Dorian | Page 6

take her from me; we never quarrel; and she never scolds or
frowns."
On another wall hung a portrait of his father, who had been dead nine
years. His father had been a teacher with a longing to be a farmer.
Eventually, this longing had been realized in the purchase of the twenty
acres in Greenstreet, at that time a village with not one street which
could be called green, and without a sure water supply for irrigation, at
least on the land which would grow corn and potatoes and wheat. To be
sure, there was water enough of its kind down on the lower slopes,
besides saleratus and salt grass and cattails and the tang of marshlands
in the air. Schoolmaster Trent's operations in farming had not been very

successful, and when he died, the result of his failure was a part of the
legacy which descended to his wife and son.
Dorian took a book from the shelf as if to read; but visions intruded of
some beautiful volumes, now somewhere down the canal, a mass of
water-soaked paper. He could not read. He finished his last chocolate,
said his prayers, and went to bed.
Saturday was always a busy day with Dorian and his mother; but that
morning Mrs. Trent was up earlier than usual. The white muslin
curtains were already in the wash when Dorian looked at his mother in
the summer kitchen.
"What, washing today!" he asked in surprise. Monday was washday.
"The curtains were black; they must be clean for tomorrow."
"You can see dirt where I can't see it."
"I've been looking for it longer, my boy. And, say, fix up the line you
broke the other day."
"Sure, mother."
The morning was clear and cool. He did his chores, then went out to his
ten-acre field of wheat and lucerne. The grain was heading beautifully;
and there were prospects of three cuttings of hay; the potatoes were
doing fine, also the corn and the squash and the melons. The young
farmer's heart was made glad to see the coming harvest, all the work of
his own hands.
For this was the first real crop they had raised. For years they had
struggled and pinched. Sometimes Dorian was for giving up and
moving to the city; but the mother saw brighter prospects when the new
canal should be finished. And then her boy would be better off working
for himself on the farm than drudging for others in the town; besides,
she had a desire to remain on the spot made dear by her husband's work;
and so they struggled along, making their payments on the land and

later on the canal stock. The summit of their difficulties seemed now to
have passed, and better times were ahead. Dorian looked down at his
ragged shoes and laughed to himself good-naturedly. Shucks, in a few
months he would have plenty of money to buy shoes, perhaps also a
Sunday suit for himself, and everything his mother needed. And if there
should happen to be more book bargains, he might venture in that
direction again.
Breakfast passed without the mention of shoes. What was his mother
thinking about! She seemed uncommonly busy with cleaning an
uncommonly clean house. When Dorian came home from irrigating at
noon, he kicked off his muddy shoes by the shanty door, so as not to
soil her cleanly scrubbed floor or to stain the neat home-made rug.
There seemed to be even more than the extra cooking in preparation for
Sunday.
The mother looked at Dorian coming so noiselessly in his stocking feet.
"You didn't show me your new shoes last night," she said.
"Say, mother, what's all this extra cleaning and cooking about?"
"We're going to have company tomorrow."
"Company? Who?"
"I'll tell you about it at the table."
"Do you remember," began the mother when they were seated, "a lady
and her little girl who visited us some two years ago?"
Yes, he had some recollection of them. He remembered the girl,
specially, spindle-legged, with round eyes, pale cheeks, and an
uncommonly long braid of yellow hair hanging down her back.
"Well, they're coming to see us tomorrow. Mrs. Brown is an old-time
friend of mine, and Mildred is an only child. The girl is not strong, and
so I invited them to come here and get some good country air."

"To stay with us, mother?" asked the boy in alarm.
"Just to visit. It's terribly hot in the city. We have plenty of fresh eggs
and good milk, which, I am sure is just what the child needs. Mrs.
Brown cannot stay more than the day, so she says, but I am going to
ask that Mildred visits with us for a week anyway. I think I can bring
some