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Updated: July 26, 2025
Her uncertain dignity, her veneer of breeding dropped from her like a cloak and she was again the blacksmith's sister, self-conscious, awed and tongue-tied in the imposing presence of Andy P. Symes. Her prominent knees visible beneath her thin skirt, her flat feet sprawling at an awkward angle, unconsciously added to Symes's anger.
She plunged among the sheep, forcing a path for herself through the moving mass of woolly backs. "You're in a desprit rush, looks like. They won't die till you get there!" The Sheep King was not too pleased as he ran to head the sheep she had turned. "Like the devil was after her." He watched her bound up the steps of Symes's veranda and burst through the doorway.
And always her hopes simmered down to the one which centred in Symes's influence in Crowheart and his compulsory protection of herself. He dared not desert her. "Let him try it!" She voiced her defiant thoughts. "Let him go back on me if he dare! If I get in a place where I've absolutely nothing to lose if he throws me down Andy P. Symes and Crowheart will have food for thought for many a day.
"It's a pretty good article in camp," said Mr. Symes desperately to keep the ball rolling. The guests shrieked with mirthless laughter at the suggestion of rough camp life. "Gosh! me and Gus was weaned and raised on bean soup and liverwurst," interjected Adolph Kunkel in the lull which followed, and immediately squirmed under Mrs. Symes's blazing eyes.
They were forming a special plan for strengthening what they called the bond of union in the upper school. Fresh girls were to be admitted, and all kinds of schemes were in progress. Susie had a wonderfully bright face, and her eager words fell on Miss Symes's ears as she approached the two girls.
"There's enough drinkin' in this house without my help," she returned sharply. "What do you mean?" Symes's eyes opened. "Are you serious?" The question he saw was superfluous. "It's nothin' I'd joke about." "You amaze me. Do you mean Augusta drinks?" "Too much." "By herself?" "No; always with Dr. Harpe. Dr. Harpe drinks like a man that size." She held up significant fingers. Symes frowned.
Symes's cheeks; already "Symesville" or "Symeston" rose clear before his mental vision, while his listeners endeavored to calculate their share of the millions when proportioned in accordance with the investment of all their available cash.
Symes with the growing feeling of complacent aloofness which comes from being the wife of a great man. In contrast to Sylvanus Starr's fluency Symes's response seemed halting and slow, but it gained thereby in impressiveness. When he clenched his huge fist and struck at the air, declaring for the third time that "it was good to be home!" nobody doubted him.
Harpe the planting of which in deeds of good or evil was as surely in her hands as is the seed the farmer sows for his ultimate harvest. Which it was to be, can be surmised from the fact that already she was considering how soon, and in what way, she might utilize her knowledge after Symes's return from his wedding journey.
The questioner withered before Symes's scorn. "Buy it? Why, the world is land-hungry crying for land! and water. But I've considered all that; I've arranged for it," Mr. Symes went on with a touch of impatience. "We'll colonize it. We'll import Russian Jews to raise sugar-beets for the sugar-beet factory which we will establish.
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