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From a distant room came the pling-plang of a banjo. "There's Tom, Margaret. Will you please tell him to come here? I don't want to see him in the light." Mrs. Cranceford hastened to obey, and the Major sat listening. He pushed his chair back out of the patch of light. The banjo hushed its twanging, and then he heard Tom coming. The young man stepped out upon the porch.
"But she must come to me or let me go to her!" the Major broke in. "I confess that I didn't understand her. Why, there is heroism in her composition. Go ahead, Margaret. She's got more sense than all of us. Go ahead." Mrs. Cranceford continued: "I can conceive of nothing more useless than my life at home would be.
Three times they charged an opening in the line about the fence, but unseen foes sprang up and mowed them down. But at the last, fighting, desperate, yelling, they broke out of the slaughter-pen and once more were in the woods. And now it was not even a chase. It was a still-hunt. Late in the afternoon, the news of the rout and the slaughter was received at the Cranceford home.
Cranceford ever tell me anything except to keep off the grass? Nobody has told me anything. Confesses that you are the only man that can make her happy. Now shoot your dye-stuff." "But that's all there is. She says that her heart will never have a home until my love builds a mansion for it." "Jimmie, if the highest market price for a fool was one hundred dollars, you'd fetch two hundred." "Why?
Do you see my hero often? I think of him, dream of him, and my heart will never know a perfect home until his love has built a mansion for it." The letter was fluttering in the giant's hand. "Who who what does she mean?" "She means you, stupid!" Mrs. Cranceford cried. He looked up, dazed; he put out his hand, he grabbed his hat, he snatched the door open and was out in the wind and the rain.
Her marriage doesn't alter the fact that she is your daughter. Her relationship toward you may not be so much changed, but to me she is lost. I beg you not to say she shan't come home again." Mrs. Cranceford tenderly placed her hand on the giant's arm. He shook under her touch. "I will say it and I mean it.
"What, you bereaved, Uncle Gideon? How did it happen?" "At the imperious beck and call of nature, Jimmie. My uncle died and inflicted on me money enough to make a pretense of paying my debts, and I've made such a stagger that even Mrs. Cranceford has admitted me into the out-lying districts of her good opinion. But that's got nothing to do with the business in hand.
In the midst of the worry that followed the young woman's departure, there had been but one mention of the young man's affair with the niece of Wash Sanders. Mrs. Cranceford had spoken to him, not directly, but with gentle allusion, and he had replied with an angry denunciation of such meddlesomeness.
They knew who had come, and the door was opened for Jim Taylor. Quietly he responded to their greeting, and with both hands he took off his slouch hat, went to the fireplace and over the blaze shook it. "Put myself in mind of a wet dog," he said. "Didn't think to shake outside. How are you all getting along?" He was looking at Mrs. Cranceford, but the Major answered him. "In the same old way.
The Major asked him about his trip, but he answered as if he cared not what he said; but when shortly afterward the Major went out, Taylor's unconcern fell from him and he stood up and in tremulous anxiousness looked at Mrs. Cranceford, expecting her to say something.
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