An Arkansas Planter | Page 9

prospects for a bountiful crop this year, and I feel

that with this blessing of Providence I shall soon be able to meet all my
obligations. I saw our rector, Mr. Mills, this morning, and he spoke of
how thankful I ought to be--he had just passed my bayou field--and I
told him that I would not only assert my gratitude but would prove it
with a substantial donation to the church at the end of the season."
In the glance which she gave him there was refined and gentle
contempt; and then she looked down upon the decanter of whisky. Old
Gideon drew down the corners of his mouth, as was his wont when he
strove to excite compassion.
"Yes," he said with a note of pity forced upon his voice, "I am
exceedingly thankful for all the blessings that have come to me, but I
haven't been very well of late, rather feeble to-day, and the kind Major,
noticing it, insisted upon my taking a little liquor, the medicine of our
sturdy and gallant fathers, madam."
The Major sprawled himself back with a roaring laugh, and hereupon
Gid added: "It takes the Major a long time to get over a joke. Told him
one just now and it tickled him mighty nigh to death. Well, I must be
going now, and, madam, if I should chance to see anything of your
charming daughter, I will tell her that you desire a conference with her.
William," he called, "my horse, if you please."
CHAPTER IV.
Mrs. Cranceford had met Pennington in the road, and on his horse, in
the shade of a cottonwood tree, he had leaned against the carriage
window to tell her of his interview with the Major. He had desperately
appealed to the sympathy which one with so gentle a nature must feel
for a dying man, and had implored her to intercede with her husband;
but with compassionate firmness she had told him that no persuasion
could move her husband from the only natural position he could take,
and that she herself was forced to oppose the marriage.
The Major, with his hands behind him, was now walking up and down
the short stretch of shade. "I don't wonder that the absurdity of it does
not strike him," he said, "for he is a drowning sentimentalist, catching

at a fantastic straw." He paused in his walk to look at his wife as if he
expected to find on her face a commendation of this simile. She nodded,
knowing what to do, and the Major continued, resuming his walk: "I
say that I can't blame him so much, but Louise ought to have better
sense. I'll swear I don't know where she gets her stubbornness. Oh, but
there is no use worrying ourselves with a discussion of it. You may talk
to her, but I have had my say."
Louise, meanwhile, was strolling along a shaded lane that led from the
ferry. Iron weeds grew in the corners of the fence, and in one hand she
carried a bunch of purple blooms; with the other hand she slowly
swung her hat, holding the strings. A flock of sheep came pattering
down the road. With her hat she struck at the leader, a stubborn dictator
demanding the whole of the highway. His flock scampered off in a
fright, leaving him doggedly eyeing the disputer of his progress. But
now she was frightened, with such fierceness did the old ram lower his
head and gaze at her, and she cried out, "Go on back, you
good-for-nothing thing."
"He won't hurt you," a voice cried in the woods, just beyond the fence.
"Walk right up to him."
An enormous young fellow came up to the fence and with climbing
over broke the top rail. "Don't you see he's scared?"
"But he would have knocked me over if you hadn't come."
"No, he wouldn't; he was just trying to make friends with you."
"But I don't want such a friend."
Together they slowly walked along. With tenderness in his eyes he
looked down upon her, and when he spoke, which he did from time to
time, his voice was deep and heavy but with a mellowness in it. She
addressed him as Mr. Taylor and asked him if he had been away. And
he said that he had, but that was not a sufficient reason for the formality
of Mister--his name was Jim. She looked up at him--and her eyes were
so blue that they looked black--and admitted that his name had been

Jim but that now it must be Mr. Taylor. She laughed at this but his face
was serious.
"Why, I haven't called you Jim since----"
"Since I asked you to marry me."
"No, not since then. And now you know