poor Norwegian was about two miles away, and out of
+sight, being built in a gully; but now the eye could distinguish a house
+only when less than a mile away. A man could not at times be seen at a
+distance of ten rods, though occasional lulls in the wind permitted Bert
+to see nearly to the "First Moccasin."
+
+"He may be in the swale," muttered the watcher as he stood with his eye
+to the loop-hole. But the next time he looked the plain was as wild and
+lone as before, save under the rising blast the snow was beginning to
+ramp and race across the level sod till it looked at times like a sea
+running white with foam and misty with spray.
+
+At two o'clock he said: "Well, I s'pose Ans has concluded to stay over
+there to dinner, though what the Norsk can offer as inducement I swear I
+don't know. I'll eat, anyhow; he can have what's left."
+
+He sat down to his lonely meal, and ate slowly, getting up two or three
+times from his candle-box in a growing anxiety for Ans, using the heated
+poker now to clear a spot on the pane. He expressed his growing
+apprehension, manlike, by getting angry.
+
+"I don't see what the darn fool means by stayin' so late. It'll be dark
+by four o'clock, er jest as soon as that cloud over there strikes us.
+You couldn't beat sense into some men's heads with a club."
+
+He had eaten his dinner now, and had taken to pacing up and down the
+little room, which was exactly six paces long and three wide, and just
+high enough to permit Anson to walk erect in the highest part.
+
+"Nice fix to leave a man in, ain't it? All alone here, an' a blizzard
+comin' on! If I ever git out o' this country alive, I'll bet I'll know
+enough not to come back," he broke out, stamping his foot in a rage. "I
+don't see what he means by it. If he's caught in that blow, his life
+ain't worth a cent."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+HER FIRST TRIP IN A BLIZZARD.
+
+At half-past two the feelings of the silent watcher began to change. He
+thought more about his partner out there in the rising wind and
+thickening snow. The blast roared round the little cabin with a deep,
+menacing, rising moan, and laid to the stove-pipe a resounding lip,
+wailing and shouting weirdly. Bert's nervous walk quickened, and he
+looked so often through the pane that the frost had not time to close
+up.
+
+Suddenly, out of the blinding, sweeping snow, not ten rods distant, the
+burly form of Anson burst, head down, blindly staggering forward into
+the teeth of the tempest. He walked like a man whose strength was almost
+gone, and he carried a large bundle in his arms.
+
+Gearhart flung the door open, and called in a cheery voice to guide the
+struggling man to the house. He knew what it was to face such a wind.
+
+"Here ye are, ol' man! Right this way! Keep y'r head down!"
+
+Then, seeing that Anson hardly made headway against the terrible blast,
+he rushed out, bare-headed as he was, and caught and hurried him in and
+shut the door.
+
+Reeling blindly, his breath roaring like a furnace, his eyebrows hung
+with icicles, his face masked with crusted snow, Anson staggered in,
+crying hoarsely, "Take her!" then slid to the floor, where he lay
+panting for breath.
+
+Bert caught the bundle from his arms. A wailing, half-smothered cry came
+from it.
+
+"What is it, Ans?" he asked.
+
+"A kid; warm it," said the giant, trying with his numbed fingers to undo
+the shawl which wrapped the bundle. Bert hurriedly unwound the shawl,
+and a frightened child, blue-eyed and flaxen-haired--flossy as unfrosted
+corn-silk--was disclosed like a nubbin of corn after the husks are
+stripped off.
+
+"Why, it's little Flaxen Hair! Wha' d'ye bring her over for?"
+
+"'Sh!" said Anson hoarsely. "Mind how y' git her warm! Don't y' see
+she's froze?"
+
+The little creature was about five, or possibly six years old, scantily
+clad, but neat and pretty. As her feet began to get warm before the
+fire, she wailed with pain, which Bert tried to stop by rubbing.
+
+"Put her hands in y'r hair, hold her feet in y'r hands--don't rub 'em,"
+commanded Ans, who was stripping the ice from his eyelashes and from his
+matted beard, which lay like a shield upon his breast. "Stir up the
+fire; give her some hot coffee an' some feed. She hain't had anything to
+eat."
+
+Bert tried to do all these things at once, and could not, but managed
+finally to get the child a piece of bread and a cup of coffee, and to
+allay her fears. Ans began to recover from his horrible journey and was
+able to speak, though his lungs were still painful.
+
+"Ol' man," he said solemnly and tenderly, "I came jest as near stayin'
+in that last gully down there as a man could an' not. The snow was up to
+my armpits, an' let me down wherever the weeds was. I had to waller; if
+it hadn't be'n for her, I guess I'd 'a' give up; but I jest grit m'
+teeth an' pulled through. There, guess y' hadn't better let her have any
+more. I guess she'll go to sleep now she's fed an' warmed. Jest le' me
+take her now, ol' man."
+
+"No: you git rested up."
+
+"See here, it'll rest me to hold that little chap. I'm all right. My
+hands is frosted some, an' my ears, that's all, but my breath is gittin'
+back. Come on, now," he pleaded.
+
+Bert surrendered the child, who looked up into the bearded face of the
+rough fellow, then rested her head on his breast, and went to sleep at
+last. It made his heart thrill as he felt her little head against his
+breast. He never had held a child in his arms before.
+
+"Say, Bert, reckon I'm a purty fair picture of a fam'ly man, now, eh?
+Throw in a couple o' twists more o' hay--"
+
+Bert stirred up the fire.
+
+"Well, now the little one is off, what's up over to the Norsk's? Wha'
+d'ye bring the child for?" he asked at last.
+
+"Because she was the only livin' soul in the shanty."
+
+"What?" His face was set in horror.
+
+"Fact."
+
+"Where's the Norsk?"
+
+"I don't know. On the prairie somewhere."
+
+"An' the mother?"
+
+"She's--" Here the little one stirred slightly as he leaned forward, and
+Ans said, with a wink, "She's asleep." He winked significantly, and Bert
+understood what the sleep was. "Be a little careful what y' say--jes'
+now; the little rat is listenin'. Jest say relative when y' mean
+her--the woman, y' know."
+
+"Yes, sir," he resumed after a moment; "I was scart when I saw that
+house--when I knocked, an' no one stirred 'r come to the door. They
+wasn't a track around, an' the barn an' house was all drifted up. I
+pushed the door open; it was cold as a barn, an' dark. I couldn't see
+anythin' f'r a minute, but I heard a sound o' cryin' from the bed that
+made my hair stand up. I rushed over there, an' there lay the mother on
+the bed, with nothin' on but some kind of a night-dress, an'
+everythin'--dress, shawl, an' all--piled on an' around that blessed
+child."
+
+"She was sleepin'?"
+
+"Like a stone. I couldn't believe it at first. I raved around there,
+split up a chair an' the shelves, an' made a fire. Then I started to rub
+the woman's hands an' feet, but she was cold an' hard as iron." Bert
+shuddered in sympathy. "Then I took the child up an' rubbed her; tried
+to find somethin' f'r her to eat--not a blessed thing in that house!
+Finally I thought I better bolt f'r home--"
+
+"Lucky you did. Hear that wind! Great heavens! We are in for another
+two-days' blow of it. That woman, of course, stripped herself to save
+the child."
+
+"Yes: she did."
+
+"Jes' like a woman! Why didn't she rip down the shelf an' split up the
+chairs for fuel, or keep walkin' up an' down the room?"
+
+"Now, there it is! She had burnt up a lot o' stuff, then took to bed
+with the child. She rolled her up in all the quilts an' shawls an'
+dresses they was in the house; then laid down by the side of her, an'
+put her arm over her--an' froze--jes' like a mother--no judgment!"
+
+"Well, lay her down now, an' eat somethin' y'rself, while I go out an'
+look after the chores. Lord! it makes me crawl to think of that woman
+layin' there in the shanty all alone!" he turned and said in a peculiar
+hesitating voice. He shivered a little as he spoke. "Say, did y' shut
+the door?"
+
+"Yes: an' it shuts hard. The wind n'r wolves can't open it."
+
+"That's good. I couldn't sleep nights if I thought the coyotes could get
+in." Bert's imagination seized upon that lonely cabin and the figure
+lying cold as iron upon the bed. It appealed to him more than to Anson.
+
+By four o'clock it was dark, and the lamp was lighted when Bert came in,
+bringing an immense load of hay-twists. The ferocious wind, as if
+exulting in its undisputed sway over the plain, raved in ceaseless fury
+around the cabin, and lashed the roof with a thousand stinging streams
+of snow. The tiny shanty did not rock; it shuddered as if with fright.
+The drifts rose higher on the windows, and here and there through some
+unseen crevice the snow, fine as bolted flour, found its way like oil,
+seeming to penetrate the solid boards; and to the stove-pipe the storm
+still laid hoarse lip, piping incessantly, now dolorously, now savagely,
+now high, now low.
+
+While the two men sat above the fire that night, discussing the sad case
+of the woman, the child slept heavily, muttering and sobbing in her
+sleep.
+
+"The probabilities are," said Anson, in a matter-of-fact way, "the Norsk
+took his oxen an' started f'r Summit f'r provisions, an' got caught in
+this blizzard an' froze to death somewhere--got lost in some gully,
+probably."
+
+"But why didn't he come an' tell us to look after his fam'ly?"
+
+"Well, I s'pose he was afraid to trust us. I don't wonder, as I remember
+the treatment their women git from the Yankees. We look a good 'eal
+worse than we are, besides; an' then the poor cuss couldn't talk to us,
+anyhow, an' he's be'n shy ever since he came, in October."
+
+After a long silence, in which Gearheart went over and studied the face
+of the sleeper, Anson said: "Well, if he's dead, an' the woman's dead
+too, we've got to look after this child till some relative turns up. An'
+that woman's got to be buried."
+
+"All right. What's got to be done had better be done right off. We've
+only one bed, Ans, an' a cradle hasn't appeared necessary before. How
+about the sleepin' to-night? If you're goin' into the orphan-asylum
+business, you'll have to open up correspondence with a furniture store."
+
+Ans reddened a little. "It ain't mine any more'n yours. We're pardners
+in this job."
+
+"No: I guess not. You look more like a dad, an' I guess I'll shift the
+responsibility of this thing off onto you. I'll bunk here on the floor,
+an' you take the child an' occupy the bed."
+
+"Well, all right," answered Anson, going over in his turn and looking
+down at the white face and tow-coloured hair of the little stranger.
+"But say, we ain't got no night-clothes f'r the little chap. What'll we
+do? Put her to sleep jes' as she is?"
+
+"I reckon we'll have to to-night. Maybe you'll find some more clothes
+over to the shanty."
+
+"Say, Bert," said Ans later.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"It's too darn cold f'r you to sleep on the floor there. You git in here
+on the back side, an' I'll take the child on the front. She'd be smashed
+flatter'n a pancake if she was in the middle. She ain't bigger'n a pint
+o' cider, anyway."
+
+"No, ol' man. I'll lay here on the floor, an' kind o' heave a twist in
+once in a while. It's goin' to be cold enough to freeze the tail off a
+brass bull by daylight."
+
+Ans bashfully crept in beside the sleeping child, taking care not to
+waken her, and lay there thinking of his new responsibility. At every
+shiver of the cowering cabin and rising shriek of the wind, his heart
+went out in love toward the helpless little creature whose dead mother
+lay in the cold and deserted shanty, and whose father was wandering
+perhaps breathless and despairing on the plain, or lying buried in the
+snow in some deep ravine beside his patient oxen. He tucked the clothing
+in carefully about the child, felt to see if her little feet were cold,
+and covered her head with her shawl, patting her lightly with his great
+paw.
+
+"Say, Bert!"
+
+"Well, Ans, what now?"
+
+"If this little chap should wake up an' cry f'r its mother, what in
+thunder would I do?"
+
+"Give it up, ol' boy," was the reply from the depths of the
+buffalo-robes before the fire. "Pat her on the back, an' tell her not to
+cry, or somethin' like that."
+
+"But she can't tell what I say."
+
+"Oh, she'll understand if y' kind o' chuckle an' gurgle like a fam'ly
+man." But the little one slept on, and when, about midnight, Bert got up
+to feed the fire, he left the stove door open to give light, and went
+softly over to the sleepers. Ans was sleeping with the little form close
+to his breast, and the poor, troubled face safe under his shaggy beard.
+
+And all night long the blasting wind, sweeping the sea of icy sands,
+hissed and howled round the little sod cabin like surf beating on a
+half-sunken rock. The wind and the snow and the darkness possessed the
+plain; and Cold (whose other name is Death) was king of the horrible
+carnival. It seemed as though morning and sunlight could not come again,
+so absolute was the sway of night and death.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+THE BURIAL OF HER DEAD MOTHER.
+
+When Anson woke the next morning, he found the great flower-like eyes of
+the little waif staring straight into his face with a surprise too great
+for words or cries. She stared steadily and solemnly into his open eyes
+for a while, and when he smiled she smiled back; but when he lifted his
+large hand and tried to brush her hair she grew frightened, pushing her
+little fists against him, and began to cry "Mor! Mor Kom!"
+
+This roused Gearheart, who said:
+
+"Well, Ans, what are y' goin' to do with that child? This is your
+mornin' to git breakfast. Come, roll out. I've got the fire goin' good.
+I can't let y' off; it'll break up our system."
+
+Anson rolled out of the bunk and dressed hurriedly in the cold room. The
+only sound was the roar of the stove devouring the hay-twist. Anson
+danced about.
+
+"Thunder an' black cats, ain't it cold! The wind has died down, or we'd
+be froze stiffer'n a wedge. It was mighty good in you, ol' man, to keep
+the stove goin' durin' the night. The child has opened her eyes
+brighter'n a dollar, but I tell you I don't like to let her know what's
+happened to her relatives."
+
+The little one began to wail in a frightened way, being alone in the dim
+corner.
+
+"There she goes now; she's wantin' to go home! That's what she's askin',
+jes' like's not. Say, Bert, what the devil can I do?"
+
+"Talk to her, Ans; chuckle to her."
+
+"Talk! She'll think I'm threatenin' to knock her head off, or somethin'.
+There there, don't ee cry! We'll go see papa soon.--Confound it, man, I
+can't go on with this thing! There, there! See, child, we're goin' to
+have some nice hot pancakes now; goin' to have breakfast now. See, ol'
+pap's goin' to fry some pancakes. Whoop--see!" He took down the
+saucepan, and flourished it in order to make his meaning plainer. Bert
+laughed.
+
+"That's as bad as your fist. Put that down, Ans. You'll scare the young
+one into a fit; you ain't built f'r a jumpin'-jack."
+
+The child did indeed set up a louder and more distracting yell. Getting
+desperate, Anson seized her in his arms, and, despite her struggles,
+began tossing her on his shoulder. The child understood him and ceased
+to cry, especially as Gearheart began to set the table, making a
+pleasant clatter, whistling the while.
+
+The glorious light of the morning made its way only dimly through the
+thickly frosted window-panes; the boards snapped in the horrible cold;
+out in the barn the cattle were bellowing and kicking with pain.
+
+"Do you know," said Bert, impressively, "I couldn't keep that woman out
+o' my mind. I could see her layin' there without any quilts on her, an'
+the mice a-runnin' over her. God! it's tough, this bein' alone on a
+prairie on such a night."
+
+"I knew I'd feel so, an' I jest naturally covered her up an' tucked the
+covers in, the child a-lookin' on. I thought she'd feel better, seein'
+her ma tucked in good an' warm. Poor little rat!"
+
+"Did you do that, ol' man?"
+
+"You bet I did! I couldn't have slep' a wink if I hadn't."
+
+"Well, why didn't y' tell me, so't I could sleep?"
+
+"I didn't think you'd think of it that way, not havin' seen her."
+
+The child now consented to sit in one of the chairs and put her feet
+down by the stove. She wept silently now, with that infrequent, indrawn
+sob, more touching than wails. She felt that these strangers were her
+friends, but she wanted her mother. She ate well, and soon grew more
+resigned. She looked first at one and then at the other of the men as
+they talked, trying to understand their strange language. Then she fell
+to watching a mouse that stole out from behind the flour-barrels,
+snatching a crumb occasionally and darting back, and laughed gleefully
+once, and clapped her hands.
+
+"Now, the first thing after the chores, Ans, is that woman over there.
+Of course it's out o' the question buryin' her, but we'd better go over
+an' git what things there is left o' the girl's, an' fasten up the
+shanty to keep the wolves out."
+
+"But then--"
+
+"What?"
+
+"The mice. You can't shut them out."
+
+"That's so. I never thought o' that. We've got to make a box, I guess;
+but it's goin' to be an awful job for me, Ans, to git her into it. I
+thought I wouldn't have to touch her."
+
+"Le' me go; I've seen her once an' you hain't. I'd just as soon."
+
+"Heaven an' earth! what could I do with the babe? She'd howl like a
+coyote, an' drive me plumb wild. No: you're elected to take care o' the
+child. I ain't worth a picayune at it. Besides, you had your share
+yesterday."
+
+And so, in the brilliant sunshine of that bitterly cold morning,
+Gearheart crunched away over the spotless snow, which burned under his
+feet--a land mocking, glorious, pitiless. Far off some slender columns
+of smoke told of two or three hearth-fires, but mainly the plain was
+level and lifeless as the Polar Ocean, appallingly silent, no cry or
+stir in the whole expanse, no tree to creak nor bell to ring.
+
+It required strong effort on the part of the young man to open the door
+of the cottage, and he stood for some time with his hand on the latch,
+looking about. There was perfect silence without and within, no trace of
+feet or hands anywhere. All was as peaceful and unbroken as a sepulchre.
+
+Finally, as if angry with himself, Gearheart shook himself and pushed
+open the door, letting the morning sun stream in. It lighted the bare
+little room and fell on the frozen face and rigid, half-open eyes of the
+dead woman with a strong, white glare. The thin face and worn,
+large-jointed hands lying outside the quilt told of the hardships which
+had been the lot of the sleeper. Her clothing was clean and finer than
+one would expect to see.
+
+Gearheart stood looking at her for a long time, the door still open, for
+he felt re-enforced in some way by the sun. If any one had come suddenly
+and closed the door on him and the white figure there, he would have
+cried out and struggled like a madman to escape, such was his
+unreasoning fear of the dead.
+
+At length, with a long breath, he backed out and closed the door. Going
+to the barn, he found a cow standing at an empty manger, and some hens
+and pigs frozen in the hay. Looking about for some boards to make a
+coffin, he came upon a long box in which a reaper had been packed, and
+this he proceeded to nail together firmly, and to line with pieces of an
+old stove-pipe at such places as he thought the mice would try to enter.
+
+When it was all prepared, he carried the box to the house and managed to
+lay it down beside the bed; but he could not bring himself to touch the
+body. He went out to see if some one were not coming. The sound of a
+human voice would have relieved him at once, and he could have gone on
+without hesitation. But there was no one in sight, and no one was likely
+to be; so he returned, and summoning all his resolution, took one of the
+quilts from the bed and placed it in the bottom of the box. Then he
+removed the pillow from beneath the head of the dead woman and placed
+that in the box. Then he paused, the cold moisture breaking out on his
+face.
+
+Like all young persons born far from war, and having no knowledge of
+death even in its quiet forms, he had the most powerful organic
+repugnance toward a corpse. He kept his eye on it as though it were a
+sleeping horror, likely at a sudden sound to rise and walk. More than
+this, there had always been something peculiarly sacred in the form of a
+woman, and in his calmer moments the dead mother appealed to him with
+irresistible power.
+
+At last, with a sort of moan through his set teeth, he approached the
+bed and threw the sheet over the figure, holding it as in a sling; then,
+by a mighty effort, he swung it stiffly off the bed into the box.
+
+He trembled so that he could hardly spread the remaining quilts over the
+dead face. The box was wide enough to receive the stiff, curved right
+arm, and he had nothing to do but to nail the cover on, which he did in
+feverish haste. Then he rose, grasped his tools, rushed outside, slammed
+the door, and set off in great speed across the snow, pushed on by an
+indescribable horror.
+
+As he neared home, his fresh young blood asserted itself more and more;
+but when he entered the cabin he was still trembling, and dropped into a
+chair like a man out of breath. At sight of the ruddy face of Anson, and
+with the aid of the heat and light of the familiar little room, he shook
+off part of his horror.
+
+"Gi' me a cup o' coffee, Ans. I'm kind o' chilly an' tired."
+
+Before drinking he wiped his face and washed his hands again and again
+at the basin in the corner, as though there were something on them which
+was ineffably unclean. The little one, who had been weeping again,
+stared at him with two big tears drying on her hollow cheeks.
+
+"Well?" interrogated Anson.
+
+"I nailed her up safe enough for the present. But what're we goin' to do
+next?"
+
+"I can't see 's we can do anythin' as long as such weather as this
+lasts. It ain't safe f'r one of us to go out an' leave the other alone.
+Besides, it's thirty below zero, an' no road, Moccasin's full of snow,
+an' another wind likely to rise at any time. It's mighty tough on this
+little one, but it can't be helped. As soon as it moderates a little,
+we'll try to find a woman an' a preacher, an' bury that--relative."
+
+"The only woman I know of is ol' Mrs. Cap Burdon, down on the Third
+Moccasin, full fifteen miles away."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+FLAXEN ADOPTS ANSON AS "PAP."
+
+For nearly two weeks they waited, while the wind alternately raved and
+whispered over them as it scurried the snow south or east, or shifted to
+the south in the night, bringing "the north end of a south wind," the
+most intolerable and cutting of winds. Day after day the restless snow
+sifted or leaped across the waste of glittering crust; day after day the
+sun shone in dazzling splendor, but so white and cold that the
+thermometer still kept down among the thirties. They were absolutely
+alone on the plain, except that now and then a desperate wolf or
+inquisitive owl came by.
+
+These were long days for the settlers. They would have been longer had
+it not been for little Elga, or "Flaxen," as they took to calling her.
+They racked their brains to amuse her, and in the intervals of tending
+the cattle and of cooking, or of washing dishes, rummaged through all
+their books and pictures, taught her "cat's cradle," played
+"jack-straws" with her, and with all their resources of song and
+pantomime strove to fill up the little one's lonely days, happy when
+they succeeded in making her laugh.
+
+"That settles it!" said Bert one day, whanging the basin back into the
+empty flour-barrel.
+
+"What's the matter?"
+
+"Matter is, we've reached the bottom o' the flour-barrel, an' it's got
+to be filled; no two ways about that. We can get along on biscuit an'
+pancakes in place o' meat, but we can't put anythin' in the place o'
+bread. If it looks favorable to-morrow, we've got to make a break for
+Summit an' see if we can't stock up."
+
+Early the next morning they brought out the shivering team and piled
+into the box all the quilts and robes they had, and bundling little
+Flaxen in, started across the trackless plain toward the low line of
+hills to the east, twenty-five or thirty miles. From four o'clock in the
+morning till nearly noon they toiled across the sod, now ploughing
+through the deep snow where the unburned grass had held it, now scraping
+across the bare, burned earth, now wandering up or down the swales,
+seeking the shallowest places, now shovelling a pathway through.
+
+The sun rose unobscured as usual, and shone down with unusual warmth,
+which afforded the men the satisfaction of seeing little Flaxen warm and
+merry. She chattered away in her own tongue, and clapped her little
+hands in glee at sight of the snowbirds running and fluttering about. As
+they approached the low hills the swales got deeper and more difficult
+to cross, but about eleven o'clock they came to Burdon's Ranch, a sort
+of half-way haven between their own claim and Summit, the end of the
+railway.
+
+Captain Burdon was away, but Mrs. Burdon, a big, slatternly Missourian,
+with all the kindliness of a universal mother in her swarthy face and
+flaccid bosom, ushered them into the cave-like dwelling set in the sunny
+side of Water Moccasin.
+
+"Set down, set right down. Young uns, git out some o' them cheers an'
+let the strangers set. Purty tol'able tough weather? A feller don't git
+out much such weather as this 'ere 'thout he's jes' naturally 'bleeged
+to. Suse, heave in another twist, an' help the little un to take off her
+shawl."
+
+After Mrs. Burdon's little flurry of hospitality was over, Anson found
+time to tell briefly the history of the child.
+
+"Heavens to Betsey! I wan' to know!" she cried, her fat hands on her
+knees and her eyes bulging. "Wal! wal! I declare, it beats the Dutch! So
+that woman jest frizzed right burside the babe! Wal, I never! An' the
+ol' man he ain't showed up? Wal, now, he ain't likely to. I reckon I saw
+that Norsk go by here that very day, an' I says to Cap'n, says I, 'If
+that feller don't reach home inside an hour, he'll go through heaven
+a-gittin' home,' says I to the Cap'n."
+
+"Well, now," said Anson, stopping the old woman's garrulous flow, "I've
+got to be off f'r Summit, but I wish you'd jest look after this little
+one here till we git back. It's purty hard weather f'r her to be out,
+an' I don't think she ought to."
+
+"Yaas; leave her, o' course. She'll enjoy playin' with the young uns. I
+reckon y' did all y' could for that woman. Y' can't burry her now; the
+ground's like linkum-vity."
+
+But as Anson turned to leave, the little creature sprang up with a
+torrent of wild words, catching him by the coat, and pleading
+strenuously to go with him. Her accent was unmistakable.
+
+"You wan' to go with Ans?" he inquired, looking down into the little
+tearful face with a strange stirring in his bachelor heart. "I believe
+on my soul she does."
+
+"Sure's y're born!" replied Mrs. Burdon. "She'd rather go with you than
+to stay an' fool with the young uns; that's what she's tryin' to say."
+
+"Do y' wan' to go?" asked Ans again, opening his arms. She sprang toward
+him, raising her eager little hands as high as she could, and when he
+lifted her she twined her arms around his neck.
+
+"Poor little critter! she ain't got no pap ner mam now," the old woman
+explained to the ring of children, who still stared silently at the
+stranger almost without moving.
+
+"Ain't he her pa-a-p?" drawled one of the older girls, sticking a finger
+at Anson.
+
+"He is now," laughed Ans, and that settled the question over which he
+had been pondering for days. It meant that as long as she wanted to stay
+she should be his Flaxen and he would be her "pap." "And you can be
+Uncle Bert, hey?" he said to Bert.
+
+"Good enough," said Bert.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+FLAXEN BECOMES INDISPENSABLE TO THE TWO OLD BACHELORS.
+
+They never found any living relative, and only late in the spring was
+the fate of the poor father revealed. He and his cattle were found side
+by side in a deep swale, where they had foundered in the night and
+tempest.
+
+As for little Flaxen, she soon recovered her cheerfulness, with the
+buoyancy natural to childhood, and learned to prattle in broken English
+very fast. She developed a sturdy self-reliance that was surprising in
+one so young, and long before spring came was indispensable to the two
+"old baches."
+
+"Now, Bert," said Ans one day, "I don't wan' to hear you talk in that
+slipshod way any longer before Flaxen. You know better; you've had more
+chance than I have--be'n to school more. They ain't no excuse for you,
+not an ioty. Now, I'm goin' to say to her, 'Never mind how I talk, but
+talk like Bert does.'"
+
+"Oh, say, now, look here, Ans, I can't stand the strain. Suppose she'd
+hear me swearin' at ol' Barney or the stove?"
+
+"That's jest it. You ain't goin' to swear," decided Anson; and after
+that Bert took the education of the little waif in hand, for he was a
+man of good education; his use of dialect and slang sprang mainly from
+carelessness.
+
+But all the little fatherly duties and discipline fell to Anson, and
+much perplexed he often got. For instance, when he bought her an outfit
+of American clothing at the store they were strange to her and to him,
+and the situation was decidedly embarrassing when they came to try them.
+
+"Now, Flaxie, I guess this thing goes on this side before, so's you can
+button it. If it went on so, you couldn't reach around to button it,
+don't you see? I guess you'd better try it so. An' this thing, I judge,
+is a shirt, an' goes on under that other thing, which I reckon is called
+a shimmy. Say, Bert, shouldn't you call that a shirt?" holding up a
+garment.
+
+"W-e-l-l, yes" (after a close scrutiny). "Yes: I should."
+
+"And this a shimmy?"
+
+"Well, now, you've got me, Ans. It seems to me I've heard the women
+folks home talk about shimmies, but they were always kind o' private
+about it, so I don't think I can help you out. That little thing goes
+underneath, sure enough."
+
+"All right, here goes, Flax; if it should turn out to be hind side
+before, no matter."
+
+Then again little Flaxen would want to wear her best dress on week-days,
+and Ans was unable to explain. Here again Bert came to the rescue.
+
+"Git her one dress fer ev'ry day in the week, an' make her wear 'em in
+rotation. Hang 'em up an' put a tag on each one--Sunday, Monday, an' so
+on."
+
+"Good idea."
+
+And it was done. But the embarrassments of attending upon the child soon
+passed away; she quickly grew independent of such help, dressed herself,
+and combed her own hair, though Anson enjoyed doing it himself when he
+could find time, and she helped out not a little about the house. She
+seemed to have forgotten her old life, awakening as she had from almost
+deathly torpor into a new home--almost a new world--where a strange
+language was spoken, where no woman was, and where no mention of her
+mother, father, or native land was ever made before her. The little waif
+was at first utterly bewildered, then reconciled, and by the time spring
+came over the prairie was almost happy in the touching way of a child
+deprived of childish things.
+
+Oh, how sweet spring seemed to those snow-weary people! Day after day
+the sun crept higher up in the sky; day after day the snow gave way a
+little on the swells, and streams of water began to trickle down under
+the huge banks of snow, filling the ravines; and then at last came a day
+when a strange, warm wind blew from the northwest. Soft and sweet and
+sensuous it was, as if it swept some tropic bay filled with a thousand
+isles--a wind like a vast warm breath blown upon the land. Under its
+touch the snow did not melt; it vanished. It fled in a single day from
+the plain to the gullies. Another day, and the gullies were rivers.
+
+It was the "chinook," which old Lambert, the trapper and surveyor, said
+came from the Pacific Ocean.
+
+The second morning after the chinook began to blow, Anson sprang to his
+feet from his bunk, and standing erect in the early morning light,
+yelled: "Hear that?"
+
+"What is it?" asked Bert.
+
+"There! Hear it?" Anson smiled, holding up his hand joyfully as a mellow
+"Boom--boom--boom" broke through the silent air. "Prairie-chickens!
+Hurrah! Spring has come! That breaks the back o' winter short off."
+
+"Hurrah! de 'pring ees come!" cried little Flaxen, gleefully clapping
+her hands in imitation.
+
+No man can know what a warm breeze and the note of a bird can mean to
+him till he is released, as these men were released, from the bondage of
+a horrible winter. Perhaps still more moving was the thought that with
+the spring the loneliness of the prairie would be broken, never again to
+be so dread and drear; for with the coming of spring came the tide of
+land-seekers pouring in: teams scurried here and there on the wide
+prairie, carrying surveyors, land agents, and settlers. At Summit trains
+came rumbling in by the first of April, emptying thousands of men,
+women, and children upon the sod, together with cattle, machinery, and
+household articles, to lie there roofed only by the blue sky. Summit,
+from being a half-buried store and a blacksmith's shop, bloomed out into
+a town with saloons, lumber-yards, hotels, and restaurants; the sound of
+hammer and anvil was incessant, and trains clanged and whistled night
+and day.
+
+Day after day the settlers got their wagons together and loaded up, and
+then moved down the slope into the fair valley of the sleepy James. Mrs.
+Cap Burdon did a rushing business as a hotel-keeper, while Cap sold hay
+and oats at rates which made the land-seekers gasp.
+
+"I'm not out here f'r my health," was all the explanation he ever made.
+
+Soon all around the little shanty of Anson and Bert other shanties were
+built and filled with young, hopeful, buoyant souls. The railway
+surveyors came through, locating a town about three and another about
+twelve miles away, and straightway the bitter rivalry between Boomtown
+and Belleplain began. Belleplain being their town, Bert and Anson swore
+by Belleplain, and correspondingly derided the claims of Boomtown.
+
+With the coming of spring began the fiercest toil of the
+pioneers--breaking the sod, building, harvesting, ploughing; then the
+winter again, though not so hard to bear; then the same round of work
+again. So the land was settled, the sod was turned over; sod shanties
+gave way to little frame houses; the tide of land-seekers passed on, the
+boom burst, but the real workers, like Wood and Gearheart, went
+patiently, steadily on, founding a great State.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+A QUESTION OF DRESS.
+
+One morning eight years later Flaxen left the home of Gearheart and Wood
+with old Doll and the buggy, bound for Belleplain after groceries for
+harvest. She drove with a dash, her hat on the back of her head. She was
+seemingly intent on getting all there was possible out of a chew of
+kerosene gum, which she had resolved to throw away upon entering town,
+intending to get a new supply.
+
+She had thriven on Western air and gum, and though hardly more than
+fourteen years of age, her bust and limbs revealed the grace of
+approaching womanhood, however childish her short dress and braided hair
+might still show her to be. Her face was large and decidedly of
+Scandinavian type, fair in spite of wind and sun, and broad at the
+cheekbones. Her eyes were as blue and clear as winter ice.
+
+As she rode along she sang as well as she could without neglecting the
+gum, sitting at one end of the seat like a man, the reins held
+carelessly in her left hand, notwithstanding the swift gait of the
+horse, who always knew when Flaxen was driving. She met a friend on the
+road, and said, "Hello!" pulling up her horse with one strong hand.
+
+"Can't stop," she explained; "got to go over to the city to get some
+groceries for harvest. Goin' to the sociable to-morrow?"
+
+"You bet," replied the friend, "You?"
+
+"I d'know; mebbe, if the boys'll go. Ta-ta; see ye later." And away she
+spun.
+
+Belleplain had not thriven, or, to be more exact, it had had a rise and
+fall; and as the rise had been considerable, so the fall was something
+worth chronicling. It was now a collection of wooden buildings, mostly
+empty, graying under the storms and suns of pitiless winters and
+summers, and now, just in mid-summer, surrounded by splendid troops and
+phalanxes of gorgeous sunflowers, whose brown crowns, gold-dusted,
+looked ever toward the sun as it swung through the wide arch of
+cloudless sky. The signs of the empty buildings still remained, and one
+might still read the melancholy decline from splendours of the past in
+"emporiums," "palace drug stores," and "mansion-houses."
+
+As Flaxen would have said, "Belleplain's boom had bu'sted." Her glory
+had gone with the C., B. and Q., which formed the junction at Boomtown
+and left the luckless citizens of Belleplain "high and dry" on the
+prairie, with nothing but a "spur" to travel on. However, a few stores
+yet remained in the midst of desolation.
+
+After making her other purchases, Flaxen entered the "red-front drug
+store" to secure the special brand of gum which seemed most delectable
+and to buy a couple of cigars for the "boys."
+
+The clerk, who was lately from the East, and wore his moustache curled
+upward like the whiskers of a cat, was "gassing" with another young man,
+who sat in a chair with his heels on the counter.
+
+"Well, my dear, what can I do for you to-day?" he said, winking at the
+loafer, as if to say, "Now watch me."
+
+"I want some gum."
+
+"What kind, darling?" he asked, encouraged by the fellow in the chair.
+
+"I ain't your darling.--Kerosene, shoofly, an' ten cents' worth."
+
+"Say, Jack," drawled the other fellow, "git onto the ankles! Say, sissy,
+you picked your dress too soon. She's goin' to be a daisy, first you
+know. Ain't y', honey?" he said, leaning over and pinching her arm.
+
+"Let me alone, you great, mean thing! I'll tell ol' pap on you, see if I
+don't," cried Flaxen, her eyes filling with angry tears. And as they
+proceeded to other and bolder remarks she rushed out, feeling vaguely
+the degradation of being so spoken to and so touched. It seemed to
+become more atrocious the more she thought upon it.
+
+When she reached home there were still signs of tears on her face, and
+when Anson came out to help her alight, and noticing it asked, "What's
+the matter?" she burst out afresh, crying, and talking incoherently.
+Anson was astonished.
+
+"Why, what's the matter, Flaxie? Can't you tell ol' pap? Are ye sick?"
+
+She shook her head, and rushed past him into the house and into her
+bedroom, like a little cyclone of wrath. Ans slowly followed her, much
+perplexed. She was lying face downward on the bed, sobbing.
+
+"What's the matter, little one? Can't y' tell ol' pap? Have the girls
+be'n makin' fun o' yeh again?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Have the boys be'n botherin' yeh?" No reply. "Who was it?" Still
+silence. He was getting stern now. "Tell me right now."
+
+"Jack Reeves--an'--an' another feller."
+
+"Wha' d' they do?" Silence. "Tell me."
+
+"They--pinched me, an'--an'--talked mean to me," she replied, breaking
+down again with the memory of the insult.
+
+Anson began to understand.
+
+"Wal, there! You dry y'r eyes, Flaxie, an' go an' git supper; they won't
+do it again--not this harvest," he added grimly as he marched to the
+door to enter the buggy.
+
+Bert, coming along from the barn and seeing Anson about to drive away,
+asked where he was going. Anson tried to look indifferent.
+
+"Oh, I've got a little business to transact with Reeves and some other
+smart Aleck downtown."
+
+"What's up? What have they be'n doing?" asked Gearheart, reading trouble
+in the eyes of his friend.
+
+"Well, they have be'n a little too fresh with Flaxen to-day, an' need a
+lesson."
+
+"They're equal to it. Say, Anson, let me go," laying his hand on the
+dasher, ready to leap in.
+
+"No: you're too brash. You wouldn't know when to quit. No: you stay
+right here. Don't say anything to Flaxen about it; if she wants to know
+where I'm gone, tell her I found I was out o' nails."
+
+As Anson drove along swiftly he was in a savage mood and thinking
+deeply. Two or three times of late some of his friends had touched
+rather freely upon the fact that Flaxen was becoming a woman. "Girls
+ripen early out in this climate," one old chap had said, "and your
+little Norsk there is likely to leave you one of these days." He felt
+now that something deliberately and inexpressibly offensive had been
+said and done to his little girl. He didn't want to know just what it
+was, but just who did it; that was all. It was time to make a protest.
+
+Hitching his horse to a ring in the sidewalk upon arrival, he walked
+into the drug store, which was also the post-office. Young Reeves was
+inside the post-office corner giving out the mail, and Anson sauntered
+about the store waiting his chance.
+
+He was a dangerous-looking man just now. Ordinarily his vast frame,
+huge, grizzled beard, and stern, steady eyes would quell a panther; but
+now as he leaned against the counter a shrewd observer would have said,
+"Lookout for him; he's dangerous."
+
+His gray shirt, loose at the throat, showed a neck that resembled the
+spreading base of an oak tree, and his crossed limbs and half-recumbent
+pose formed a curious opposition to the look in his eyes.
+
+Nobody noticed him specially. Most comers and goers, being occupied with
+their mail, merely nodded and passed on.
+
+Finally some one called for a cigar, and Reeves, having finished in the
+post-office department, came jauntily along behind the counter directly
+to where Anson stood. As he looked casually into the giant's eyes he
+started back, but too late; one vast hand had clutched him by the
+collar, and he was jerked over the counter and cuffed from hand to hand,
+like a mouse in the paws of a cat. Though Ans used his open palm, the
+punishment was fearful. Blood burst from his victim's nose and mouth; he
+yelled with fright and pain.
+
+The rest rushed to help.
+
+"Stand back! This is a private affair," said Ans, throwing up a warning
+hand. They paused; all knew his strength.
+
+"It wasn't me!" screamed Reeves as the punishment increased; "it was Doc
+Coe."
+
+Coe, his hands full of papers and letters, horrified at what had
+overtaken Reeves, stood looking on. But now he tried to escape. Flinging
+the battered, half-senseless Reeves back over the counter, where he lay
+in a heap, Anson caught Coe by the coat just as he was rushing past him,
+and duplicated the punishment, ending by kicking him into the street,
+where he lay stunned and helpless. Ans said then, in a voice that the
+rest heard, "The next time you insult a girl, you'd better inquire into
+the qualities of her guardeen."
+
+This little matter attended to, he unhitched his horse from the
+sidewalk, and refusing to answer any questions, rode off home, outwardly
+as calm as though he had just been shaking hands.
+
+Supper was about ready when he drove up, and through the open door he
+could see the white-covered table and could hear the cheerful clatter of
+dishes. Flaxen was whistling. Eight years of hard work had not done much
+for these sturdy souls, but they had managed to secure with incredible
+toil a comfortable little house surrounded with outbuildings. Calves and
+chickens gave life to the barn-yard, and fields of wheat rippled and ran
+with swash of heavy-bearded heads and dapple of shadow and sheen.
+
+Flaxen was now the housewife and daughter of these hard-working
+pioneers, and a cheery and capable one she had become. No one had ever
+turned up with a better claim to her, and so she had grown up with Ans
+and Bert, going to school when she could spare the time, but mainly
+being adviser and associate at the farm.
+
+Ans and Bert had worked hard winter and summer trying to get ahead, but
+had not succeeded as they had hoped. Crops had failed for three or four
+years, and money was scarce with them; but they had managed to build
+this small frame house and to get a little stock about them, and this
+year, with a good crop, would "swing clear," and be able to do something
+for Flaxen--perhaps send her to Belleplain to school, togged out like a
+little queen.
+
+When Anson returned to the house after putting out the horse, he found
+Bert reading the paper in the little sitting-room and Flaxen putting the
+tea on the stove.
+
+"Wha' d' y' do to him, pap?" laughed she, all her anger gone. Bert came
+out to listen.
+
+"Oh, nothin' p'tic'lar," answered Ans, flinging his hat at a chicken
+that made as though to come in, and rolling up his sleeves preparatory
+to sozzling his face at the sink. "I jest cuffed 'em a little, an' let
+'em go."
+
+"Is that all?" said Flaxen, disappointedly, a comical look on her round
+face.
+
+"Now, don't you worry," put in Bert. "Anson's cuffin' a man is rather
+severe experience. I saw him cuff a man once; it ain't anythin' to be
+desired a second time."
+
+They all drew about the table. Flaxen looked very womanly as she sat
+cutting the bread and pouring the tea. She had always been old in her
+ways about the house, for she had very early assumed the housewife's
+duties and cares. Her fresh-coloured face beamed with delight as she
+watched the hungry men devouring the fried pork, potatoes, and cheese.
+
+"When y' goin' to begin cuttin', boys?" Collectively they were boys to
+her, but when addressing them separately they were "Bert" and "Pap."
+
+"To-morrow 'r nex' day, I guess," answered Anson, looking out of the
+open door. "Don't it look fine--all yeller an' green? I tell ye they
+ain't anything lays over a ripe field o' wheat in my eyes. You jest take
+it when the sun strikes it right, an' the wind is playin' on it--when it
+kind o' sloshes around like water--an' the clouds go over it, droppin'
+shadders down on it, an' a hawk kind o' goes skimmin' over it, divin'
+into it once in a while--"
+
+He did not finish; it was not necessary.
+
+"Yes, sir!" adjudged Gearheart, after a pause, leaning his elbows on the
+table and looking out of the door on the far-stretching, sun-glorified
+plain.
+
+"The harvest kind o' justifies the winter we have out here. That is,
+when we have a harvest such as this. Fact is, we fellers live six months
+o' the year lookin' ahead to harvest, an' t'other six months lookin'
+back to it. Well, this won't buy the woman a dress, Ans. We must get
+that header set up to-night if we can."
+
+They pushed their chairs back noisily and rose to go out. Flaxen said:
+
+"Say, which o' you boys is goin' to help me churn to-night?"
+
+Anson groaned, while she laughed.
+
+"I don't know, Flax; ask us an easier one."
+
+"We'll attend to that after it gets too dark to work on the machine,"
+added Bert.
+
+"Well, see 't y' do. I can't do it; I've got bread to mix an' a chicken
+to dress. Say, if you don't begin cuttin' till day after to-morrow, we
+can go down to the sociable to-morrow night. Last one o' the season."
+
+"I wish it was the last one before the kingdom come," growled Bert as he
+"stomped" out the door. "They're a bad lot. The idea o' takin' down four
+dollars' worth o' grub an' then payin' four dollars for the privilege of
+eatin' half of it! I'll take my chicken here, when I'm hungry."
+
+"Bert ain't partial to sociables, is he, pap?" laughed Flaxen.
+
+"I should hate to have the minister dependin' on Bert for a livin'."
+
+"Sa-ay, pap!"
+
+"Wal, babe?"
+
+"I expect I'll haf t' have a new dress one o' these days."
+
+"Think so?"
+
+"You bet."
+
+"Why, what's the matter with the one y' got on? Ain't no holes in it
+that I can see," looking at it carefully and turning her around as if
+she were on a pivot.
+
+"Well, ain't it purty short, pap?" she said suggestively.
+
+"I swear, I don't know but it is," conceded Anson, scratching his head;
+"I hadn't paid much 'tention to it before. It certainly is a lee-tle too
+short. Lemme see: ain't no way o' lettin' it down, is they?"
+
+"Nary. She's clean down to the last notch now," replied Flaxen
+convincingly.
+
+"Couldn't pull through till we thrash?" he continued, still in a
+tentative manner.
+
+"Could, but don't like to," she answered, laughing again, and showing
+her white teeth pleasantly.
+
+"I s'pose it'll cost suthin'," he insinuated in a dubious tone.
+
+"Mattie Stuart paid seven dollars fer her'n, pap, an' I--"
+
+"Seven how manys?"
+
+"Dollars, pap, makin' an' everythin'. An' then I ought to have a new hat
+to go with the dress, an' a new pair o' shoes. All the girls are wearin'
+white, but I reckon I can git along with a good coloured one that'll do
+fer winter."
+
+"Wal, all right. I'll fix it--some way," Ans said, turning away only to
+look back and smile to see her dancing up and down and crying:
+
+"Oh, goody, goody!"
+
+"I'll do it if I haf to borrow money at two per cent a month," said he
+to Bert, as he explained the case. "Hear her sing! Why, dern it! I'd
+spend all I've got to keep that child twitterin' like that. Wouldn't
+you, eh?"
+
+Bert was silent, thinking deeply on a variety of matters suggested by
+Anson's words. The crickets were singing from out the weeds near by; a
+lost little wild chicken was whistling in plaintive sweetness down in
+the barley-field; the flaming light from the half-sunk sun swept along
+the green and yellow grain, glorifying as with a bath of gold everything
+it touched.
+
+"I wish that grain hadn't ripened so fast, Ans. It's blightin'."
+
+"Think so?"
+
+"No: I know it. I went out to look at it before supper, an' every one of
+those spots that look so pretty are just simply burnin' up! But, say,
+ain't it a little singular that Flaxen should blossom out in a desire
+for a new dress all at once? Ain't it rather sudden?"
+
+"Wal, no: I don't think it is. Come to look it all over, up one side an'
+down the other, she's been growin' about an inch a month this summer,
+an' her best dress is gittin' turrible short the best way you can fix
+it. She's gittin' to be 'most a woman, Bert."
+
+"Yes: I know she is," said Bert, significantly. "An' something's got to
+be done right off."
+
+"Wha' d' ye mean by that, ol' man?"
+
+"I mean jest this. It's time we did something religious for that girl.
+She ain't had much chance since she's been here with us. She ain't had
+no chance at all. Now I move that we send her away to school this
+winter. Give her a good outfit an' send her away. This ain't no sort o'
+way for a girl to grow up in."
+
+"Wal, I've be'n thinkin' o' that myself; but where'll we send her?"
+
+"Oh, back to the States somewhere; Wisconsin or Minnesota--somewhere."
+
+"Why not to Boomtown?"
+
+"Well, I'll tell yeh, Ans. I've been hearing a good 'eal off an' on
+about the way we're bringin' her up here 'alone with two rough old
+codgers,' an' I jest want to give her a better chance than the Territory
+affords. I want her to git free of us and all like us, for a while; let
+her see something of the world. Besides, that business over in
+Belleplain to-day kind o' settled me. The plain facts are, Ans, the
+people are a little too free with her because she is growin' up here--"
+
+"I know some fellers that won't be again."
+
+"Well, they are beginnin' to wink an' nudge each other an' to say--"
+
+"Go on! What do they say?"
+
+"They say she's goin' to be a woman soon; that this fatherly business is
+bound to play out."
+
+"I'd like to see anybody wink when I'm around. I'd smash 'em!" said
+Anson through his set teeth. "Why, she's our little babe," he broke out,
+as the full significance of the matter came to him. "My little un; I'm
+her ol' pap. Why--" He ended in despair. "It's none o' their darn
+business."
+
+"There ain't no use o' howlin', Ans. You can't smash a whole
+neighborhood."
+
+"But what are we goin' to do?"
+
+"Well, I'll tell ye what we mustn't do. We mustn't tog her out jest
+yet."
+
+"Why not?" asked Anson, not seeing these subtle distinctions of time and
+place.
+
+"Because, you tog her out this week or next, without any apparent
+reason, in a new hat an' dress an' gloves, an' go down to one o' these
+sociables with her, an' you'd have to clean out the whole crowd. They'd
+all be winkin' an' nudgin' an' grinnin'--see?"
+
+"Wal, go on," said the crushed giant. "What'll we do?"
+
+"Just let things go on as they are for the present till we git ready to
+send her to school."
+
+"But I promised the togs."
+
+"All right. I've stated the case," Gearheart returned, with the air of a
+man who washed his hands of the whole affair.
+
+Anson rose with a sudden gesture. "Jest hear her! whistlin' away like a
+lark. I don't see how I'm goin' to go in there an' spoil all her fun; I
+can't do it, that's all."
+
+"Well, now, you leave it all to me. I'll state the case to her in a way
+that'll catch her--see if I don't. She ain't no common girl."
+
+It was growing dark as they went in, and the girl's face could not be
+seen.
+
+"Well, Bert, are y' ready to help churn?"
+
+"Yes, I guess so, if Ans'll milk."
+
+"Oh, he'll milk; he jest loves to milk ol' Brindle when the flies are
+thick."
+
+"Oh, you bet," said Ans, to make her laugh.
+
+"Now, Flaxen," coughed Gearheart in beginning, "we've been discussin'
+your case, an' we've come to the conclusion that you ought to have the
+togs specified in the indictment" (this to take away the gravity of what
+was to follow); "but we're kind o' up a tree about just what we'd better
+do. The case is this. We've got to buy a horse to fill out our team, an'
+that's a-goin' to take about all we can rake an' scrape."
+
+"We may have to git our groceries on tick. Now, if you could only pull
+through till after--" Anson broke in.
+
+"It's purty tough, Flaxie, an' pap's awful sorry; but if you could jest
+pull through--"
+
+It was a great blow to poor little Flaxen, and she broke down and cried
+unrestrainedly.
+
+"I--I--don't see why I can't have things like the rest o' the girls." It
+was her first reproach, and it cut to the heart. Anson swore under his
+breath, and was stepping forward to say something when Gearheart
+restrained him.
+
+"But, y' see, Flaxie, we ain't askin' you to give up the dress, only to
+wait on us for a month or so, till we thrash."
+
+"That's it, babe," said Anson, going over to where she sat, with her
+arms lying on the table and her face hidden upon them. "We could spend
+dollars then where we couldn't cents now."
+
+"And they won't be any more thingumyjigs at the church, anyhow, an' the
+wheat's blightin' on the knolls, besides."
+
+But the first keen disappointment over, she was her brave self once
+more.
+
+"Well, all right, boys," she said, her trembling voice curiously at
+variance with her words; "I'll get along somehow, but I tell you I'll
+have something scrumptious to pay for this--see if I don't." She was
+smiling again faintly, "It'll cost more'n one ten dollars for my togs,
+as you call 'em. Now, pap, you go an' milk that cow! An', Bert, you glue
+yerself to that churn-dasher, an' don't you stop to breathe or swear
+till it's done."
+
+"That's the girl to have--that's our own Flaxie! She knows how hard
+things come on a farm," cheered Anson.
+
+"I bet I do," she said, wiping away the last trace of her tears and
+smiling at her palpable hit. And then began the thump of the dasher, and
+out in the dusk Anson was whistling as he milked.
+
+She went down to the sociable the next night in her old dress, and
+bravely looked happy for pap's sake. Bert did not go. Anson was a rather
+handsome old fellow. Huge, bearded like a Russian, though the colour of
+his beard was a wolf brindle, resembling a bunch of dry buffalo-grass,
+Bert was accustomed to say that he looked the father of the girl, for
+she had the same robust development, carried herself as erect, and
+looked everybody in the eye with the same laughing directness.
+
+There were some sly remarks among a ribald few, but on the whole
+everything passed off as usual. They were both general favorites, and as
+a matter of fact few people remarked that Flaxen's dress was not good
+enough. She certainly forgot all about it, so complete was her
+absorption in the gayety of the evening.
+
+"Wal, now for four weeks' hard times, Flaxen," said Anson, as they were
+jogging homeward about eleven o'clock.
+
+"I can stand my share of it, pap," she stoutly replied. "I'm no
+chicken."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+AFTER HARVEST.
+
+All through those four or five weeks, at every opportunity, the partners
+planned the future of their waif. In the harvest-field, when they had a
+moment together, one would say to the other:
+
+"We'll let her stay two years if she likes it, eh?"
+
+"Certainly; she needn't come back till she wants to. We may be rich
+enough to sell out then, and move back ourselves. I'm gittin' tired o'
+this prairie myself. If we could sell, we'd put her through a whole
+course o' sprouts."
+
+"You bet! Sell when you can find a buyer. I'll sign the deed."
+
+"All right."
+
+And then they would go to work again toiling and planning for the
+future. Every day during August these men worked with the energy of
+demons, up early in the morning and out late at night, harvesting their
+crop. All day the header clattered to and fro with Bert or Ans astride
+the rudder, a cloud of dust rolling up from the ground, out of which the
+painted flanges of the reel flashed like sword-strokes. All day, and day
+after day; while the gulls sailed and soared in the hazy air and the
+larks piped from the dun grass, these human beings, covered with grime
+and sweat, worked in heat and parching wind. And never for an hour did
+they forget their little waif and her needs. And she did her part in the
+house. She rose as early as they and worked almost as late. It was
+miraculous, they admitted.
+
+One night toward the last of the harvest they were returning along the
+road from a neighboring farm, where they had been to head some late
+wheat. The tired horses with down-hung heads and swinging traces were
+walking sullenly but swiftly along the homeward road, the wagon rumbling
+sleepily; the stars were coming out in the east, while yet the rose and
+amethyst of the fallen sun lighted the western sky. Through the air,
+growing moist, came the sound of reapers still going. Men were shouting
+blithely, while voices of women and children came from the cabins, where
+yellow lights began to twinkle.
+
+Anson and Bert, blackened with dust and perspiration and weary to the
+point of listlessness, sat with elbows on knees, talking in low, slow
+tones on the never-failing topic, crops and profits. Their voices chimed
+with the sound of the wagon.
+
+"There's the light," broke out Ans, rousing himself and the team;
+"Flaxen's got supper all ready for us. She's a regular little Trojan,
+that girl is. They ain't many girls o' fourteen that 'u'd stay there
+contented all day alone an' keep all the whole business in apple-pie
+order. She'll get her pay some day."
+
+"We'll try to pay her; but say, ol' man, ain't it about time to open up
+our plans to her?"
+
+"Wal, yes; it is. You kind o' start the thing to-night, an' we'll have
+it over with."
+
+As they drove up, Flaxen came to the door. "Hello, boys! What makes ye
+so late?"
+
+"Finishin' up a field, babe. All done."
+
+She clapped her hands and danced up and down.
+
+"Goody! all done at last. Well, yank them horses out o' their harnesses
+an' come to biscuits. They're jest sizzlin' hot."
+
+"All right. We'll be there in about two jerks of a lamb's tail in
+fly-time. Bert, grab a tug; I'm hungry as a wolf."
+
+It was about the first of September and the nights were getting cool,
+and the steaming supper seemed like a feast to the chilled and stiffened
+men coming in a little later and sitting down with the sound of the
+girl's cheery voice in their ears. The tea was hot; so were the
+biscuits. The pyramid of hot mashed potato had a lump of half-melted
+butter in the hollow top, and there were canned peaches and canned
+salmon.
+
+"Yes: we're about finished up harvestin'," said Bert, as they settled
+themselves at the table, "an' it's about time to talk about gittin' you
+off to school."
+
+"Don't worry about that. It ain't no great job, I reckon. I can git
+ready in about seventeen jiffies, stop-watch time."
+
+"Not if you are goin' away off to some city in the East--"
+
+"Yes: but I ain't, y' see."
+
+"Oh, yes, you are. Bert an' I've be'n talkin' it all over f'r the last
+three weeks. We're goin' to send you back to St. Peter to the seminary."
+
+"I guess not, pap. I'd like to know what you think you're a-doin'
+sendin' me 'way back there. Boomtown's good enough fer me."
+
+"There, there, Flaxie; don't git mad. Y' see, we think they ain't
+anythin' good enough for you. Nothin' too good for a girl that stays to
+home an' cooks f'r two old cusses--"
+
+"You ain't cusses! You're jest as good as you can be; but I ain't
+a-goin'--there!"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"'Cause I ain't; that's why."
+
+"Why, don't y' wan' to go back there where the people have nice houses,
+an' where they's a good--"
+
+"Well, I don't know enough; that's why. I ain't goin' back to no
+seminary to be laughed at 'cause I don't know beans."
+
+"But you do," laughed Bert, with an attempt to lighten the gloom--"you
+know canned beans."
+
+"They'd laff at me, I know, an' call me a little Norsk." She was ready
+to cry.
+
+"I'll bet they won't, not when they see our new dress an' our new gold
+watch--dress jest the color o' crow's-foot grass, watch thirty carats
+fine. I'd laugh to see 'em callin' my babe names then!"
+
+And so by bribing, coaxing, and lying they finally obtained her tearful
+consent. They might not have succeeded even then had it not been for a
+young lady in Boomtown who was going back to the same school, and who
+offered to take her in charge. But there was hardly a day that she did
+not fling herself down into a chair and cry out:
+
+"I jest ain't goin'. I'm all right here, an' I don't see why you can't
+let me stay here. I ain't made no fuss. Seems as if you thought it was
+fun f'r me to go 'way off there where I don't know anythin' an' where I
+don't know anybody."
+
+But having come to a conclusion, the men were relentless. They hired
+sewing-girls, and skirmished back and forth between Boomtown and the
+farm like mad. Their steady zeal made up for her moody and fitful
+enthusiasm. However, she grew more resigned to the idea as the days wore
+on toward the departure, though her fits of dark and unusual musing were
+alarming to Anson, who feared a desperate retreat at the last moment.
+
+He took her over to see Miss Holt one day, but not before he had
+prepared the way.
+
+"I s'pose things are in purty good shape around this seminary?" he
+asked.
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed. There are three large buildings; libraries,
+picture-galleries, and music-rooms. The boarding-halls are carpeted and
+the parlors are really elegant."
+
+"Uh-hum!" commented Anson. "Well, now, I'm goin' to bring my girl over
+to see you, an' I guess it 'u'd be jest as well if you didn't mention
+these fineries an' things. Y' see, she's afraid of all such things. It
+'u'd be better to tell her that things weren't very gorgeous
+there--about like the graded school in Boomtown, say. She ain't used to
+these music-halls an' things. Kind o' make her think St. Peter ain't no
+great shakes, anyhow."
+
+"I see," laughed the quick-witted girl. And she succeeded in removing a
+good deal of Flaxen's dread of the seminary.
+
+"Wal, babe, to-morrow," said Anson, as they were eating supper, and he
+was astonished to see her break out in weeping.
+
+"Why don't you keep harpin' away on that the whole while?" she
+exclaimed. "Can't you leave me alone a minute? Seems to me you're jest
+crazy to git rid o' me."
+
+"Oh, we are," put in Bert. "We're jest lickin' our chops to git back to
+sour flapjacks an' soggy bread. Jest seems as though we couldn't wait
+till to-morrow noon, to begin doing our own cookin' again."
+
+This cleared the air a little, and they spent the rest of the evening
+without saying very much directly upon the departure. The two men sat up
+late after Flaxen had gone to bed. There was the trunk and valise which
+would not let them forget even for a moment what was coming on the
+morrow. Every time Anson looked at her he sighed and tried to swallow
+the lump in his throat.
+
+"Say, Bert, let's let her stay if she wants to," he said suddenly after
+they had been in silence for a long time.
+
+"Don't make a cussed fool of yourself, Ans," growled Bert, who saw that
+heroic measures were necessary. "Go to bed an' don't you say another
+word; we've got to take our medicine like men."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+AN EMPTY HOUSE.
+
+Anson was the more talkative of the two next morning, however.
+
+"Come, come, brace up, babe! Anybody 'u'd think we'd lost all the rest
+of our family, when we're only doin' the square thing by our daughter.
+That's all. Why, you'll be as happy as a canary in less'n two weeks.
+Young folks is about the same everywhere, an' you'll git acquainted in
+less'n two jiffies."
+
+They were on the road to Boomtown to put Flaxen on the train. It was
+about the tenth of September, early in the cold, crisp air of a perfect
+morning. In the south there was a vast phantom lake, with duplicate
+cities here and there along the winding shores, which stretched from
+east to west. The grain-stacks stood around so thickly that they seemed
+like walls of a great, low-built town, the mirage bringing into vision
+countless hundreds of them commonly below the horizon.
+
+The smoke of steam threshing-machines mounted into the still air here
+and there, and hung long in a slowly drifting cloud above the land. The
+prairie-lark, the last of the singing birds, whistled softly and
+infrequently from the dry grass. The gulls were streaming south from the
+lakes.
+
+They were driving her to Boomtown to avoid the inquisitive eyes of the
+good people of Belleplain. "I may break down an' blubber," said Anson to
+Bert; "an' if I do, I don't want them cussed idiots standin' around
+laughin'--it's better to go on the C., B. and Q., anyhow."
+
+Notwithstanding his struggle to keep talk going, Anson was unsuccessful
+from the very moment that Belleplain faded to an unsubstantial group of
+shadows and disappeared from the level plain into the air, just as
+Boomtown correspondingly wavered into sight ahead. Silence so profound
+was a restraint on them all, and poor Flaxen with wide eyes looked
+wistfully on the plain that stretched away into unknown regions. She was
+thinking of her poor mother, whom she dimly remembered in the horror of
+that first winter. Naturally of a gay, buoyant disposition, she had not
+dwelt much upon her future or her past; but now that the familiar plain
+seemed slipping from her sight entirely, she was conscious of its
+beauty, and, rapt with the associated emotions which came crowding upon
+her, she felt as though she were leaving the tried and true for the
+unknown and uncertain.
+
+"Boys," she said finally, "do you s'pose I've got any folks?"
+
+"I shouldn't wonder if y' had, babe, somewhere back in the ol' country."
+
+"They couldn't talk with me if I could find 'em, could they?"
+
+"I reckon not, 'less you study so hard that you can learn their lingo,"
+said Ans, seeing another opportunity to add a reason for going to
+school.
+
+"Well, boys, that's what I'm goin' to do, an' by an' by we'll go over
+there an' see if we can't find 'em, won't we?"
+
+"That's the talk; now you're gittin' down to business," rejoined Ans.
+
+"I s'pose St. Peter is a good 'eal bigger'n Boomtown," she said
+sighfully, as they neared the "emporium of the sleepy James."
+
+"A little," said the astute Gearheart.
+
+The clanging of the engines and the noise of shouting gave her a sinking
+sensation in the chest, and she clung to Anson's arm as they drove past
+the engine. She was deafened by the hiss of the escaping steam of the
+monster standing motionless, headed toward the east, ready to leap on
+its sounding way.
+
+On the platform they found Miss Holt and a number of other friends
+waiting. There was a great deal of clanging and whanging and scuffling,
+it seemed to the poor, overwrought girl. Miss Holt took her in charge at
+once and tried to keep her cheerful. When they had checked her trunk and
+the train was about ready to start, Ans looked uneasy and fidgeted
+about. Bert looked on, silent and dark. Flaxen, with her new long dress
+and new hat, looked quite the woman, and Miss Holt greeted her as such;
+indeed, she kept so close to her that Anson looked in vain for a chance
+to say something more which was on his mind. Finally, as the train was
+about going, he said hesitatingly:
+
+"Elga, jest a minute." She stared for a moment, then came up to him.
+
+"I didn't want to call y' Flaxen afore her," he explained; "but
+you--ain't--kissed us good-bye." He ended hesitatingly.
+
+The tears were already streaming down her cheeks, and this was too much.
+She flung her arms about his neck and sobbed on his bosom with the
+abandon of girlish grief.
+
+"I don't wan' to go 't all, pap."
+
+"Oh, yes, y' do, Elga; yes; y' do! Don't mind us; we'll be all right.
+I'll have Bert writin' a full half the time. There, kiss me good-bye an'
+git on--Bert here, too."
+
+She kissed him twice through his bristling moustache, and going to Bert
+offered her lips, and then came back to Anson and threw herself against
+his broad, strong breast. She had no one to love but these two. It
+seemed as if she were leaving everything in the world. Anson took her on
+his firm arm and helped her on the car, and followed her till she was
+seated beside Miss Holt.
+
+"Don't cry, babe; you'll make ol' pap feel turrible. He'll break right
+down here afore all these people, an' blubber, if y' don't cheer up.
+Why, you'll soon be as happy as a fly in soup. Good-bye, good-bye!"
+
+The train started, and Anson, brushing his eyes with his great brown
+hand, swung himself off and stood looking at her. As the train passed
+him she rushed to the rear end of the car, and remained there looking
+back at the little station till the sympathetic Miss Holt gently led her
+back to her seat. Then she flattened her round cheek against the pane
+and tried to see the boys. When the last house of the town passed by her
+window she sank back in her seat and sobbed silently.
+
+"I feel as if I'd be'n attendin' my own funeral," said Anson, after they
+had got into their wagon and the train had gone out of sight in the haze
+of the prairie.
+
+"Well, it's pretty tough on that child to go off that way. To her the
+world is all a great mystery. When you an' I go to heaven it won't be
+any greater change for us than this change for Flaxen--every face
+strange, every spot new."
+
+"Wal, she ain't far away but we can look out for her. She ain't poor n'r
+fatherless as long as we live, hey?"
+
+And then silence fell on them. As they were jogging homeward they saw
+the gray gulls rise from the sod and go home to the lake for the night.
+They heard the crickets' evening chorus broaden and deepen to an endless
+and monotonous symphony, while behind fantastic, thin, and rainless
+clouds the sun sank in unspeakable glory of colour. The air, perfectly
+still, was cool almost to frostiness, and, far above, the fair stars
+broke from the lilac and gold of the sun-flushed sky. Lights in the
+farm-houses began to appear.
+
+Once or twice Anson said: "She's about at Summit now. I hope she's
+chirked up."
+
+They met threshing-crews going noisily home to supper. Once they met an
+"outfit," engine, tank, separator, all moving along like a train of
+cars, while every few minutes the red light from the furnace gleamed on
+the man who was stuffing the straw into the furnace-door, bringing out
+his face so plainly that they knew him. As the night grew deeper, an
+occasional owl flapped across the fields in search of mice.
+
+"We're bound to miss her like thunder, Bert; no two ways about that.
+Can't help but miss her on the cookin', hey?"
+
+Bert nodded without looking up. As they came in sight of home at last,
+and saw the house silhouetted against the faintly yellow sky, Ans said
+with a sigh:
+
+"No light an' no singin' there to-night."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+"BACHING" IT AGAIN.
+
+"The fact is, Flaxen has sp'iled us," laughed Anson, a couple of days
+later, when Bert was cursing the soggy biscuit. "We've got so high-toned
+that we can't stand common cookin'. Time was we'd 'a' thought ourselves
+lucky to git as good as that. Rec'lect them flapjacks we ust to make? By
+mighty! you could shoe a horse with 'em. Say, I wish I could jest slip
+in an' see what she's a-doin' about now, hey?"
+
+"She's probably writin' a letter. She won't do much of anythin' else for
+the first week."
+
+"I hope you're right," said Anson.
+
+They got a queer little letter every Wednesday, each one for several
+weeks pitifully like the others.
+
+Dear boys i thought i would take my pen in hand to tell you i dont like
+it one bit the school is just as mene as it can be the girls do laugh at
+me they call me toe-head. if i catch em right i will fix their heads.
+They is one girl who i like she is from pipestone she dont know no moren
+i do she says my dress is pritty--ol nig an the drake all rite i wish i
+was home.
+
+Elga.
+
+The wish to be home was in all these letters like a sob. The men read
+them over carefully and gravely, and finally Anson would put them away
+in the Bible (bought on Flaxen's account) for safe-keeping.
+
+As the letters improved in form their exultation increased.
+
+"Say, Bert, don't you notice she writes better now? She makes big I's
+now in place o' little ones. Seems 's if she runs the sentence all
+together, though."
+
+"She'll come out all right. You see, she goes into the preparatory
+department, where they teach writin' an' spellin'. You'll see her hand
+improve right along now."
+
+And it did, and she ceased to wail for home and ceased to say that she
+hated her studies.
+
+"I am getting along splendid," she wrote some weeks after this. "I like
+my teacher; her name is Holt. She is just as nice as she can be. She is
+cousin to the one who came with me; I live with her uncle, and I can go
+to soshibles whenever I want to; but the other girls cant. I am feeling
+pretty good, but I wish you boys was here."
+
+She did not wish to be at home this time!
+
+Winter shut down on the broad land again with that implacable,
+remorseless brilliancy of fierce cold which characterises the northern
+plain, stopping work on the farm and bolting all doors. Hardly a day
+that the sun did not shine; but the light was hard, white, glittering,
+and cold, the winds treacherous, the snow wild and restless. There was
+now comparatively little danger of being lost even in the fiercest
+storms, but still life in one of these little cabins had an isolation
+almost as terrible as that of a ship wedged amid the ice-floes of the
+polar regions.
+
+Day after day rising to feed the cattle, night after night bending over
+the sooty stove listening to the ceaseless voice of the wind as it beat
+and brushed, whispered, moaned, and piped or screamed around the windows
+and eaves--this was their life, varied with an occasional visit to the
+store or the post-office, or by the call of a neighbour. It is easy to
+conceive that Flaxen's bright letters were like bursts of bird-song in
+their loneliness. Many of the young men, their neighbours, went back
+East to spend the winter--back to Michigan, Iowa, New York, or
+elsewhere.
+
+"Ans, why don't you go back an' visit your folks?" asked Bert, one day.
+"I'll take care o' things."
+
+"Wal, the fact is, I've be'n away so long they don't care whether I'm
+alive er dead. I ain't got no near relatives except a sister, an' she's
+got all the fam'ly she can 'tend to."
+
+"Same here. We ain't very affectionate, anyway; our fam'ly and I don't
+write. Still I'd like to go back, just to see how they all are."
+
+"Why not go?"
+
+"Well, I don't know. I guess I must one o' these days. I've kind o' be'n
+waitin' till we got into a little better shape. I hate to go back poor."
+
+"So do I. It's hard work f'r me to give up beat; I ain't goin' to do it
+yet awhile."
+
+Sometimes a neighbour dropped in during the middle of the day, and on
+pleasant days they would harness up the team and take a drive down to
+the store and the post-office; but mainly they vegetated like a couple
+of huge potatoes in a cellar, as did most of the settlers. There was
+nothing else to do.
+
+It was the worst winter since the first that they had spent in the
+country. The snow seemed never still. It slid, streamed, rose in the air
+ceaselessly; it covered the hay, drifted up the barn door, swept the
+fields bare, and, carrying the dirt of the ploughed fields with it,
+built huge black drifts wherever there was a wind-break, corn-field, or
+other obstruction.
+
+There were moments when Bert was well-nigh desperate. Only contact with
+hard work and cold winds saved him. He was naturally a more ambitious,
+more austere man than Anson. He was not content to vegetate, but longed
+to escape. He felt that he was wasting his life.
+
+It was in December that the letter first came from Flaxen which
+mentioned Will Kendall.
+
+O boys! I had the best time. We had a party at our house and lots of
+boys came and girls too, and they were nice, the boys, I mean. Will
+Kendall he is the nicest feller you ever seen. He has got black eyes and
+brown hair and a gold watch-chain with a locket with some girl's hair in
+it, and he said it was his sister's hair, but I told him I didn't
+believe it, do you? We had cake and popcorn and lasses candy; and Will
+he took me out to supper.
+
+Bert was reading the letter, and at this point he stopped and raised his
+eyes, and the two men gazed at each other without a word for a long
+time. Then Anson laughed.
+
+"She's gittin' over her homesickness. She's all right now she's got out
+to a sociable."
+
+After that there was hardly a letter that did not mention Kendall in
+some innocent fashion among the other boys and girls who took part in
+the sleigh-rides, parties, and sociables. But the morbidly acute Bert,
+if he saw, said nothing, and Anson did not see.
+
+"Who d' y' s'pose this Kendall is?" asked Anson, one night late in the
+winter, of Gearheart, who was reading the paper while his companion
+reread a letter from Flaxen. "Seems to me she's writin' a good 'eal
+about him lately."
+
+"Oh, some slick little dry-goods clerk or druggist," said Bert, with
+unwarrantable irritation.
+
+"She seems to have a good 'eal to say about him, anyway," repeated
+Anson, in a meditative way.
+
+"Oh, that's natural enough. They are two young folks together," replied
+Bert, with a careless accent, to remove any suspicion which his hasty
+utterance might have raised in Anson's mind.
+
+"Wal, I guess you're right," agreed Anson, after a pause, relieved. This
+relief was made complete when in other letters which came she said less
+and less about Kendall. If they had been more experienced, they would
+have been disturbed by this suspicious fact.
+
+Then again, when Anson wrote asking "What has become of that Kendall you
+wrote so much about?" she replied that he was there, and began writing
+of him again in a careless sort of way, with the craft of woman already
+manifest in the change of front.
+
+Spring came again, and that ever-recurring miracle, the good green
+grass, sprang forth from its covering of ice and snow, up from its
+hiding-place in the dark, cold sod.
+
+Again the two men set to work ferociously at the seeding. Up early in
+the wide, sweet dawn, toiling through the day behind harrow and seeder,
+coming in at noon to a poor and badly cooked meal, hurrying back to the
+field and working till night, coming in at sundown so tired that one leg
+could hardly be dragged by the other--this was their daily life.
+
+One day, as they were eating their supper of sour bread and canned
+beans, Gearheart irritatedly broke out: "Ans, why don't you git married?
+It 'u'd simplify matters a good 'eal if you should. 'Old Russ' is no
+good."
+
+"What's the matter with your gittin' married?" replied Anson,
+imperturbably pinching off the cooked part of the loaf, skilfully
+leaving the doughy part.
+
+"I ain't on the marry; that's all."
+
+"Neither am I."
+
+"Well, you ought to be."
+
+"Don't see it."
+
+"Well, now, let me show it. We can't go on this way. I'm gittin' so poor
+you can count my ribs through my shirt. Jest think how comfortable it
+would make things! No more awful coffee; no more canned baked beans; no
+more cussed, infernal, everlastin', leathery flapjacks; no more soggy
+bread--confound it!" Here he seized the round inner part of the loaf,
+from which the crust had been flaked, and flung it through the open door
+far down toward the garden.
+
+"Bert! that's the last bit of bread we've got in the house."
+
+"What's the odds? We couldn't eat it."
+
+"We could 'a' baked it over."
+
+"We could eat dog, but we don't," replied Bert gloomily. His temper was
+getting frightful of late.
+
+"We'll be all right when Flaxen comes back," said Ans, laughing.
+
+"Say, now, you've said that a thousand times this winter. You know well
+enough Flaxen's out o' this. We ain't countin' on her," blurted
+Gearheart, just in the mood to say disagreeable things.
+
+"Wha' d' y' mean? Ain't she comin' back in June?"
+
+"Probably; but she won't stay."
+
+"No: that's so. She'll have to go back in September; but that's three
+months, an' we may sell out by that time if we have a good crop. Anyway,
+we'll live high fer a spell. We ought to have a letter from her
+to-night, hadn't we?"
+
+"I'm goin' down to see, if you'll wash the dishes."
+
+"All right. Take a horse."
+
+"No: the horses are tired. I'll foot it."
+
+"Wal, ain't you too?"
+
+"Want anythin' from the store?"
+
+"Yes: git a hunk o' bacon an' some canned corn, tomatoes, an' some
+canned salmon; if y' think we can stand the pressure, bring home a can
+o' peaches."
+
+And so Gearheart started off for town in the dusk, afoot, in order to
+spare the horse, as though he had not himself walked all day long in the
+soft, muddy ground. The wind was soft and moist, and the light of the
+stars coming out in the east fell upon his upturned eyes with
+unspeakable majesty. Yet he saw them but dimly. He was dreaming of a
+face which was often in his mind now--a face not unlike Flaxen's, only
+older, more glorified, more womanly. He was asking himself some
+searching questions to-night as his tired limbs dragged themselves over
+the grassy road.
+
+What was he toiling for, anyway? What mattered all this terrible
+tramping to and fro--was it an end or only a means? Would there ever
+come anything like satisfaction of desire? Life for him had been a
+silent, gloomy, and almost purposeless struggle. He had not looked
+forward to anything very definite, though vaguely he had hoped for
+something better.
+
+As his eyes fell upon the twinkling, yellow lights of the village his
+thoughts came back to Flaxen and to the letter which he expected to
+receive from her. He quickened his steps, though his feet were sore and
+his limbs stiff and lame.
+
+The one little street presented its usual Saturday-night appearance.
+Teams were hitched to the narrow plank walk before the battlemented
+wooden stores. Men stood here and there in listless knots, smoking,
+talking of the weather and of seeding, while their wives, surrounded by
+shy children, traded within. Being Saturday night, the saloons were full
+of men, and shouts and the clink of beer-mugs could be heard at
+intervals. But the larger crowd was gathered at the post-office: uncouth
+farmers of all nationalities, clerks, land-sharks, lawyers, and giggling
+girls in couples, who took delight in mingling with the crowd.
+
+Judge Sid Balser was over from Boomtown, and was talking expansively to
+a crowd of "leading citizens" about a scheme to establish a horse-car
+line between Boomtown and Belleplain.
+
+Colonel Arran, of the Belleplain Argus, in another corner, not ten feet
+away, was saying that the judge was "a scoundrel, a blow-hard, and would
+down his best lover for a pewter cent," to all of which the placid judge
+was accustomed and gave no heed.
+
+Bert paid no attention to the colonel or to the judge, or to any of this
+buzzing. "They are just talking to hear themselves make a noise, anyway.
+They talk about building up the country--they who are a rope and a
+grindstone around the necks of the rest of us, who do the work."
+
+When Gearheart reached his box he found a large, square letter in it,
+and looking at it saw that it was from Flaxen directed to Anson. "Her
+picture, probably," he said as he held it up. As he was pushing rapidly
+out he heard a half-drunken fellow say, in what he thought was an
+inaudible tone:
+
+"There's Gearheart. Wonder what's become of his little Norsk."
+
+Gearheart turned, and pushing through the crowd, thrust his eyes into
+the face of the speaker with a glare that paralysed the poor fool.
+
+"What's become o' your sense?" he snarled, and his voice had in it a
+carnivorous note.
+
+With this warning he turned contemptuously and passed out, leaving the
+discomfited rowdy to settle accounts with his friends. But there was a
+low note in the ruffian's voice, an insinuating inflection, which stayed
+with him all along the way home, like a bad taste in the mouth. He saw
+by the aid of a number of these side-lights of late that Flaxen never
+could come back to them in the old relation; but how could she come
+back?
+
+Gearheart stopped and gazed thoughtfully upward. She must come back as
+the wife of Ans or himself. "Pooh! she is only a child," he said,
+snapping his finger and walking on. But the insistence remained. "She is
+not a child--she is a maiden, soon to be a woman; she has no relatives,
+no home to go to but ours after her two or three years of schooling are
+over. It must still be her home; no breath of scandal shall touch her if
+I can prevent it; and after her two years are up"--after a long,
+motionless reverie he strode forward--"she shall choose between us."
+
+There had grown up between the two friends of late a constraint, or, to
+be more exact, Gearheart had held himself in before his friend, had not
+discussed these problems with him at all. "Ans is just like a boy," he
+had said to himself; "he don't seem to understand the case, and I don't
+know as it's my duty to enlighten him; he either feels very sure about
+her, or he has not understood the situation."
+
+He was thinking this now as he strode across the spongy sod toward the
+lighted windows of the shanty. The air was damp and chill, for the ice
+was not yet out of the ponds or swamps of tall grasses. An occasional
+prairie-cock sent forth a muffled, drowsy "boom"; low-hung flights of
+geese, gabbling anxiously, or the less-orderly ducks, with hissing
+wings, swept by overhead, darkly limned against the stars. There was a
+strange charm in the raw air. The weary man almost forgot his pain as he
+drew deep breathings of the night.
+
+It was significant of the restraint that had grown up between him and
+Anson that he held the letter from Flaxen unopened in his hand simply
+because it was directed to his friend. He knew that it was as much to
+him as to Anson, and yet, feeling as he had of late, he would not open
+it, for he would have been angry if Anson had opened one directed to
+him. He simply judged Anson by himself.
+
+The giant was asleep when he entered. His great, shaggy head lay beside
+the lamp on his crossed arms. Bert laid the letter down beside him and
+shook him.
+
+"Hello! got back, hey?" the sleeper said, rousing up sluggishly.
+"Anything?" Then he caught sight of the letter. "Oh, bless her little
+heart! Wonder what it is? Picture, bet my hat!" Here he opened it.
+
+"Gee whittiker, thunder and turf, gosh-all--Friday!--look a-there! Ain't
+she growed!" he yelled, holding the picture by the corner and moving it
+into all sorts of positions. "That's my little girl--our Flaxen; she
+can't grow so purty but what I'd know her. See that hair done up on the
+top of her head! Look at that dress, an' the thingumajigs around her
+neck! Oh, she's gittin' there, Smith, hey?"
+
+"She's changing pretty fast," said Bert listlessly.
+
+"Changin' fast! Say, ol' man, what's the matter with you? Are y' sick?"
+
+"I'm played out, that's all."
+
+"Darn my skin! I should think y' would be, draggin' all day, an' then
+walkin' all o' four mile to the post-office. Jest lay down on the bed
+there, ol' boy, while I read the letter to yeh. Say, ol' man, don't you
+git up in the mornin' till you please. I'll look after the breakfast,"
+insisted Anson, struck with remorse by the expression on Bert's face.
+"But here's the letter. Short an' sweet."
+
+Dear Boys [Bless the little fist that wrote that!]. I send my picture. I
+think it is a nice one. The girls say it flatters me, but Will says it
+don't [What the devil do we care what Will says?]--I guess it does,
+don't you? I wish I had a picture of you both; I want to show the girls
+how handsome you are [she means me, of course. No, confound it] how
+handsome you are both of you. I wish you would send me your pictures
+both of you. I ain't got much to say. I will write again soon.
+
+Elga.
+
+Bert looked at the picture over Anson's shoulder, but did not seem to
+pay much attention to it.
+
+"Wal, I'll go out an' shut the barn door. Nights git cold after the sun
+goes down. You needn't peel the 'taters to-night. We'll bake 'em,
+brussels an' all, to-morrow mornin'."
+
+When Anson had gone, Bert snatched up the picture with great eagerness
+and gazed upon it with a steady, devouring glance. How womanly she
+looked with her hair done up so, and the broad, fair face and full
+bosom.
+
+He heard Anson returning from the barn, and hastily laid the picture
+down, and when Anson entered was apparently dropping off to sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+FLAXEN COMES HOME ON A VACATION.
+
+It was in June, just before the ending of the school, that Flaxen first
+began to write about delaying her return. Anson was wofully
+disappointed. He had said all along that she would make tracks for home
+just as soon as school was out, and he had calculated just when she
+would arrive; and on the second day after the close of school for the
+summer he drove down to the train to meet her. She did not come, but he
+got a letter which said that one of her friends wanted her to stay two
+weeks with her, until after the Fourth of July.
+
+"She's an awful nice girl, and we will have a grand time; she has a rich
+father and a piano and a pony and a buggy. It will just be grand."
+
+"I don't blame her none," sighed Anson to Bert. "I don't want her to
+come away while she's enjoyin' herself. It'll be a big change for her to
+come back an' cook f'r us old mossbacks after bein' at school an' in
+good company all these months."
+
+He was plainly disturbed. Her vacation was going to be all too short at
+the best, and he was so hungry for the sight of her! Still, he could not
+blame her for staying, under the circumstances; as he told Bert, his
+feelings did not count. He just wanted her to get all she could out of
+life; "there ain't much, anyway, for us poor devils, but what little
+there is we want her to have."
+
+The Fourth of July was the limit of her stay, and on the sixth, seventh,
+and eighth Anson drove regularly to the evening train to meet her.
+
+On the third day another letter came, saying that she would reach home
+the next Monday. With this Anson rode home in triumph. During the next
+few days he went to the barber's and had his great beard shaved off.
+"Made me look so old," he explained, seeing Bert's wild start of
+surprise. "I've be'n carryin' that mop o' hair round so long I'd kind o'
+got into the notion o' bein' old myself. Got a kind o' crick in the
+back, y' know. But I ain't; I ain't ten years older'n you be."
+
+And he was not. His long blond moustache, shaved beard, and clipped hair
+made a new man of him, and a very handsome man, too, in a large way. He
+was curiously embarrassed by Bert's prolonged scrutiny, and said
+jocosely:
+
+"We've got to brace up a little now. Company boarders comin', young lady
+from St. Peter's Seminary, city airs an' all that sort o' thing. Don't
+you let me see you eatin' pie with y'r knife. I'll break the shins of
+any man that feeds himself with anythin' 'cept the silver-plated forks
+I've bought."
+
+Flaxen had been gone almost a year, and a year counts for much at her
+age. Besides, Anson had exaggerated ideas of the amount of learning she
+could absorb in a year at a boarding-seminary, and he had also a very
+vague idea of what "society" was in St. Peter, although he seemed
+suddenly to awake to the necessity of "bracing up" a little and getting
+things generally into shape. He bought a new suit of clothes and a
+second-hand two-seated carriage, notwithstanding the sarcastic
+reflection of his partner, who was making his own silent comment upon
+this thing.
+
+"The paternal business is auskerspeelt," he said to himself. "Ans is
+goin' in on shape now. Well, it's all right; nobody's business but ours.
+Let her go, Smith; but they won't be no talk in this neighbourhood when
+they get hold of what's goin' on--oh, no!" He smiled grimly. "We can
+stand it, I guess; but it'll be hard on her. Ans is a little too
+previous. It's too soon to spring this trap on the poor little thing."
+
+They stood side by side on the platform the next Monday when the train
+rolled into the station at Boomtown, panting with fatigue from its long
+run. Flaxen caught sight of Bert first as she sprang off the train, and
+running to him, kissed him without much embarrassment. Then she looked
+around, saying:
+
+"Where's ol' pap? Didn't he--"
+
+"Why, Flaxen, don't ye know me?" he cried out at her elbow.
+
+She knew his voice, but his shaven face, so much more youthful, was so
+strange that she knew him only by his eyes laughing down into hers.
+Nevertheless she kissed him doubtfully.
+
+"Oh, what've you done? You've shaved off your whiskers; you don't look a
+bit natural. I--"
+
+She was embarrassed, almost frightened, at the change in him. He "looked
+so queer"; his fair, untroubled, smiling face and blond moustache made
+him look younger than Bert.
+
+"Nev' mind that! She'll grow again if y' like it better. Get int' this
+new buggy--it's ours. They ain't no flies on us to-day; not many," said
+Ans in high glee, elaborately assisting her to the carriage, not
+appreciating the full meaning of the situation.
+
+As they rode home he was extravagantly gay. He sat beside her, and she
+drove, wild with delight at the prairie, the wheat, the gulls,
+everything.
+
+"Ain't no dust on our clo'es," said Ans, coughing, winking at Bert, and
+brushing off with an elaborately finical gesture an imaginary fleck from
+his knee and elbow. "Ain't we togged out? I guess nobody said 'boo' to
+us down to St. Peter, eh?"
+
+"You like my clo'es?" said Flaxen, with charming directness.
+
+"You bet! They're scrumptious."
+
+"Well, they ought to be; they're my best, except my white dress. I
+thought you'd like 'em; I wore 'em a-purpose."
+
+"Like 'em? They're--you're jest as purty as a red lily er a wild rose in
+the wheat--ahem! Ain't she, Bert, ol' boy? We're jest about starvin' to
+death, we are."
+
+"I knew you'd be. What'll I stir up for supper? Biscuits?"
+
+"Um, um! Say, what y' s'pose I've got to go with 'em?"
+
+"Honey."
+
+"Oh, you're too sharp," wailed Ans, while Flaxen went off into a peal of
+laughter. "Say, Bert's be'n in the damnedest--excuse me--plaguedest
+temper fer the last two munce as you ever did see."
+
+While this chatter was going on Bert sat silent and unsmiling on the
+back seat. He was absorbed in seeing the exquisite colour that played in
+her cheek and the equally charming curves of her figure. She was well
+dressed and was wonderfully mature. He was saying to himself: "Ans ain't
+got no more judgment than a boy. We can't keep that girl here. More'n
+that, the girl never'll be contented again, unless--" He did not allow
+himself to go farther. He dared not even think farther.
+
+They had a merry time that night, quite like old times. The biscuits
+were light and flaky, the honey was delightsome, and the milk and butter
+(procured specially) were fresh. They shouted in laughter as Flaxen
+insisted on their eating potatoes with a fork, and opposed the use of
+the knife in scooping up the honey from their plates! Even the saturnine
+Bert forgot his gloom and laughed too, as Ans laboriously dipped his
+honey with a fork, and, finally growing desperate, split a biscuit in
+half, and in the good old boyish way sopped it in the honey.
+
+"There, that's the Christian way of doing things!" he exulted, while
+Flaxen laughed. How bright she was--how strange she acted! There were
+moments when she embarrassed them by some new womanly grace or
+accomplishment, some new air which she had caught from her companions or
+teachers at school. It was truly amazing how much she had absorbed
+outside of her regular studies. She indeed was no longer a girl; she was
+a young woman, and to them a beautiful one.
+
+Not a day passed without some added surprise which made Anson exult and
+say, "She's gettin' her money's worth down there--no two ways about
+that."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+FLAXEN GROWS RESTLESS.
+
+But as the excitement of getting back died out, poor Flaxen grew
+restless, moody, and unaccountable. Before, she had always been the same
+cheery, frank, boyish creature. As Bert said, "You know where to find
+her." Now she was full of strange tempers and moods. She would work most
+furiously for a time, and then suddenly fall dreaming, looking away out
+on the shimmering plain toward the east.
+
+At Bert's instigation, a middle-aged widow had been hired, at a fabulous
+price, to come and do the most of the work for them, thus releasing
+Flaxen from the weight of the hard work, which perhaps was all the worse
+for her. Hard work might have prevented the unbearable, sleepless pain
+within. She hated the slatternly Mrs. Green at once for her meddling
+with her affairs, though the good woman meant no offence. She was jocose
+in the broad way of middle-aged persons, to whom a love-affair is
+legitimate food for raillery.
+
+But Gearheart's keen eye was on Flaxen as well. He saw how eagerly she
+watched for the mail on Tuesdays and Fridays, and how she sought a quiet
+place at once in order to read and dream over her letters. She was
+restless a day or two before a certain letter came, with an eager,
+excited, expectant air. Then, after reading it, she was absent-minded,
+flighty in conversation, and at last listlessly uneasy, moving slowly
+about from one thing to another, in a kind of restless inability to take
+continued interest in anything.
+
+All this, if it came to the attention of Anson at all, was laid to the
+schooling the girl had had.
+
+"Of course it'll seem a little slow to you, Flaxie, but harvestin' is
+comin' on soon, an' then things'll be a little more lively."
+
+But Gearheart was not so slow-witted. He had had sisters and girl
+cousins, and knew "the symptoms," as Mrs. Green would have put it. He
+noticed that when Flaxen read her letters to them there was one which
+she carefully omitted. He knew that this was the letter which meant the
+most to her. He saw how those letters affected her, and thought he had
+divined in what way.
+
+One day when Flaxen, after reading her letters, sprang up and ran into
+her bedroom, her eyes filled with sudden tears, Gearheart crooked his
+finger at Ans, and they went out to the barn together.
+
+It was nearly one o'clock on an intolerable day peculiar to the Dakota
+plain. A frightfully hot, withering, and powerful wind was abroad. The
+thermometer stood nearly a hundred in the shade, and the wind, so far
+from being a relief, was suffocating because of its heat and the dust it
+swept along with it.
+
+The heavy-headed grain and russet grass writhed and swirled as if in
+agony, and dashed high in waves of green and yellow. The corn-leaves had
+rolled up into long cords like the lashes of a whip, and beat themselves
+into tatters on the dry, smooth spot their blows had made beneath them;
+they seemed ready to turn to flame in the pitiless, furnace-like blast.
+Everywhere in the air was a silver-white, impalpable mist, which gave to
+the cloudless sky a whitish cast. The glittering gulls were the only
+living things that did not move listlessly and did not long for rain.
+They soared and swooped, exulting in the sounding wind; now throwing
+themselves upon it, like a swimmer, then darting upward with miraculous
+ease, to dip again into the shining, hissing, tumultuous waves of the
+grass.
+
+Along the roads prodigious trains of dust rose hundreds of feet in the
+air, and drove like vast caravans with the wind. So powerful was the
+blast that men hesitated about going out with carriages, and everybody
+watched feverishly, expecting to see fire break out on the prairie and
+sweep everything before it. Work in the fields had stopped long before
+dinner, and the farmers waited, praying or cursing, for the wheat was
+just at the right point to be blighted.
+
+As the two men went out to the shed side by side, they looked out on the
+withering wheat-stalks and corn-leaves with gloomy eyes.
+
+"Another day like this, an' they won't be wheat enough in this whole
+county to make a cake," said Anson, with a calm intonation, which after
+all betrayed the anxiety he felt. They sat down in the wagon-shed near
+the horses' mangers. They listened to the roar of the wind and the
+pleasant sound of the horses eating their hay, a good while before
+either of them spoke again. Finally Bert said sullenly:
+
+"We can't put up hay such a day as this. You couldn't haul it home under
+lock an' key while this infernal wind is blowin'. It's gittin' worse, if
+anythin'."
+
+Anson said nothing, but waited to hear what Bert had brought him out
+here for. Bert speared away with his knife at a strip of board. Anson
+sat on a wagon-tongue, his elbows on his knees, looking intently at the
+grave face of his companion. The horses ground cheerily at the hay.
+
+"Ans, we've got to send Flaxen back to St. Peter; she's so homesick she
+don't know what to do."
+
+Ans' eyes fell.
+
+"I know it. I've be'n hopin' she'd git over that, but it's purty tough
+on her, after bein' with the young folks in the city f'r a year, to come
+back here on a farm." He did not finish for a moment. "But she can't
+stand it. I'd looked ahead to havin' her here till September, but I
+can't stand it to see her cryin' like she did to-day. We've got to give
+up the idee o' her livin' here. I don't see any other way but to sell
+out an' go back East somewhere."
+
+Bert saw that Anson was still ignorant of the real state of affairs, but
+thought he would say nothing for the present.
+
+"Yes: that's the best thing we can do. We'll send her right back, an'
+take our chances on the crops. We can git enough to live on an' keep her
+at school, I guess."
+
+They sat silent for a long time, while the wind tore round the shed,
+Bert spearing at the stick, and Anson watching the hens as they vainly
+tried to navigate in the wind. Finally Anson spoke:
+
+"The fact is, Bert, this ain't no place f'r a woman, anyway--such a
+woman as Flaxen's gittin' to be. They ain't nothin' goin' on, nothin' to
+see 'r hear. You can't expect a girl to be contented with this country
+after she's seen any other. No trees; no flowers; jest a lot o' little
+shanties full o' flies."
+
+"I knew all that, Ans, a year ago. I knew she'd never come back here,
+but I jest said it's the thing to do--give her a chance, if we don't
+have a cent; now let's go back to the house an' tell her she needn't
+stay here if she don't want to."
+
+"Wha' d' ye s'pose was in that letter?"
+
+"Couldn't say. Some girl's description of a pic-nic er somethin'." Bert
+was not yet ready to tell what he knew. When they returned to the house
+the girl was still invisible, in her room. Mrs. Green was busy clearing
+up the dinner-dishes.
+
+"I don't know's I ever see such a wind back to Michigan. Seems as if it
+'u'd blow the hair off y'r head."
+
+"Oh, this ain't nothin'. This is a gentle zephyr. Wait till y' see a
+wind."
+
+"Wal, I hope to goodness I won't never see a wind. Zephyrs is all I can
+mortally stand."
+
+Anson went through the little sitting-room and knocked on Flaxen's door.
+
+"Flaxie, we want to talk to yeh." There was no answer, and he came back
+and sat down. Bert pointed to the letter which Flaxen had flung down on
+the table. The giant took it, folded it up, and called, "Here's y'r
+letter, babe."
+
+The door opened a little, and a faint, tearful voice said:
+
+"Read it, if ye want to, boys." Then the door closed tightly again, and
+they heard her fling herself on the bed. Anson handed the letter to
+Bert, who read it in a steady voice.
+
+Dear Darling: I have good news to tell you. My uncle was out from
+Wisconsin to see me, and he was pleased with what I had done, and he
+bought out Mr. Ford, and gave me the whole half interest. I'm to pay him
+back when I please. Ain't that glorious? Now we can get married right
+off, can't we, darling? So you just show this letter to your father, and
+tell him how things stand. I've got a good business. The drug store is
+worth $1,200 a year--my half--but knock off fifty per cent and we could
+live nicely. Don't you think so? I want to see you so bad, and talk
+things over. If you can't come back soon, I will come on. Write soon.
+
+Yours till death,
+
+Will.
+
+From the first word Anson winced, grew perplexed, then suffered. His
+head drooped forward on his hands, his elbows rested on his vast, spread
+knees. He drew his breath with a long, grieving gasp. Bert read on
+steadily to the end, then glanced at his companion with a deep frown
+darkening his face; but he was not taken by surprise. He had not had
+paternal affection change to the passion of a lover only to have it
+swept down like a half-opened flower. For the first time in his life
+Anson writhed in mental agony. He saw it all. It meant eternal
+separation. It meant a long ache in his heart which time could scarcely
+deaden into a tolerable pain.
+
+Gearheart rose and went out, unwilling to witness the agony of his
+friend and desiring himself to be alone. Anson sat motionless, with his
+hands covering his wet eyes, going over the past and trying to figure
+the future.
+
+He began in that storm: felt again the little form and face of the
+wailing child; thought of the frightful struggle against the wind and
+snow; of the touch of the little hands and feet; of her pretty prattle
+and gleeful laughter; then of her helpful and oddly-womanish ways as she
+grew older; of the fresh, clear voice calling him "pap" and ordering him
+about with a roguish air; of her beauty now, when for the first time he
+had begun to hope that she might be something dearer to him.
+
+How could he live without her? She had grown to be a part of him. He had
+long ceased to think of the future without her. As he sat so, the
+bedroom door opened, and Flaxen's tearful face looked out at him. He did
+not seem to hear, and she stole up to him and, putting her arm around
+his neck, laid her cheek on his head--a dear, familiar, childish
+gesture, used when she wished to propitiate him. He roused himself and
+put his arm about her waist, tried to speak, and finally said in a sorry
+attempt at humor, wofully belied by the tears on his face and the
+choking in his throat:
+
+"You tell that feller--if he wants ye, to jest come an'--git ye--that's
+all!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+FLAXEN SAYS GOOD-BYE.
+
+Elga went back to her friends, the Holts, in the course of a week. It
+hurt Anson terribly to see how eager she was to get away, and he grew a
+little bitter--a quality of temper Bert did not know he possessed.
+
+"What's that little whipper-snapper ever done for her, that she should
+leave us in the shade f'r him--f'rget us an' all we've done f'r her, an'
+climb out an' leave us just at his wink? It beats me, but it's all
+right. I don't blame her if she feels so--only it does seem queer, now
+don't it?"
+
+"It does, that's a fact--'specially the idea of leaving us for a thing
+like that."
+
+After arriving at a complete understanding of the matter, they said no
+more about it, but went to work to make everything as pleasant for
+Flaxen as possible. Again they rode down to the station with her, down
+past the wide, level fields of grain which the blazing sun had ripened
+prematurely. Again they parted from her at the train, but this time the
+girl was eager to go; and yet a peculiar feeling of sadness was mixed
+with her eagerness to be off.
+
+"Now, boys, you'll come down just as soon as you can this fall, won't
+you?" she said, tearfully, as they stood in the aisle of the car. "I
+wish't you'd sell out an' come back there an' live--I want you to."
+
+"Well, we'll try," Anson said, speaking with difficulty, the lump in his
+throat was so big and so dry.
+
+They rode home in silence again, but this time there was something
+darker and more sullen in their thoughts.
+
+"Well, Ans, that settles it. We're orphaned again, sure." He tried to
+give a little touch of jocoseness to it, but failed miserably.
+
+"Yes," Anson sighed deeply, "we'll haf t' stand it, I s'pose, but it's
+tough."
+
+It was hard, but it would have been harder had not the rush and push of
+the harvest come upon them just as it did. They never spoke of the
+matter again, except as a matter settled, till they received a letter
+from the young people asking their consent to an early marriage.
+
+They both read the letter, and then Anson said, without raising his
+eyes:
+
+"Well, what d' you think of it?"
+
+"Oh, we might as well say yes," replied Bert irritably.
+
+"But she's so young."
+
+"She seems so to us, but my mother was married at fifteen. If she's
+going to leave us, why, the sooner she has a home the better, I s'pose."
+
+"I s'pose you're right. But I'd rather have 'em put it off a year."
+
+"Oh, a year wouldn't make any difference, and besides, you can't stop
+the thing now. She's out of our hands."
+
+They wrote giving their consent, and the wedding was fixed for late
+September to enable the fall's work to be put out of the way. For Elga's
+sake they bought new suits and hats before starting on their trip,
+though the harvest hardly justified any extravagance.
+
+Under other circumstances they would have rejoiced over the trip, for it
+was carrying them back to the gleam of leaf-dappled streams and waving
+trees and deep, cool forests. It made their nostrils dilate with
+pleasure as they whirled past fern-filled ravines, out of which the
+rivulets stole with stealthy circuits under mossy rocks. They were both
+forest-born, and it was like getting back home out of a strange desert
+country to come back into "the States."
+
+St. Peter was a small town, situated on the steep bank of a broad
+river--that is to say, the business street was there, but the seminary
+and the residence part of the town was on a high and beautiful plateau.
+The country was well diversified with wood and prairie.
+
+Kendall and Elga met them at the station. Elga with flushed face was
+searching the car-windows with eager glance, when Anson appeared on the
+platform. The quick rush she made for him drove out all his bitterness.
+It made him understand that she loved him as if he were her father.
+
+She greeted Bert with a little less warmth, and chattering with joy she
+led the way up the street with Anson. She had a hundred things to tell
+him, and he listened in a daze. She seemed so different from his Flaxen.
+Bert walked behind with Kendall, who did not impress him favourably.
+
+He was a harmless little creature enough--small, a little inclined to
+bow-legs, and dudish in manner and dress. His hair was smoothed till it
+shone like ebony, and he wore the latest designs in standing collars,
+high on his slim neck. His hands were beautifully small and white and
+held several rings. He had the manners of a dry-goods clerk.
+
+"He can't abuse her, that's one good thing about the whelp," thought
+Bert as he crushed the young bridegroom's hand in his brown palm, just
+to see him cringe.
+
+As for Kendall, he was a little afraid of these big fellows, so sullen
+and strong; and he tried his best to please them, chirping away brightly
+upon all kinds of things, ending up by telling them his business plans.
+
+"We're one o' the best cities on the river. Couldn't be a better place
+fer a business stand, don't you see? And we're getting to the front with
+our wholesale department (of course--ha! ha! my wife's father ought to
+know how I'm getting on), so you're welcome to look over my books. Our
+trade is a cash trade so far as our retail trade goes, and we're mighty
+careful who gets tick from us on the wholesale trade. We're developing a
+great business."
+
+Bert and Anson made no replies to his chatter, and he pattered along by
+Anson's side like a small boy, showing them the town and its beauties.
+Anson inwardly despised the little man, but held it a sort of treason to
+think so, and tried to look upon him kindly.
+
+The wedding took place in the house of the Holt family, and was in
+charge of Miss Holt, Elga's teacher. Kendall's parents could not be
+present, which was a great disappointment to Elga, but Will was secretly
+glad of it. His father was a very crusty and brutal old fellow, and he
+would not have fitted in smoothly beside Bert and Anson, who were as
+uncomfortable as men could well be. Both wished to avoid it, but dared
+not object.
+
+Anson stood bravely through the ceremony as the father of the bride, and
+bore himself with his usual massive, rude dignity. But he inwardly
+winced as he saw Elga, looking very stately and beautiful in her bride's
+veil, towering half a head above the sleek-haired little clerk. Not a
+few of the company smiled at the contrast, but she had no other feeling
+than perfect love and happiness.
+
+When the ceremony was over and Anson looked around for Bert, he was
+gone. He couldn't stand the pressure of the crowd and the whispered
+comments, and had slipped away early in the evening.
+
+Among the presents which were laid on the table in the dining-room was a
+long envelope addressed to Mrs. Will Kendall. It contained a deed for a
+house and lot in one of the most desirable parts of the suburbs. It was
+from Gearheart, but there was no other written word. This gift meant the
+sale of his claim in Dakota.
+
+When Anson got back to the hotel that night, wondering and alarmed at
+his partner's absence, he found a letter from him. It was savage and
+hopeless.
+
+This climate is getting too frigid for my lungs. I'm going to emigrate
+to California. I made a mistake: I ought to have gone in for stand-up
+collars, shiny hair, and bow-legs. You'd better skip back to Dakota and
+sell your claim. Keep my share of the stock and tools; it ain't worth
+bothering about. Don't try to live there alone, old man. If you can't
+sell, marry. Don't let that girl break you all up too. We are all fools,
+but some can get over it quicker than others.
+
+If that little bow-legged thing gets under your feet or abuses her, jest
+get your toe under him and hoist him over into the alley.
+
+Good-bye and good luck, old man.
+
+Bert.
+
+And the next day the doubly bereaved man started on his lonely journey
+back to the Dakota claim, back to an empty house, with a gnawing pain in
+his heart and a constriction like an iron band about his throat; back to
+his broad fields to plod to and fro alone.
+
+As he began to realize it all and to think how terrible was this loss,
+he laid his head down on the car-seat before him and cried. His first
+great trial had come to him, and meeting it like a man, he must now weep
+like a woman.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+FLAXEN'S GREAT NEED.
+
+Flaxen wrote occasionally, during the next year, letters all too short
+and too far between for the lonely man toiling away on his brown farm.
+These letters were very much alike, telling mainly of how happy she was,
+and of what she was going to do by and by, on Christmas or Thanksgiving.
+Once she sent a photograph of herself and husband, and Anson, after
+studying it for a long time, took a pair of shears and cut the husband
+off, and threw him into the fire.
+
+"That fellow gives me the ague," he muttered.
+
+Bert did not write, and there was hardly a night that Ans lay down on
+his bed that he did not wonder where his chum was, especially as the
+winter came on unusually severe, reminding him of that first winter in
+the Territory. Day after day he spent alone in his house, going out only
+to feed the cattle or to get the mail. The sad wind was always in his
+ears. But with the passage of time the pain in his heart lost its
+intensity.
+
+One day he got a letter from Flaxen that startled and puzzled him. It
+was like a cry for help, somehow.
+
+"Dear old pap, I wish you was here," and then in another place came the
+piteous cry, "Oh, I wish I had some folks!"
+
+All night long that cry rang in the man's head with a wailing, falling
+cadence like the note of a lost little prairie-chicken.
+
+"I wonder what that whelp has been doin' now. If he's begun to abuse her
+I'll wring his neck. She wants me an' da'sn't ask me to come. Poor
+chick, I'll be pap an' mam to ye, both," he said at last, with sudden
+resolution.
+
+The day after the receipt of this letter a telegram was handed to him at
+the post-office, which he opened with trembling hands:
+
+Anson Wood: Your daughter is ill. Wants you. Come at once.
+
+Dr. Dietrich.
+
+He got into his wagon mechanically and lashed his horses into a run. He
+must get home and arrange about his stock and catch the seven o'clock
+train. His mind ran the round of the possibilities in the case until it
+ached with the hopeless fatigue of it. When he got upon the train for an
+all-night ride, he looked like a man suffering some great physical pain.
+
+He sat there all night in a common seat--he could not afford to pay for
+a sleeper; sat and suffered the honest torture that can come to a
+man--to sit and think the same dread, apprehensive wondering thoughts;
+to strain at the seat as if to push the train faster, and to ache with
+the desire to fly like the eagle. He tried to be patient, but he could
+only grow numb with the effort.
+
+A glorious winter sun was beginning to light up the frost foliage of the
+maples lining St. Peter's streets when Anson, stiff with cold and
+haggard with a night of sleepless riding, sprang off the train and
+looked about him. The beauty of the morning made itself felt even
+through his care. These rows of resplendent maples, heavy with
+iridescent frost, were like fairy-land to him, fresh from the treeless
+prairie. As he walked on under them, showers of powdered rubies and
+diamonds fell down upon him; the colonnades seemed like those leading to
+some enchanted palace, such as he had read of in boyhood. Every shrub in
+the yards was similarly decked, and the snug cottages were like the
+little house which he had once seen at the foot of the Christmas-tree in
+a German church years before.
+
+Feet crunched along cheerily on the sidewalks, bells of dray-teams were
+beginning to sound, and workmen to whistle.
+
+Anson was met at the door by a hard-faced, middle-aged woman.
+
+"How's my girl?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, she's nicely. Walk in."
+
+"Can I see her now?"
+
+"She's sleepin'; I guess you better wait a little while till after
+breakfast."
+
+"Where's Kendall?" was his next question.
+
+"I d'n' know. Hain't seen 'im sence yesterday. He don't amount to much,
+anyway, and in these cases there ain't no dependin' on a boy like that.
+It's nachel fer girls to call on their mothers an' fathers in such
+cases."
+
+Anson was about to ask her what the trouble was with his girl, when she
+turned away. She could not be dangerously ill; anyway, there was comfort
+in that.
+
+After he had eaten a slight breakfast of bad coffee and yellow biscuits,
+Mrs. Stickney came back.
+
+"She's awake an' wants to see yeh. Now don't get excited. She ain't
+dangerous."
+
+Anson was alarmed and puzzled at her manner. Her smile mystified him.
+
+"What is the matter?" he demanded.
+
+Her reply was common enough, but it stopped him with his foot on the
+threshold. He understood at last. The majesty and mystery of birth was
+like a light in his face, and dazzled him. He was awed and exalted at
+the same time.
+
+"Open the door; I want to see her," he said in a new tone.
+
+As they entered the darkened chamber he heard his girl's eager cry.
+
+"Is that you, pap?" wailed her faint, sweet voice.
+
+"Yes: it's me, Flaxie." He crossed the room and knelt by the bed. She
+flung her arms round his neck.
+
+"O pappy! pappy! I wanted you. Oh, my poor mamma! O pap, I don't like
+her," she whispered, indicating the nurse with her eyes. "O pap, I hate
+to think of mother lying there in the snow--an' Bert--where is Bert,
+pap? Perhaps he's in the blizzard too--"
+
+"She's a little flighty," said the nurse in her matter-of-fact tone.
+
+Anson groaned as he patted the pale cheek of the sufferer.
+
+"Don't worry, Flaxie; Bert's all right. He'll come home soon. Why don't
+you send for the doctor?" he said to the nurse.
+
+"He'll be here soon. Don't worry over that," indicating Flaxen, who was
+whispering to herself. "They of'n do that."
+
+"Do you s'pose I can find my folks if I go back to Norway?" she said to
+Anson a little after.
+
+"Yes: I guess so, little one. When you get well, we'll try an' see."
+
+"Perhaps if I found my aunt she'd look like mamma, an' I'd know then how
+mamma looked, wouldn't I? Perhaps if the wheat is good this year we can
+go back an' find her, can't we?" Then her words melted into a moan of
+physical pain, and the nurse said:
+
+"Now I guess you'd better go an' see if you can't hurry the doctor up.
+Yes: now he's got to go," she went on to Flaxen, drowning out her voice
+and putting her imploring hands back upon the bed.
+
+Anson saw it all now. In her fear and pain she had turned to him--poor,
+motherless little bird--forgetting her boy-husband or feeling the need
+of a broader breast and stronger hand. It was a beautiful trust, and as
+the great, shaggy man went out into the morning he was exalted by the
+thought. "My little babe--my Flaxen!" he said with unutterable love and
+pity.
+
+Again his mind ran over the line of his life--the cabin, the dead woman,
+the baby face nestling at his throat, the girl coming to him with her
+trials and triumphs. His heart swelled so that he could not have spoken,
+but deep in his throat he muttered a dumb prayer. And how he suffered
+that day, hearing her babble mixed with moanings every time the door
+opened. Once the doctor said:
+
+"It's no use for you to stand here, Wood. It only makes you suffer and
+don't help her a particle."
+
+"It seems 's if it helped her, an' so--I guess I'll stay. She may call
+for me, an' if she does," he said resolutely, "I'm goin' in, doctor. How
+is she now?"
+
+"She's slightly delirious now, but still she knows you're here. She now
+and then speaks of you, but doesn't call for you."
+
+But she did call for him, and he went in, and kneeling by her side he
+talked to her and held her hands, stroked her hair and soothed her as he
+used to when a little child unable to speak save in her pretty Norseland
+tongue, and at last when opiates were given, and he rose and staggered
+from the room, it seemed as though he had lived years.
+
+So weary was he that, when the doctor came out and said, "You may go to
+sleep now," he dropped heavily on a lounge and fell asleep almost with
+the motion. Even the preparations for breakfast made by the
+hoarse-voiced servant-girl did not wake him, but the drawling, nasal
+tone of Kendall did. He sat up and looked at the oily little clerk. It
+was after seven o'clock.
+
+"Hello!" said Kendall, "when d' you get in?"
+
+"Shortly after you went out," said Anson in reply.
+
+Kendall felt the rebuke, and as he twisted his cuffs into place said,
+"Well, y' see I couldn't do no good--a man ain't any good in such cases,
+anyway--so I just thought I'd run down to St. Paul an' do a little
+buying."
+
+Anson turned away and went into the kitchen to wash his face and to comb
+his hair, glad to get rid of the sight of Kendall for a moment. Mrs.
+Stickney was toasting some bread.
+
+"She's awake an' wants to see you when you woke up. It's a girl--thought
+I'd tell ye--yes: she's comfortable. Say, 'tween you an' me, a man 'at
+'u'd run off--waal--" she ended, expressively glancing at Kendall.
+
+Once more Anson caught his breath as he entered the darkened chamber. He
+was a rough, untaught man, but there was something in him that made that
+room holy and mysterious. But the figure on the bed was tranquil now,
+and the voice, though weak and low, was Flaxen's own.
+
+He stopped as his eyes fell on her. She was no longer a girl. The
+majesty of maternity was on her pale face and in her great eyes. A
+faint, expectant smile was on her lips; her eyes were fixed on his face
+as she drew the cover from the little red, weirdly-wrinkled face at her
+throat.
+
+Before he could speak, and while he was looking down at the mite of
+humanity, Kendall stepped into the room.
+
+"Hello, Ellie! How are--"
+
+A singular revulsion came out on her face. She turned to Anson. "Make
+him go 'way; I don't want him."
+
+"All right," said Kendall cheerfully, glad to escape.
+
+"Isn't she beautiful?" the mother whispered. "Does she look like me?"
+she asked artlessly.
+
+"She's beautiful to me because she's yours, Flaxie," replied Anson, with
+a delicacy all the more striking because of the contrast with his great
+frame and hard, rough hands. "But there, my girl, go to sleep like baby,
+an' don't worry any more."
+
+"You ain't goin' away while I'm sick?" she asked, following him with her
+eyes, unnaturally large.
+
+"I won't never go 'way again if you don't want me to," he replied.
+
+"Oh, I'm so glad!" she sighed restfully.
+
+He was turning to go when she wailed reproachfully, "Pap, you didn't
+kiss baby!"
+
+Anson turned and came back. "She's sleepin', an' I thought it wasn't
+right to kiss a girl without she said so."
+
+This made Flaxen smile, and Anson went out with a lighter heart than he
+had had for two years. Kendall met him utside and said confidentially:
+
+"I don't s'pose it was just the thing for me to do; but--confound it! I
+never could stand a sick-room, anyway. I couldn't do any good,
+anyway--just been in the way. She'll get over her mad in a few days.
+Think so?"
+
+But she did not. Her singular and sudden dislike of him continued, and
+though she passively submitted to his being in the room, she would not
+speak a word to him nor look at him as long as she could avoid it; and
+when he approached the baby or took it in his arms a jealous frown came
+on her face.
+
+As for Anson, he grew to hate the sound of that little chuckle of
+Kendall's; the part in the man's hair and the hang of his cut-away coat
+made him angry. The trim legs, a little bowed, the big cuffs hiding the
+small, cold hands, and the peculiar set of his faultless collar, grew
+daily more insupportable.
+
+"Say, looky here, Kendall," said he in desperation one day, "I wish you
+didn't like me quite so well. We don't hitch first rate--at least, I
+don't. Seems to me you're neglectin' your business too much."
+
+He was going to tell him to keep away, but he relented as he looked down
+at the harmless little man, with his thin, boyish face.
+
+"Oh, my business is all right. Gregory looks after it mostly, anyhow.
+But, I say, if you wanted to go into the dray business, there's a
+first-class opening now. Clark wants to sell."
+
+It ended in Anson seeing Clark and buying out his line of drays, turning
+in his claim toward the payment--a transaction which made Flaxen laugh
+for joy, for she had not felt certain before that he would remain in St.
+Peter. She was getting about the house now, looking very wifely in her
+long, warm wraps, her slow motions contrasting strongly with the old
+restless, springing steps Anson remembered so well.
+
+Night after night, as he sat beside the fire and held baby, listening to
+the changed voice of his girl and watching the grave, new expressions of
+her face, the tooth of time took hold upon him powerfully, and he would
+feel his shaggy head and think, "I'll soon be gray, soon be gray!" while
+the little one cooed, and sprang, and pulled at his beard, which had
+grown long again and had white hairs in it.
+
+Kendall spent most of his time at the store, or downtown somewhere, and
+so all of those long, delicious winter evenings were Flaxen's and
+Anson's. And his enjoyment of them was pathetic. The cheerful little
+sitting-room, the open grate, the gracious, ever-growing womanliness of
+Elga, the pressure of soft little limbs, and the babble of a liquid baby
+language, were like the charm of an unexpected Indian-summer day between
+two gray November storms.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+KENDALL STEPS OUT.
+
+One night Kendall did not come home, but as he had been talking of going
+to St. Paul they were not disturbed about it--in fact, they both took
+but very mild interest in his coming or going. In the morning, while
+they were at breakfast, there came a knock at the door.
+
+"Come in," shouted Anson in the Western way, not rising.
+
+McDaniel, the county sheriff, entered.
+
+"Where's Kendall?" he asked without ceremony.
+
+"I don't know; went away yesterday."
+
+The sheriff looked at his companion. "Skipped between two days."
+
+"What's up?" asked Anson, while Elga stared and baby reached slyly for
+the sugar-bowl.
+
+"Nothing," the sheriff said in a tone which meant everything. "Come out
+here," he said to Anson. Anson went out with him, and he told him that
+Kendall had purchased goods on credit and gambled the money away, and
+was ruined.
+
+His stock of goods was seized, and the house was saved only through the
+firmness of Anson.
+
+Flaxen shut her lips and said nothing, and he could not read her
+silence. One day she came to him with a letter.
+
+"Read that!" she exclaimed scornfully. He saw that it was dated from Eau
+Claire, Wisconsin:
+
+Dear Darling Wife: I'm all right here with father. It was all Gregory's
+fault--he was always betting on something. I'm coming back as soon as
+the old man can raise the money to pay Fitch. Don't worry about me. They
+can't take the house, anyway. You might rent the house, sell the
+furniture on the sly, and come back here. The old man will give me
+another show. I don't owe more than a thousand dollars, anyway. Write
+soon. Your loving
+
+Will.
+
+She did not need to say what she thought of the advice the little
+villain gave.
+
+Anson went quietly on with his work, making a living for himself and
+Flaxen and baby. It never occurred to either of them that any other
+arrangement was necessary. Kendall wrote once or twice a month for a
+while, saying each time, "I'll come back and settle up," and asking her
+to come to him; but she did not reply, and never referred to him outside
+her home, and when others inquired after him she replied evasively:
+
+"He's in Wisconsin somewhere; I don't know where."
+
+"Is he coming back?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+She often spoke of Bert, and complained of his silence. Once she said:
+
+"I guess he's forgot us, pap."
+
+"I guess not. More likely he's thinkin' we've fergot him. He'll turn up
+some bright mornin' with a pocketful o' rocks. He ain't no spring
+chicken, Bert ain't." ("All the same, I wish't he'd write," Anson said
+to himself.)
+
+The sad death of Kendall came to them without much disturbing force. He
+had been out of their lives so long that when Anson came in with the
+paper and letter telling of the accident, and with his instinctive
+delicacy left her alone to read the news, Flaxen was awed and saddened,
+but had little sense of personal pain and loss.
+
+"Young Kendall," the newspaper went on under its scare-heads, "was on a
+visit to La Crosse, and while skating with a party on the bayou, where
+the La Crosse River empties into the Father of Waters, skated into an
+air-hole. The two young ladies with him were rescued, but the fated man
+was swept under the ice. He was the son," etc.
+
+When Anson came back Flaxen sat with the letter in her hand and the
+paper on her lap. She was meditating deeply, but what was in her mind
+Anson never knew. She had grown more and more reticent of late. She
+sighed, rose, and resumed her evening tasks.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+BERT COMES BACK.
+
+One raw March evening, when the wind was roaring among the gray branches
+of the maples like a lion in wrath, some one knocked on the door.
+
+"Come in!" shouted Anson, who was giving baby her regular ride on his
+boots.
+
+"Come in!" added Flaxen.
+
+Gearheart walked in slowly, closed the door behind his back, and stood
+devouring the cheerful scene. He was poorly dressed and wore a wide,
+limp hat; they did not know him till he bared his head.
+
+"Bert!" yelled Anson, tossing the baby to his shoulder and leaping
+toward his chum, tramping and shaking and clapping like a madman,
+scaring the child.
+
+"My gosh-all-hemlock! I'm glad to see ye! Gimme that paw again. Come to
+the fire. This is Flaxie" (as though he had not had his eyes on her face
+all the time). "Be'n sick?"
+
+Bert's hollow cough prompted this question.
+
+"Yes. Had some kind of a fever down in Arizony. Oh, I'm all right now,"
+he added in reply to an anxious look from Flaxen.
+
+"An' this is--"
+
+"Baby--Elsie," she replied, putting a finishing touch to the little
+one's dress, mother-like.
+
+"Where's he?" he asked a little later.
+
+Anson replied with a little gesture, which silenced Bert at the same
+time that it explained. And when Flaxen was busy a few moments later,
+Anson said:
+
+"Gone up the spout."
+
+At the table they grew quite gay, talking over old times, and Bert's
+pale face grew rosier, catching a reflection of the happy faces
+opposite.
+
+"Say, Bert, do you remember the time you threw that pan o' biscuits I
+made out into the grass an' killed every dog in the township?" Then they
+roared.
+
+"I remember your flapjacks that always split open in the middle, an' no
+amount o' heat could cook 'em inside," Bert replied.
+
+Then they grew sober again when Bert said with a pensive cadence: "Well,
+I tell you, those were days of hard work; but many's the time I've
+looked back at 'em these last three years, wishin' they'd never ended
+an' that we'd never got scattered."
+
+"We won't be again, will we, pap?"
+
+"Not if I can help it," Anson replied.
+
+"But how are you, Bert? Rich?"
+
+Bert put his hand into his pocket and laid a handful of small coins on
+the table.
+
+"That's the size o' my pile--four dollars," he said, smiling faintly;
+"the whole o' my three years' work."
+
+"Well, never mind, ol' man. I've got a chance fer yeh. Still an ol'
+bach?"
+
+"Still an old bach." He looked at Flaxen, irresistibly drawn to her
+face. She dropped her eyes; she could not have told why.
+
+And so "Wood & Gearheart" was painted on the sides of the drays, and
+they all continued to live in the little yellow cottage, enjoying life
+much more than the men, at least, had ever dared to hope; and little
+Elsie grew to be a "great girl," and a nuisance with her desire to
+"yide" with "g'an'pap."
+
+There is no spot more delightful in early April than the sunny side of
+the barn, and Ans and Bert felt this, though they did not say it. The
+eaves were dripping, the doves cooing, the hens singing their
+harsh-throated, weirdly suggestive songs, and the thrilling warmth and
+vitality of the sun and wind of spring made the great, rude fellows
+shudder with a strange delight. Anson held out his palm to catch the
+sunshine in it, took off his hat to feel the wind, and mused:
+
+"This is a great world--and a great day. I wish't it was always spring."
+
+"Say," began Bert abruptly, "it seems pretty well understood that you're
+her father--but where do I come in?"
+
+"You ought to be her husband." A light leaped into the younger man's
+face. "But go slow," Anson went on gravely. "This package is marked
+'Glass; handle with care.'"
+
+The End.
+
+
+
+D. Appleton & Co's Publications.
+Appleton's Summer Series, 1891
+
+TOURMALIN'S TIME CHEQUES. By F. Anstey, author of "Vice Versâ," "The
+Giant's Robe," etc.
+
+"Its author has struck another rich vein of whimsicality and
+humor."--San Francisco Argonaut.
+
+"His special gift is in making the impossible appear probable."--St.
+Louis Republic
+
+"A curious conceit and very entertaining story."--Boston Advertiser.
+
+"Each cheque is good for several laughs."--New York Herald.
+
+"Certainly one of the most diverting books of the season."--Brooklyn
+Times.
+
+"Sets a handsome example for the 'Summer Series,' with its neat and
+portable style of half cloth binding and good paper and
+typography."--Brooklyn Eagle.
+
+FROM SHADOW TO SUNLIGHT. By the Marquise of Lorne.
+
+"In these days of princely criticism--that is to say, criticism of
+princes--it is refreshing to meet a really good bit of aristocratic
+literary work, albeit the author is only a prince-in-law.... The theme
+chosen by the Marquis makes his story attractive to Americans."--Chicago
+Tribune.
+
+"A charming book."--Cincinnati Enquirer.
+
+ADOPTING AN ABANDONED FARM. By Kate Sanborn.
+
+"It may be mythical, but it reads like a true narrative taken from a
+strong memory that has been re-enforced by a diary and corrected by the
+parish register. It is not only as natural as life, but, as Josh
+Billings used to say, 'even more so.'"--New York Journal of Commerce.
+
+"A sunny, pungent, humorous sketch.... A bright, amusing book, which is
+thoughtful as well as amusing, and may stimulate, somewhere, thinking
+that shall bear fruit in some really effective remedial
+action."--Chicago Times.
+
+ON THE LAKE OF LUCERNE, AND OTHER STORIES. By Beatrice Whitby.
+
+"Six short stories carefully and conscientiously finished, and told with
+the graceful ease of the practiced raconteur."--Literary Digest.
+
+"The stories are pleasantly told in light and delicate vein, and are
+sure to be acceptable to the friends Miss Whitby has already made on
+this side of the Atlantic."--Philadelphia Bulletin.
+
+"Very dainty, not only in mechanical workmanship but in matter and
+manner."--Boston Advertiser.
+
+Each, 16mo, half cloth, with specially designed cover, 50 cents.
+Recent Issues in Appletons' Town and Country Library
+
+STEPHEN ELLICOTT'S DAUGHTER. By Mrs. J. H. Needell, author of "The Story
+of Philip Methuen." 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"I am desirous to bear my humble testimony to the great ability and high
+aim of the work."--Hon. W. E. Gladstone.
+
+"From first to last an exceptionally strong and beautiful
+story."--London Spectator.
+
+ONE REASON WHY. By Beatrice Whitby, author of "The Awakening of Mary
+Fenwick," "Part of the Property," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth,
+$1.00.
+
+"A remarkably well-written story.... The author makes her people speak
+the language of every-day life, and a vigorous and attractive realism
+pervades the book, which provides excellent entertainment from beginning
+to end."--Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.
+
+THE TRAGEDY OF IDA NOBLE. By W. Clark Russell, author of "The Wreck of
+the Grosvenor," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"The best sea-story since 'The Wreck of the Grosvenor.' It shows a
+determination to abandon the well-worn tracks of fiction and to evolve a
+new and striking plot.... There is no sign of exhausted imagination in
+this strong tale."--Philadelphia Public Ledger.
+
+THE JOHNSTOWN STAGE AND OTHER STORIES. By Robert H. Fletcher, author of
+"A Blind Bargain," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"A collection of as charming short stories as one could wish to find,
+most of them Western in scene."--San Francisco Argonaut.
+
+"Nine real stories, not studies of character, but narratives of interest
+... vivaciously and pleasantly told."--Boston Pilot.
+
+A WIDOWER INDEED. By Rhoda Broughton and Elizabeth Bisland. 12mo. Paper,
+50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"Done with masterly skill. The whole work is strong and well worth
+reading."--New York Journal of Commerce.
+
+"The story is written with great strength, and possesses a powerful
+interest that never flags."--Boston Home Journal.
+
+THE FLIGHT OF THE SHADOW. By George MacDonald, author of "Malcolm,"
+"Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth,
+$1.00.
+
+"It is extremely entertaining, contains a charming love-story, and is
+beautifully written, like everything from Mr. MacDonald's pen."--St.
+Paul Pioneer-Press.
+
+LOVE OR MONEY. By Katharine Lee, author of "A Western Wildflower," "In
+London Town," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"In point of cleverness this novel is quite up to the standard of the
+excellent Town and Country Library in which it appears. Most of the
+characters are well drawn, and there are some singularly strong scenes
+in the book."--Charleston News and Courier.
+
+NOT ALL IN VAIN. By Ada Cambridge, author of "The Three Miss Kings," "My
+Guardian," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"A worthy companion to the best of the author's former efforts, and in
+some respects superior to any of them."--Detroit Free Press.
+
+"A better story has not been published in many moons."--Philadelphia
+Inquirer.
+
+IT HAPPENED YESTERDAY. By Frederick Marshall, author of "Claire
+Brandon." 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"An odd, fantastic tale, whose controlling agency is an occult power
+which the world thus far has doubted and wondered at alternately rather
+than studied."--Chicago Times.
+
+"A psychological story of very powerful interest"--Boston Home Journal.
+
+MY GUARDIAN. By Ada Cambridge, author of "The Three Miss Kings," "Not
+All in Vain," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.
+
+"A story which will, from first to last, enlist the sympathies of the
+reader by its simplicity of style and fresh, genuine feeling.... The
+author is au fait at the delineation of character.--Boston Transcript.
+
+"The dénoûment is all that the most ardent romance-reader could
+desire."--Chicago Evening Journal.
+
+ELINE VERE. By Louis Couperus. Translated from the Dutch by J. T. Grein.
+With an Introduction by Edmund Gosse. Holland Fiction Series. 12mo.
+Cloth, $1.00.
+
+"The established authorities in art and literature retain their
+exclusive place in dictionaries and hand-books long after the claim of
+their juniors to be observed with attention has been practically
+conceded at home. For this reason, partly, and partly also because the
+mental life of Holland receives little attention in this country, no
+account has yet been taken of the revolution in Dutch taste which has
+occupied the last six or seven yean. I believe that the present occasion
+is the first on which it has been brought to the notice of any
+English-speaking public.... 'Eline Vere' is an admirable
+performance."--Edmund Gosse, in Introduction.
+
+"Most careful in its details of description, most picturesque in its
+coloring."--Boston Post.
+
+"A vivacious and skillful performance, giving an evidently faithful
+picture of society, and evincing the art of a true
+story-teller."--Philadelphia Telegraph.
+
+"Those who associate Dutch characters and Dutch thought with ideas of
+the purely phlegmatic, will read with astonishment and pleasure the
+oft-times stirring and passionate sentences of this novel."--Public
+Opinion.
+
+"The dénoûment is tragical, thrilling, and picturesque."--New York
+World.
+
+"If modern Dutch literature has other books as good as this to offer, we
+hope that they will soon find a translator."--Chicago Evening Journal.
+
+A PURITAN PAGAN. By Julien Gordon, author of "A Diplomat's Diary," etc.
+12mo. Cloth, $1.00.
+
+"Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger grows stronger as she writes.... The lines
+in her story are boldly and vigorously etched."--New York Times.
+
+"The author's recent books have made for her a secure place in current
+literature, where she can stand fast.... Her latest production, 'A
+Puritan Pagan,' is an eminently clever story, in the best sense of the
+word clever."--Philadelphia Telegraph.
+
+"Has already made its mark as a popular story, and will have an
+abundance of readers.... It contains some useful lessons that will repay
+the thoughtful study of persons of both sexes."--New York Journal of
+Commerce.
+
+"This brilliant novel will without doubt add to the repute of the writer
+who chooses to be known as Julien Gordon.... The ethical purpose of the
+author is kept fully in evidence through a series of intensely
+interesting situations."--Boston Beacon.
+
+"It is obvious that the author is thoroughly at home in illustrating the
+manner and the sentiment of the best society of both America and
+Europe."--Chicago Times.
+
+THE FAITH DOCTOR. By Edward Eggleston, author of "The Hoosier
+Schoolmaster," "The Circuit Rider," etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+"An excellent piece of work.... With each new novel the author of 'The
+Hoosier Schoolmaster' enlarges his audience, and surprises old friends
+by reserve forces unsuspected. Sterling integrity of character and high
+moral motives illuminate Dr. Eggleston's fiction, and assure its place
+in the literature of America which is to stand as a worthy reflex of the
+best thoughts of this age."--New York World.
+
+"One of the novels of the decade."--Rochester Union and Advertiser.
+
+"It is extremely fortunate that the fine subject indicated in the title
+should have fallen into such competent hands."--Pittsburgh
+Chronicle-Telegraph.
+
+"Much skill is shown by the author in making these 'fads' the basis of a
+novel of great interest.... One who tries to keep in the current of good
+novel-reading must certainly find time to read 'The Faith
+Doctor.'"--Buffalo Commercial.
+
+"A vivid and life-like transcript from several phases of society. Devoid
+of literary affectation and pretense, it is a wholesome American novel
+well worthy of the popularity which it has won."--Philadelphia Inquirer.
+
+"The author of 'The Hoosier Schoolmaster' has enhanced his reputation by
+this beautiful and touching study of the character of a girl to love
+whom proved a liberal education to both of her admirers."--London
+Athenæum.
+
+AN UTTER FAILURE. By Miriam Coles Harris, author of "Rutledge." 12mo.
+Cloth, $1.25.
+
+"A story with an elaborate plot, worked out with great cleverness and
+with the skill of an experienced artist in fiction. The interest is
+strong and at times very dramatic.... Those who were attracted by
+'Rutledge' will give hearty welcome to this story, and find it fully as
+enjoyable as that once immensely popular novel."--Boston Saturday
+Evening Gazette.
+
+"The pathos of this tale is profound, the movement highly dramatic, the
+moral elevating."--New York World.
+
+"In this new story the author has done some of the best work that she
+has ever given to the public, and it will easily class among the most
+meritorious and most original novels of the year."--Boston Home Journal.
+
+"The author of 'Rutledge' does not often send out a new volume, but when
+she does it is always a literary event.... Her previous books were
+sketchy and slight when compared with the finished and trained power
+evidenced in 'An Utter Failure.'"--New Haven Palladium.
+
+"Exhibits the same literary excellence that made the success of the
+author's first book."--San Francisco Argonaut.
+
+"American girls with a craving for titled husbands will find instructive
+reading in this story."--Boston Traveller.
+
+ON THE PLANTATION. By Joel Chandler Harris, author of "Uncle Remus."
+With 23 Illustrations by E. W. Kemble, and Portrait of the Author. 12mo.
+Cloth, $1.50.
+
+"The book is in the characteristic vein which has made the author so
+famous and popular as an interpreter of plantation
+character."--Rochester Union and Advertiser.
+
+"Those who never tire of Uncle Remus and his stories--with whom we would
+be accounted--will delight in Joe Maxwell and his exploits."--London
+Saturday Review.
+
+"Altogether a most charming book."--Chicago Times.
+
+"Really a valuable, if modest, contribution to the history of the civil
+war within the Confederate lines, particularly on the eve of the
+catastrophe. Two or three new animal fables are introduced with effect;
+but the history of the plantation, the printing-office, the black
+runaways, and white deserters, of whom the impending break-up made the
+community tolerant, the coon and fox hunting, forms the serious purpose
+of the book, and holds the reader's interest from beginning to
+end."--New York Evening Post.
+
+UNCLE REMUS: His Songs and his Sayings. The Folk-lore of the Old
+Plantation. By Joel Chandler Harris. Illustrated from Drawings by F. S.
+Church and J. H. Moser, of Georgia. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+"The idea of preserving and publishing these legends, in the form in
+which the old plantation negroes actually tell them, is altogether one
+of the happiest literary conceptions of the day. And very admirably is
+the work done.... In such touches lies the charm of this fascinating
+little volume of legends, which deserves to be placed on a level with
+Reincke Fuchs for its quaint humor, without reference to the
+ethnological interest possessed by these stories, as indicating,
+perhaps, a common origin for very widely severed races."--London
+Spectator.
+
+"We are just discovering what admirable literary material there is at
+home, what a great mine there is to explore, and how quaint and peculiar
+is the material which can be dug up. Mr. Harris's book may be looked on
+in a double light--either as a pleasant volume recounting the stories
+told by a typical old colored man to a child, or as a valuable
+contribution to our somewhat meager folk-lore.... To Northern readers
+the story of Brer (Brother--Brudder) Rabbit may be novel. To those
+familiar with plantation life, who have listened to these quaint old
+stories, who have still tender reminiscences of some good old mauma who
+told these wondrous adventures to them when they were children, Brer
+Rabbit, the Tar Baby, and Brer Fox come back again with all the past
+pleasures of younger days."--New York Times.
+
+"Uncle Remus's sayings on current happenings are very shrewd and bright,
+and the plantation and revival songs are choice specimens of their
+sort."--Boston Journal.
+
+THE LAST WORDS OF THOMAS CARLYLE. Including Wotton Reinfred, Carlyle's
+only essay in fiction; the Excursion (Futile Enough) to Paris; and
+letters from Thomas Carlyle, also letters from Mrs. Carlyle, to a
+personal friend. With Portrait. 12mo. Cloth, gilt top, $1.75.
+
+"The interest of 'Wotton Reinfred' to me is considerable, from the
+sketches which it contains of particular men and women, most of whom I
+knew and could, if necessary, identify. The story, too, is taken
+generally from real life, and perhaps Carlyle did not finish it, from
+the sense that it could not be published while the persons and things
+could be recognized. That objection to the publication no longer exists.
+Eveybody is dead whose likenesses have been drawn, and the incidents
+stated have long been forgotten."--James Anthony Froude.
+
+"'Wotton Reinfred' is interesting as a historical document. It gives
+Carlyle before he had adopted his peculiar manner, and yet there are
+some characteristic bits--especially at the beginning--in the Sartor
+Resartus vein. I take it that these are reminiscences of Irving and of
+the Thackeray circle, and there is a curious portrait of Coleridge, not
+very thinly veiled. There is enough autobiography, too, of interest in
+its way."--Leslie Stephen.
+
+"No complete edition of the Sage of Chelsea will be able to ignore these
+manuscripts."--Pall Mall Gazette.
+
+MEN, MINES, AND ANIMALS IN SOUTH AFRICA. By Lord Randolph S. Churchill.
+With Portrait, Sixty-five Illustrations, and a Map. 8vo. 337 pages.
+Cloth, $5.00.
+
+"The subject-matter of the book is of unsurpassed interest to all who
+either travel in new countries, to see for themselves the new
+civilizations, or follow closely the experiences of such travelers. And
+Lord Randolph's eccentricities are by no means such as to make his own
+reports of what he saw in the new states of South Africa any the less
+interesting than his active eyes and his vigorous pen naturally make
+them."--Brooklyn Eagle.
+
+"Lord Randolph Churchill's pages are full of diversified adventures and
+experience, from any part of which interesting extracts could be
+collected.... A thoroughly attractive book."--London Telegraph.
+
+"Provided with amusing illustrations, which always fall short of
+caricature, but perpetually suggest mirthful
+entertainment."--Philadelphia Ledger.
+
+"The book is the better for having been written somewhat in the line of
+journalism. It is a volume of travel containing the results of a
+journalist's trained observation and intelligent reflection upon
+political affairs. Such a work is a great improvement upon the ordinary
+book of travel. Lord Randolph Churchill thoroughly enjoyed his
+experiences in the African bush, and has produced a record of his
+journey and exploration which has hardly a dull page in it."--New York
+Tribune.
+
+LIFE IN ANCIENT EGYPT AND ASSYRIA. By G. Maspéro, late Director of
+Archæology in Egypt, and Member of the Institute of France. Translated
+by Alice Morton. With 188 Illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+"A lucid sketch, at once popular and learned, of daily life in Egypt in
+the time of Rameses II, and of Assyria in that of Assurbanipal.... As an
+Orientalist, M. Maspéro stands in the front rank, and his learning is so
+well digested and so admirably subdued to the service of popular
+exposition, that it nowhere overwhelms and always interests the
+reader."--London Times.
+
+"Only a writer who had distinguished himself as a student of Egyptian
+and Assyrian antiquities could have produced this work, which has none
+of the features of a modern book of travels in the East, but is an
+attempt to deal with ancient life as if one had been a contemporary with
+the people whose civilization and social usages are very largely
+restored."--Boston Herald.
+
+"The ancient artists are copied with the utmost fidelity, and verify the
+narrative so attractively presented."--Cincinnati Times-Star.
+
+THE THREE PROPHETS: Chinese Gordon; Mohammed-Ahmed; Araby Pasha. Events
+before, during, and after the Bombardment of Alexandria. By Colonel
+Chaille-Long, ex-Chief of Staff to Gordon in Africa, ex-United States
+Consular Agent in Alexandria, etc. With Portraits. 16mo. Paper, 50
+cents.
+
+"Comprises the observations of a man who, by reason of his own military
+experience in Egypt, ought to know whereof he speaks."--Washington Post.
+
+"Throws an entirely new light upon the troubles which have so long
+agitated Egypt, and upon their real significance."--Chicago Times.
+
+THE MEMOIRS OF AN ARABIAN PRINCESS. By Emily Ruete, née Princess of Oman
+and Zanzibar. Translated from the German. 12mo. Cloth, 75 cents.
+
+"A remarkably interesting little volume.... As a picture of Oriental
+court life, and manners and customs in the Orient, by one who is to the
+manner born, the book is prolific in entertainment and
+edification."--Boston Gazette.
+
+"The interest of the book centers chiefly in its minute description of
+the daily life of the household from the time of rising until the time
+of retiring, giving the most complete details of dress, meals,
+ceremonies, feasts, weddings, funerals, education, slave service,
+amusements, in fact everything connected with the daily and yearly
+routine of life."--Utica (N. Y.) Herald.
+
+THE SOVEREIGNS AND COURTS OF EUROPE. The Home and Court Life and
+Characteristics of the Reigning Families. By "Politikos." With many
+Portraits. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+"A remarkably able book.... A great deal of the inner history of Europe
+is to be found in the work, and it is illustrated by admirable
+portraits."--The Athenæum.
+
+"Its chief merit is that it gives a new view of several sovereigns....
+The anonymous author seems to have sources of information that are not
+open to the foreign correspondents who generally try to convey the
+impression that they are on terms of intimacy with royalty."--San
+Francisco Chronicle.
+
+"The anonymous author of these sketches of the reigning sovereigns of
+Europe appears to have gathered a good deal of curious information about
+their private lives, manners, and customs, and has certainly in several
+instances had access to unusual sources. The result is a volume which
+furnishes views of the kings and queens concerned far fuller and more
+intimate than can be found elsewhere."--New York Tribune.
+
+"... A book that would give the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
+the truth (so far as such comprehensive accuracy is possible), about
+these exalted personages, so often heard about but so seldom seen by
+ordinary mortals, was a desideratum, and this book seems well fitted to
+satisfy the demand. The author is a well-known writer on questions
+indicated by his pseudonym."--Montreal Gazette.
+
+"A very handy book of reference."--Boston Transcript.
+
+MY CANADIAN JOURNAL, 1872-'78. By Lady Dufferin. Extracts from letters
+home written while Lord Dufferin was Governor-General of Canada. With
+Portrait, Map, and Illustrations from sketches by Lord Dufferin. 12mo.
+Cloth, $2.00.
+
+"A graphic and intensely interesting portraiture of out-door life in the
+Dominion, and will become, we are confident, one of the standard works
+on the Dominion.... It is a charming volume."--Boston Traveller.
+
+"In every place and under every condition of circumstances the
+Marchioness shows herself to be a true lady, without reference to her
+title. Her book is most entertaining, and the abounding good-humor of
+every page must stir a sympathetic spirit in its readers."--Philadelphia
+Bulletin.
+
+"The many readers of Lady Dufferin's Journal of 'Our Vice-Regal Life in
+India' will welcome this similar record from the same vivacious pen,
+although it concerns a period antecedent to the other, and takes one
+back many years. The book consists of extracts from letters written home
+by Lady Dufferin to her friends (her mother chiefly) while her husband
+was Governor-General of Canada; and describes her experiences in the
+same chatty and charming style with which readers were before made
+familiar."--Cincinnati Commercial-Gazette.
+
+HAND-BOOKS OF SOCIAL USAGES.
+
+SOCIAL ETIQUETTE OF NEW YORK. Rewritten and enlarged. 18mo. Cloth, gilt,
+$1.00.
+
+Special pains have been taken to make this work represent accurately
+existing customs in New York society. The subjects treated are of
+visiting and visiting-cards, giving and attending balls, receptions,
+dinners, etc., débuts, chaperons, weddings, opera and theatre parties,
+costumes and customs, addresses and signatures, and funeral customs,
+covering so far as practicable all social usages.
+
+DON'T; or, Directions for avoiding Improprieties in Conduct and Common
+Errors of Speech. By Censor. Parchment-Paper Edition, square l8mo, 30
+cents. Vest-Pocket Edition, cloth, flexible, gilt edges, red lines, 30
+cents. Boudoir Edition (with a new chapter designed for young people),
+cloth, gilt, 30 cents. 130th thousand.
+
+"Don't" deals with manners at the table, in the drawing-room, and in
+public, with taste in dress, with personal habits, with common mistakes
+in various situations in life, and with ordinary errors of speech.
+
+WHAT TO DO. A Companion to "Don't." By Mrs. Oliver Bell Bunce. Small
+18mo, cloth, gilt, uniform with Boudoir Edition of "Don't," 30 cents.
+
+A dainty little book, containing helpful and practical explanations of
+social usages and rules. It tells the reader how to entertain and how to
+be entertained, and it sets forth the etiquette of engagements and
+marriages, introductions and calls.
+
+"GOOD FORM" IN ENGLAND. By An American, resident in the United Kingdom.
+12mo. Cloth, $1.50.
+
+"The raison d'ĂŞtre of this book is to provide Americans--and especially
+those visiting England--with a concise, comprehensive, and
+comprehensible hand-book which will give them all necessary information
+respecting 'how things are' in England."--From the Preface.
+
+HINTS ABOUT MEN'S DRESS: Right Principles Economically Applied. By a New
+York Clubman. 18mo. Parchment-paper, 30 cents.
+
+A useful manual, especially for young men desirous of dressing
+economically and yet according to the canons of good taste.
+
+New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, and 5 Bond Street.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Notes.
+
+
+Introduction.
+
+Welcome to Project Gutenberg's edition of A Little Norsk, or Ol' Pap's
+Flaxen by Hamlin Garland. This novel was published in 1892, and it was
+not reprinted. A scanned copy of this book is available through
+Hathitrust, courtesy of the University of California.
+
+Emendations.
+
+We have made the following emendations to the text:
+
+
+Chapter 9.
+
+On Page 102: The mark in the book between Gee whittiker is assumed to be
+an imperfection in the page.
+
+Chapter 11.
+
+On Page 121: The mark in the book between drug store is assumed to be an
+imperfection in the page. There are three other occurrences of drug
+store in the novel without the hyphen, and none with.
+
+D. Appleton and Co.
+
+Page DA11: removed single quote before ending double quote (after
+England) in 'how things are' in England.'
+
+
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE NORSK ***
+
+***** This file should be named 21850-h.htm or 21850-h.zip *****
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
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