Other Main-Travelled Roads | Page 2

was
powerfully moved by it. He heard the hens singing their weird, raucous,
monotonous song, and saw them burrowing in the dry chip-dust near
him. He saw the young colts and cattle frisking in the sunny space
around the straw-stacks, absorbed through his bare arms and uncovered
head the heat of the sun, and felt the soft wooing of the air so deeply
that he broke into an unwonted exclamation:--
"Glory! we'll be seeding by Friday, sure."
This short and disappointing soliloquy was, after all, an expression of

deep emotion. To the Western farmer the very word "seeding" is a
poem. And these few words, coming from Lyman Gilman, meant more
and expressed more than many a large and ambitious springtime song.
But the glory of all the slumbrous landscape, the stately beauty of the
sky with its masses of fleecy vapor, were swept away by the sound of a
girl's voice humming, "Come to the Saviour," while she bustled about
the kitchen near by. The windows were open. Ah! what suggestion to
these dwellers in a rigorous climate was in the first unsealing of the
windows! How sweet it was to the pale and weary women after their
long imprisonment!
As Lyman sat down on his maple log to hear better, a plump face
appeared at the window, and a clear, girl-voice said:--
"Smell anything, Lime?"
He snuffed the air. "Cookies, by the great horn spoons!" he yelled,
leaping up. "Bring me some, an' see me eat; it'll do ye good."
"Come an' get 'm," laughed the face at the window.
"Oh, it's nicer out here, Merry Etty. What's the rush? Bring me out
some, an' set down on this log."
With a nod Marietta disappeared, and soon came out with a plate of
cookies in one hand and a cup of milk in the other.
"Poor little man, he's all tired out, ain't he?"
Lime, taking the cue, collapsed in a heap, and said feebly, "Bread,
bread!"
"Won't milk an' cookies do as well?"
He brushed off the log and motioned her to sit down beside him, but
she hesitated a little and colored a little.
"Oh, Lime, s'pose somebody should see us?"

"Let 'em. What in thunder do we care? Sit down an' gimme a holt o'
them cakes. I'm just about done up. I couldn't 'a' stood it another
minute."
She sat down beside him with a laugh and a pretty blush. She was in
her apron, and the sleeves of her dress were rolled to her elbows,
displaying the strong, round arms. Wholesome and sweet she looked
and smelled, the scent of the cooking round her. Lyman munched a
couple of the cookies and gulped a pint of milk before he spoke.
"Whadda we care who sees us sittin' side b' side? Ain't we goin' t' be
married soon?"
"Oh, them cookies in the oven!" she shrieked, leaping up and running
to the house. She looked back as she reached the kitchen door, however,
and smiled with a flushed face. Lime slapped his knee and roared with
laughter at his bold stroke.
"Ho! ho!" he laughed. "Didn't I do it slick? Ain't nothin' green in my
eye, I guess." In an intense and pleasurable abstraction he finished the
cookies and the milk. Then he yelled:--
"Hey! Merry--Merry Etty!"
"Whadda ye want?" sang the girl from the window, her face still rosy
with confusion.
"Come out here and git these things."
The girl shook her head, with a laugh.
"Come out an' git 'm, 'r, by jingo, I'll throw 'em at ye! Come on, now!"
The girl looked at the huge, handsome fellow, the sun falling on his
golden hair and beard, and came slowly out to him--came creeping
along with her hand outstretched for the plate which Lime, with a laugh
in his sunny blue eyes, extended at the full length of his bare arm. The
girl made a snatch at it, but his left hand caught her by the wrist, and

away went cup and plate as he drew her to him and kissed her in spite
of her struggles.
"My! ain't you strong!" she said, half ruefully and half admiringly, as
she shrugged her shoulders. "If you'd use a little more o' that choppin'
wood, Dad wouldn't 'a' lost s' much money by yeh."
Lime grew grave.
"There's the hog in the fence, Merry; what's yer dad goin' t' say--"
"About what?"
"About our gitt'n married this spring."
"I guess you'd better find out what I'm a-goin' t' say, Lime Gilman, 'fore
you pitch into Dad."
"I know what you're a-goin' t' say."
"No, y' don't."
"Yes, but I do, though."
"Well, ask me, and see, if you think you're so smart. Jest as like 's not,
you'll slip up."
"All right; here goes. Marietty Bacon,