I thought ye had them all done."
"So I would if it hadn't been fer house-cleanin'."
"House-cleanin'!"
"Sure. House so spick an' span that I kin hardly step or set anywheres, so I generally roost on the wood-box. Well, s'long. I must be off."
CHAPTER VI
A FLEA IN THE EAR
Abner was unusually silent at dinner and did not seem to notice the neatly set table, nor the fresh wild flowers artistically arranged in the little vase in the centre. He glanced occasionally at his daughter who was sitting opposite, and his eyes shone with pride. He would have been less than human had his heart not thrilled at the vision before him. Jess was in her brightest mood. Her face glowed with abounding health, and her dark eyes beamed with animation as she talked with her mother about her plans for the future, and of the approaching visit of Isabel Rivers. Mrs. Andrews, too, was in excellent spirits, for the finishing touches had been given to the house that morning, and everything was in readiness for the visitor. She nevertheless noted her husband's preoccupied air, and wondered what was troubling him.
When dinner was over Abner pushed back his chair, and gave a deep sigh.
"What's the matter with you, Abner?" his wife asked. "You don't seem to be yourself to-day. You're not sick, I hope."
"Do I look sick, Tildy?"
"Well, no, judging by the dinner you ate. But you act like a sick man for all that. Maybe it's your liver."
"No, it ain't me liver; it's me heart. That's what's the matter."
"Your heart!" Jess exclaimed. "Why, daddy, I didn't know you had heart trouble."
"Ye didn't, eh? Well, I had it once, jist about the time I asked ye'r mother to marry me. It was a mighty bad dose."
"H'm, you soon got over it," Mrs. Andrews retorted.
"I sure did, Tildy. Ye'r right there. It didn't take long after we got hitched, an' I thought I'd never have another attack."
"What brought it on now, for pity sakes, Abner? It can't be a woman this time."
"It sartinly is."
"A woman!"
"Yes, a woman; a livin' female woman, an' a widder at that."
"Good gracious, Abner! A widow! What do you mean, anyway?"
"Jist what I said; a widder, an' she's the one who's given me the heart kink this time."
At these words a startled look came into Jess's eyes, and her face grew suddenly pale. But Mrs. Andrews showed no signs of uneasiness. She knew her husband too well to be shocked at anything he might say or do.
"Well," she remarked, "whoever that widow is, she's welcome to all the heart you've got, Abner. If she can find it, then it's more than I can."
"Yes, it's a widder," Abner continued, unheeding his wife's sarcasm, "an' she's got five kids, an' they're worrin' me a lot."
"I should say they would, Abner. You'll have more than one kink in your heart if you undertake to handle such a brood. When do you expect to take charge of your new family?"
"Take charge! Did I say anything about takin' charge?" and Abner glared at his wife. "I only said me heart aches fer 'em, an' it sartinly does, fer they're starvin'."
"Starving!" Jess exclaimed. "Who are they, anyway?"
"Widder Denton an' her brood; that's who they are. Her little boy died yesterday, an' Lost Tribes is makin' a coffin fer him."
"Oh, daddy, I hadn't any idea there was such need so near home, did you?"
"I sure didn't. But it's Gospel truth. Widder's sick, an' kids starvin'."
"Isn't it awful!" and Jess clasped her hands before her. "Can't anything be done for them? The children should be looked after at once, and someone should stay with Mrs. Denton."
"Oh, I guess the neighbors'll attend to that fer a while. Zeb'll find out, no doubt."
"Isn't the Orphan Home ready yet, daddy?"
"What Orphan Home?" and Abner looked keenly into his daughter's face. "What have ye heard about it?"
"Nothing much, only I thought they were building one at Glucom. There was some talk about it, wasn't there?"
"Talk! Sure there was talk. They've been talkin' about it fer years, but I guess that's as fer as it'll go. But there, I must git at them pertaters."
Abner gave a fleeting glance at his wife, picked up his hat and left the room.
"What is the matter with, daddy?" Jess asked, after her father had gone.
"In what way?" Mrs. Andrews enquired.
"I hardly know, except that he seems strange at times. The day I came home he got so excited when I picked up a copy of The Live Wire which had dropped from his pocket."
"He did! What did he say?"
"He shouted at me and made me give it back to him at once. He said it was dangerous, and that if I looked at it there would be a terrible explosion. I told him there must be something in it that he did not want me to see, and he did not deny it. Have you seen it, mother?"
"No, he didn't say anything to me about it. I never knew that he brought the paper home. I wonder where he put it."
Mrs. Andrews believed that she knew the cause of her husband's excitement over The Live Wire, and what it contained. But she felt annoyed that he had not shown it to her. Was there something in it that he did not wish her to see? she asked herself. The more she thought about it the more determined she became to find out where Abner had hidden the paper. She said nothing, however, to Jess about it, but discreetly changed the subject, and began to talk about Widow Denton and her troubles.
While the women thus lingered at the table and talked, Abner was busy in his potato patch back of the barn. The weeds were thick and stubborn, but he seemed to take a special delight in tearing them out of the ground. "Give me somethin' to shake me timbers an' I kin work like the divil," he had often said. "I kin never accomplish as much in hayin' time as when a thunderstorm is racin' down the valley. I'm somethin' like me old Flyin' Scud. When it was calm she wasn't worth her salt, but let a gale hit her, an' my! how she'd gather her skirts an' run."
Seldom had Abner such thoughts to agitate his mind as on this fine warm afternoon. He was deeply concerned about the Denton affair, and this naturally turned his attention to the proposed Orphan Home. He was fully aware that this case of destitution would revive a greater interest in the building of the institution, and that he might be called upon at any moment for the thousand dollars he had offered. How he was to raise that amount he had not the slightest idea, and he realized that he had made a fool of himself. If he failed to make good, he would be the laughing-stock of all, and he would be ashamed to be seen again on the streets of Glucom.
Added to this worry was the thought of Jess leaving home. He recalled what she had said that morning on the way from the station, as well as her recent conversation at the dinner table. That she was determined to go in a few weeks seemed certain, and Abner groaned inwardly when he thought of the dreariness of the house without her exhilarating presence.
"Hang that Seminary!" he muttered. "I wish to goodness Jess had never seen the place. Social Service! Progress! Uplift! Umph! I wouldn't mind gals studyin' sich things if they'd use common sense. But to galivant off to elevate people in big cities instead of stayin' home where they kin be of some real use, is what makes me hot."
Abner had paused in his work and was leaning upon his hoe. He was gazing thoughtfully out over the field, toward the main highway. And, as he looked, a car containing one man came suddenly into sight, and drew up by the side of the road. Then a man alighted and walked briskly across the field.
"It's Ikey Dimock, skiddy-me-shins, if it ain't!" Abner exclaimed. "What in the world kin the critter want of me! I don't want to see him,