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On his way he had a distant view of the old farm. He would have preferred to have avoided it, but that was quite impossible. He had not yet got over the parting from it, which had taken place the previous day. To him had fallen the lot of handing it over to the farm-wife who had been sent on ahead from Leeson Butte to prepare it for her employer's coming.
Sometimes it ran straight and sometimes it curved, but it led so rarely near any human habitation that one would rather not have met any tramps beside one's self on it. Presently I overtook one, a gentle old farm-wife, a withered blonde, whom I helped with the bundles she bore in either hand, in the hope that she could tell me whether I was near Marston Moor or not.
The sound died away, and she knew that the vehicle had passed round to the barn. She waited in an agony of suspense for her brother's appearance. "You needn't to shake your head," went on the farm-wife. "This matter's my concern. It's my dollars as is goin' to pay Master Hervey an' when he gets 'em may they blister his fingers, I sez." Prudence heard a footstep in the hall.
"I'd guess you best give her hot flannels an' poultices an' things while I go fetch her trunks. After that I'll send off to Bay Creek fer the doctor. He ain't much, but he's better than the hoss doctor fer womenfolk. Guess I'll git back right away." But the irate farm-wife, her round eyes blazing, slammed the door in his face as she flung her final word after him.
Robb shook his head with a comical expression of chagrin. "Can't be done, I'm afraid. But I'll come over here when I'm in the neighbourhood, if possible." Then to Mrs. Malling, "May I?" "Why, certainly," said the farm-wife, with characteristic heartiness. "If you come to this district without so much as a look in here, well, you can just pass right along for the future."
"Prudence, my girl," went on the farm-wife, as soon as Alice's back was turned, "just open that other," pointing to a blue envelope. "The postmark reads Ainsley. I take it, it's from young Robb Chillingwood. Maybe it's to say as he'll be along d'rectly." Prudence picked the last letter up. "It is hot in here, mother; I wonder you can stand it." Her mother looked up over her spectacles.
The farm-wife came out with a full bowl of milk. Her hands shook and spilled some as she handed it to me, so eager were they to hold her infant again. Taking it and feeling the damp sweat as she passed a hand over its brow, she broke forth into blessings. We told her of her mistake: but I doubt if she heard.
It was early March, a snowy, blustery March, and the Applebys were plodding through West Virginia. No longer were they the mysterious "Smiths." Father was rather proud, now, of being Appleby, the pedestrian. Mother looked stolidly content as she trudged at his side, ruddy and placid and accustomed to being wept over by every farm-wife.
Wayland was growling; he had to be held by the collar. He spied an objectionable animal. A jerky monkey was attached to the organ; and his coat was red, his kepi was blue; his tailor had rigged him as a military gentleman. Jane called to the farm-wife. Philip assured her he was not annoyed.
Then the man turned to Mrs. Malling. "We're going to get married this fall. I hope Alice has been learning something of housekeeping" with a laugh. "Why, yes. Alice knows a deal more than she reckons to let on, I guess," said the farm-wife, with a fat chuckle. Prudence now spoke for the first time since Robb's arrival.
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