Ragged Lady. William Dean Howells

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СКАЧАТЬ he'e. He helped a great deal on the house and he planned it all out himself.”

      “Is he a ca'penta?” asked Mrs. Lander.

      “No'm; but he's—I don't know how to express it—he likes to do every kind of thing.”

      “But he's got some business, ha'n't he?” A shadow of severity crept over Mrs. Lander's tone, in provisional reprehension of possible shiftlessness.

      “Yes'm. He was a machinist at the Mills; that's what the doctas thought didn't agree with him. He bought a piece of land he'e, so as to be in the pine woods, and then we built this house.”

      “When did you say you came?”

      “Two yea's ago, this summa.”

      “Well! What did you do befoa you built this house?”

      “We camped the first summa.”

      “You camped? In a tent?”

      “Well, it was pahtly a tent, and pahtly bank.”

      “I should have thought you would have died.”

      The girl laughed. “Oh, no, we all kept fast-rate. We slept in the tents--we had two—and we cooked in the shanty.” She smiled at the notion in adding, “At fast the neighbas thought we we'e Gipsies; and the summa folks thought we were Indians, and wanted to get baskets of us.”

      Mrs. Lander did not know what to think, and she asked, “But didn't it almost perish you, stayin' through the winter in an unfinished house?”

      “Well, it was pretty cold. But it was so dry, the air was, and the woods kept the wind off nicely.”

      The same shrill voice in the region of the stovepipe which had sent the girl to the Landers now called her from them. “Clem! Come here a minute!”

      The girl said to Mrs. Lander, politely, “You'll have to excuse me, now'm. I've got to go to motha.”

      “So do!” said Mrs. Lander, and she was so taken by the girl's art and grace in getting to her feet and fading into the background of the hallway without visibly casting any detail of her raiment, that she was not aware of her husband's starting up the horse in time to stop him. They were fairly under way again, when she lamented, “What you doin', Albe't? Whe'e you goin'?”

      “I'm goin' to South Middlemount. Didn't you want to?”

      “Well, of all the men! Drivin' right off without waitin' to say thankye to the child, or take leave, or anything!”

      “Seemed to me as if SHE took leave.”

      “But she was comin' back! And I wanted to ask—”

      “I guess you asked enough for one while. Ask the rest to-morra.”

      Mrs. Lander was a woman who could often be thrown aside from an immediate purpose, by the suggestion of some remoter end, which had already, perhaps, intimated itself to her. She said, “That's true,” but by the time her husband had driven down one of the roads beyond the woods into open country, she was a quiver of intolerable curiosity. “Well, all I've got to say is that I sha'n't rest till I know all about 'em.”

      “Find out when we get back to the hotel, I guess,” said her husband.

      “No, I can't wait till I get back to the hotel. I want to know now. I want you should stop at the very fust house we come to. Dea'! The'e don't seem to be any houses, any moa.” She peered out around the side of the carry-all and scrutinized the landscape. “Hold on! No, yes it is, too! Whoa! Whoa! The'e's a man in that hay-field, now!”

      She laid hold of the reins and pulled the horse to a stand. Mr. Lander looked round over his shoulder at her. “Hadn't you betta wait till you get within half a mile of the man?”

      “Well, I want you should stop when you do git to him. Will you? I want to speak to him, and ask him all about those folks.”

      “I didn't suppose you'd let me have much of a chance,” said her husband. When he came within easy hail of the man in the hay-field, he pulled up beside the meadow-wall, where the horse began to nibble the blackberry vines that overran it.

      Mrs. Lander beckoned and called to the man, who had stopped pitching hay and now stood leaning on the handle of his fork. At the signs and sounds she made, he came actively forward to the road, bringing his fork with him. When he arrived within easy conversational distance, he planted the tines in the ground and braced himself at an opposite incline from the long smooth handle, and waited for Mrs. Lander to begin.

      “Will you please tell us who those folks ah', livin' back there in the edge of the woods, in that new unfinished house?”

      The man released his fork with one hand to stoop for a head of timothy that had escaped the scythe, and he put the stem of it between his teeth, where it moved up and down, and whipped fantastically about as he talked, before he answered, “You mean the Claxons?”

      “I don't know what thei' name is.” Mrs. Lander repeated exactly what she had said.

      The farmer said, “Long, red-headed man, kind of sickly-lookin'?”

      “We didn't see the man—”

      “Little woman, skinny-lookin; pootty tonguey?”

      “We didn't see her, eitha; but I guess we hea'd her at the back of the house.”

      “Lot o' children, about as big as pa'tridges, runnin' round in the bushes?”

      “Yes! And a very pretty-appearing girl; about thi'teen or fou'teen, I should think.”

      The farmer pulled his fork out of the ground, and planted it with his person at new slopes in the figure of a letter A, rather more upright than before. “Yes; it's them,” he said. “Ha'n't been in the neighbahood a great while, eitha. Up from down Po'tland way, some'res, I guess. Built that house last summer, as far as it's got, but I don't believe it's goin' to git much fa'tha.”

      “Why, what's the matta?” demanded Mrs. Lander in an anguish of interest.

      The man in the hay-field seemed to think it more dignified to include Lander in this inquiry, and he said with a glimmer of the eye for him, “Hea'd of do-nothin' folks?”

      “Seen 'em, too,” answered Lander, comprehensively.

      “Well, that a'n't Claxon's complaint exactly. He a'n't a do-nothin'; he's a do-everything. I guess it's about as bad.” Lander glimmered back at the man, but did not speak.

      “Kind of a machinist down at the Mills, where he come from,” the farmer began again, and Mrs. Lander, eager not to be left out of the affair for a moment, interrupted:

      “Yes, Yes! That's what the gul said.”

      “But he don't seem to think't the i'on agreed with him, and now he's goin' in for wood. Well, he did have a kind of a foot-powa tu'nin' lathe, and tuned all sots o' things; cups, and bowls, and u'ns for fence-posts, and vases, and sleeve-buttons and little knick-knacks; but the place bunt down, here, a while back, and he's been huntin' round for wood, the whole winta long, СКАЧАТЬ