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IF any of the neighboring farmers’ wives had hap
.pened into Alice Landon's kitchen that bright May
morning, they would have remarked with amiable
suggestion, “ Rather late with your breakfast
dishes, ain't you?” And Alice would have laughed
before she answered. She usually laughed first and
spoke afterward. The young joy of life touched her
radiantly; she responded like a child to the thrill of
the untranslated emotion, and interpreted it later.
But the white farmhouse at the end of the line of
arching maple trees was half a mile from a neighbor,
and no one was likely to discover her housekeeping
vagaries. It had been such a good morning! She
smiled a little dimpling smile as she poured the scald
ing water from one milk can to another with a deft
turfy while the rising cloud of steam dampened the ten
drils of blonde hair blown about her forehead by the
breeze from the open door.
Robert had done the churr'-.-r out on the broad back
porch before he went to the field. He would never let
her do it, though she was quite sure she was strong
enough. A year ago, when she had first entered upon
her new existence as a farmer’s wife, the metamor
phosis of a can of cream into a mass of crumbling yel
low butter had been interesting to the point of excite
ment. Robert had -wanted to sell two of the cows, but
she had begged to keep them. Why could not she learn
to make butter? He could take it to Milburn, and the
money would buy—she would show him what the money
would buy.
“A regular little farmer,” Robert had laughingly
called her, saying that he believed she liked the country
all the better for having always lived in town. Of
course she did; she had known it would be that
way. She had added that she would have liked South
Africa or Alaska—but he had not let her finish the
sentence.
So this morning she had chosen to work her butter
out on the porch, packing it away, sweet and firm in the
little brown jars, while the morning coolness was still
in the air. As she patted and squeezed the golden mass,
the breeze came spiced with the blossoming plum trees
and the smell of the freshening earth. The tangled net
work of the grapevine that grew at the end of the porch
was dotted with buds of misty green, tipped and veined
with rose. A wren had hopped up on the lowest step, a
fluttering feathered ball of joy, and had taken her into
his confidence with one gush of song, then flown away
to help his mate, who was busily filling the pump with
twigs. Foolish little things 1 They should have a better
place to build as soon as she could get the butter out of
the way. Although she could not have put it into words,
she felt herself at one with all nest-building creatures.
She -was a part of this vibrating harmony of color and
perfume and song.
When she went down into the cool gloom of the cel
lar with the butter jars, she rummaged out an old starch
box from a pile provided for future needs, and with
saw and hammer, borrowed from the barn, set to work
to make it habitable. She was not a skilful carpenter,
and the nails came through at unexpected places; in
deed, some of them only went in half their length and
then turned over; but they held rather better that way,
so it did not matter. She surveyed the result with an
air of amused satisfaction; and when, standing on a
chair to reach, she had nailed the box to a limb of the
old apple tree, she thought it looked quite homelike. A
branch of blossoms drooping across the front hid all
defects. Robert would laugh when he saw it.
The wrens were still flitting in and out of the pump
with misdirected zeal; so she stuffed a cloth into the
seductive spout, while the birds chattered madly, as weak
little creatures sometimes will when a higher intelligence
is steering them away from danger. And then the apple
blossoms had been so pink and white and dewy, that she
had broken off a great armful and crowded them into a
jar in a corner of the dining-room, just where Robert
could see them while he ate his dinner.
All this had made the dishwashing late. As she set
the milk cans on the porch, a shining row in the sun, she
stopped to watch the wrens again. She was not unlike
them—small and slight, with quick ways and bright
brown eyes. She gave a little nod of satisfaction when
she saw that the birds were investigating the possibilities
of the starch box. One of them perched on the top and
trilled his brief burst cf melody with tremulous wings.
Alice regarded him with soft eyes. He knew what hope
was, and companionship, and the making of home to
gether. She looked at the pump, with a wisp of cloth
trailing from its spout, as at a vanquished destroyer of
domestic felicity, and went back to her dishes. When
they were finished she glanced at the clock; the mail
carrier must have passed by this time.
It made one of the events of her day to go down the
long lane under the maples and unlock the mail-box on
the post of the big red gate. She ran part of the way,
her pink dress fluttering about her ankles; but she came
back slowly, her head bent over a letter, the swiftly al
ternating sun and shadow passing like ripples over her
bright hair.
As she slipped the letter back into its envelope, she
stood still a moment, looking out over the plowed fields,
where the warm brown earth lay mellowing in the sun.
Then she gave a little decisive skip, and, running along
the soft, scant grass at the side of the lane, she entered
her kitchen flushed and breathless.
When the team, their heavy harness creaking and the
lines thrown over the hames, came plodding across the
pasture to the watering-trough by the barn, Alice stood
in the door; dinner was ready. Robert, following some
distance behind the horses, waved his broad straw hat,
and then strode on, swinging it by his side. How tall
and strong he was! She could see the crisp curve of his
black hair and the whiteness of his forehead above the
line of tan.
She set the dinner on the table, then ran out to meet
him as he came from the barn.
“Oh, Robert, the nicest thing!” she cried, catching
his hand and trying to suit her step to his long stride.
“Of course you are.”
“No, I’m not—l mean, I know I am; but there are
more nice things. Oh, look at my bird house!”
Robert stopped short in the path and surveyed it
critically. Sticks projected from the opening at all
angles; the wrens whisked in and out; they had already
proved their title.”
“Birds seem to like it; I guess that’s all that’s neces
sary,” remarked Robert. “ But as far it's bein’ the
nicest thing—” His gray eyes were teasing.
“ You shan't know about it until you’re ready for
dinner; it's all settled, anyway,” and the small pink
figure ran ahead of him and disappeared through the
dining-room door. When Robert came in she was
pouring the coffee.
“ Whew 1 ” as he saw the spreading branches of apple
blossoms; “ regu!|r little orchard in here. Ain’t they
pretty? I believe they’re fuller this year than com
mon."
“What do they remind you of?” Alice asked as she
gavi y-n his coffee.
“Apple pie,” he answered sententiously, with just the
hint of a quiver at the corner of his mouth.
“Robert!” Alice tried to look severe. “Have you
forgotten what day it is next Thursday? It's our anni
versary. I have been wondering what we could do. I
jrt it to be different from any other day—altogether
different.”
Robert leaned back in his chair, smiling at her; his
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eyes smiled more than his mouth; he spoke deliberately.
“ I don’t know as I do. These have been about the best
days I’ve ever had.”
Ihe pink in his wife’s cheeks deepened and spread.
“It’s been a beautiful year. That’s why I think we
ought to do something very special. And I had a letter
from mother to-day; she wants us to come home for our
anniversary. She’s going to have Tom and Grace, and
as many of the people that were there at the wedding
as she can. She’d have written about it before, only
Mary’s been sick and’she didn’t know whether she could
do it.”
■ .a *
Robert looked suddenly serious. “Now, Rob, don’t
you think it would be the very nicest thing we could do?
Just like being married all over again. Besides, I want
to.”
Still Robert looked perplexed; his wife waited; at
last he said: “Honestly, I don’t see how we can, Allie.”
“ Oh, I’ve got -it all planned. We can go the night
before and come back the morning after. It makes it
just right, Since they put on that early train. You can
get Joe Davis to do the chores. You’ll never know
you’ve been away.”
“If ’twas any other time o’ year, Allie”—Robert
stopped a minute—“ No, I don’t see how we can. I’ve
got to get that south piece o’ corn in. I’ll have the
ground ready Wednesday noon if the weather holds
good. If I don’t use the planter before Davis is ready
I’ll have to wait till he's through, an’ he’s slower’n time.
Besides, it might rain. You don’t mind, honestly?”
He looked at his wife with a troubled darkening of his
gray eyes; she was pouring a glass of water 'and it ran
over. Robert got up and came around the tabic.
“ I’ve got to go now.” He took her face between
his firm brown hands and turned it to the light. “Come
•—look up here! You know you’re a farmer’s wife;
you’d rather get the corn planted than anything else.
As soon as its all done you can go home and stay a
, Jtvery Abbott
SHE NAILED THE BOX TO A LIMB OK THE OLD APPLE TREE AND THOUGHT IT LOOKED QUITE HOMELIKE,
week. I shan’t have so much on hand then, and I can
get along alone. You ain’t homesick?”
“ Rob Landon! ” Alice was on her feet with her
hands upon his shoulders, all her loyalty shining in her
eyes. “ Y</i know I’ve never been homesick a minute,
not a minute. I like farming and farmers and corn
planting; I do!” Her eyes were getting suspiciously
bright. Robert bent and kissed her and stopped the
outburst.
“ I must go now. ( I know you ain’t goin’ to mind.”
No, Fhe didn’t mind. She was already clearing the
table when 6he beard the kitchen screen shut and Rob
crt take two steps across the porch. Her heart gave a
little leap of fealty. What need had they of anniver
saries; every' day was an anniversary. She would rather
hear those two steps!—then she worked very fast, and
the kitchen was all in order before the line of sun across
the porch was perceptibly aslant.
The housework took such a little while for only two!
Alice went into the small parlor and dusted everything
painstakingly. She had never cared much for this room ;
it had not the homely feeling that the others had. She
knew why, though she hardly admitted the thought;
she missed the piano. As a girl, she had gone to the
piano as to an interpreter of all her moods. She played
only the simplest music, and often she wandered off
into fancies of her own; much of the time she played
by ear; but when any feeling, either of joy or of unrest,
needed expression, she played. When she married, the
piano had been left for the younger sister. - It almost
vexed her that she thought of it so often. It was not
good for her to be in the house on a day like this. She
put up her duster, took up her sewing, and went out
under the apple trees. The afternoon was long; Robert
was harrowing the south field, and the sun was setting
before be followfd the hors'-s up to the watering trough.
V/hen he brought in the milk, frothing to the top of the
pails, he said: “ Guess I won’t eat any supper till I get
* " OPYRIOHT , ip4
the chores all done. I’m tired to-night." They ate in
the dusk, the soft, damp air coming in at the open win
dows ; after a while Robert said: “ Makes me think o’
the evenin’s I used to go and see you that summer you
was visitin’ at the Tolman place. The parlor windows
was always open, an’ you’d slip in an’ play while the rest
of us set on the porch. Ole Mr. Tolman kep’ right on
tellin’ his stories, but I never heard ’em.”
Alice laughed. “Yes, and isn’t it funny when you
think about it, that if I hadn’t happened to visit Grace
Tolman, and she hadn’t happened to be engaged to Tom
Gray, and you hadn’t been Tom’s best friend ”
“ Don’t! ”
This time it was Alice who came around the table.
“Why, Rob!"
Robert laughed, but he put his arms about her.
“ Nothin’, nothin’ at all; only it didn’t happen that way;
it happened this way.” Ihe content in his voice was
good to hear. Alice recalled it again just before she
went to sleep that night, and smiled happily to herself
in the dark.
The following day was palpitant with the first real
heat of the summer. “ All ready for plantin’,” Robert
announced when he came to dinner. " Never saw the
ground work better; that south field’* smooth as a danc
in’ floor; corn’ll be up in a week if it keeps like this.”
He ate his dinner quickly and was gone, Alice sat a
long time at the table. When she finally went into the
kitchen with a pile of dishes she could hear the steady
click, click of the planter in the south field. She went
to the kitchen door and looked off across the pasture to
the great brown square that in a few weeks would be an
expanse of wavering, whispering green. A faint blue
haze brooded over the surface; she could see the line of
the planter wire where it caught the sun; the team was
going south, and her husband’s shirt-sleeved figure was
indistinct. Another long warm afternoon, and a man
who came tired to supper and went silent to bed.
But it was good to be up early the next morning, their
anniversary morning, in the scented coolness; and while
the cast was yet rosy from the sunrise, Robert and his
wife came up the path to the house together; she had
been to the barn to call him to breakfast.
The air was quite still, with that marvellous hush that
seems to listen for a change. Each spear of grass
poised on its tip a motionless drop of dew. As the two
passed under the apple tree, an oriole with a rollicking
warble, plunged downward and through the branches
like a meteor, shaking over them a shower of wet petals;
then he was off across the yard—a flash of orange and
black.
“ Oh, Robert, look at him—look 1 ”
“Yes, dear,” but Robert looked up at the sky instead,
where white fluffs of cloud swam across the blue. “ It’ll
rain to-morrow, if it don’t ’fore night, but the corn’ll
be in all ready for it.”
Breakfast was brief, and the click of the planter be
gan again. _ Somehow the constant reiteration irritated
Alice. It ticked an accompaniment to the washing of
the dishes; it checked off the sweeping of the floor.
" Nonsense 1 ” said Alice, aloud, as she hung up the
broom with decision; then she went to the door and
looked over to the south field. The sun was growing
hot: the horses plodded steadily, with lowered heads;
a cloud of brown dust wavered up from their heavy
hoofs, almost enveloping planter and man. The signifi
cance of that solitary figure struck her suddenly with a
thrill like pain. She knew in one white moment the
emptiness of the symbol and the fulness of the truth.
Robert was keeping their anniversary.
t Along the lane at the side of the house came a boy on
a leisurely pony. “ Mr. Landon to home ? ” he called as
he saw her.
"Over there,” she guided him with her hand. - ""You
can ride through the pasture if you want to.” She
watched him across the green stretch until he stopped at
the fence and waited; then she went back to her work.
When Robert came at noon she asked him about it.
“What did the boy want? I sent him over there.”
“Oh, just a little matter about that horse, you know.
I’m goin’ to town after dinner. You better get ready
and go along. I’ll take you up to Davis's an stop for
you on the way back. It’s only a little off the road.
You dont’ want to go clear to town in the lumber
wagon, an’ you’ve been stayin’ home too much.”
‘‘What! before the corn’s donel” Alice looked her
amazement.
Robert’s laugh was boyish. “The corn’s goin’ to get
done all right. Joe Davis is cornin’ over with his team
an’ finish. I’ve got to get a load, and it’s goin’ to rain
to-morrow."
When be helped her up on the high seat of the farm
wagon and sprang in beside her, she looked at him with
a sudden joy. “ I believe I’d like to go all the way to
town. Why not ? ”
"Oh, I guess I wouldn’t; this wagon rides too hard.
Besides, I told Mrs. Davis you was coinin’ when I went
over to get Joe. She’ll be expectin’ you.”
Mrs. Davis had the comfortnble poise of a woman
who fitted her particular niche to the satisfaction of her
self and everybody concerned. She was wliat the neigh
bors culled capable; Davis was not; hut that only gave
his wife an opportunity to exercise her talent for man
aging. Not that she was meddling or dictatorial; she
never made a fuss—it was a waste of energy. She car
ried her small world steadily on its way with the quiet
restlessness of an elemental force. Alice liked to be
with her; she gained store of strength thereby.
But this afternoon she was covertly listening for the
rumble qf Robert’s wagon long before it was time to
expect him. Mrs. Davis had an early supper for them
selves and the children, but still Robert did not come.
Alice was undisguisedly anxious. It was sunset when
he drove into the yard in the buggy. Alice ran out in
surprise.
. " Why, what's the matter? Where’s the wagon? Did
you break down ? ”
"Nothin’ at all the matter. Run get your hat. It
got so late I thought I’d go home first an’ do the chores
an’ let you have your visit out.”
) “ Look at those clouds," he said, as they turned into
the main road and faced the west, where the sun was
.going down in a billowing mass of purple thunder
ncads; “there’ll be rain to-morrow.”
The rolling fields were blue-green in the half-light.
The birds flew low with swift dartlings, in pursuit of
invisible insects. The sorrel colt drew them swiftly,
with a smooth roll of wheels over the level road. Alice
was dreamily content. She slipped her hand under Rob
ert’s arm and he smiled down at her.
“You haven’t had your supper,” she said with sudden
concern.
“Yes, I have. I got a lunch before I hitched up. I
knew you’d have yours.”
When they drove up to the barn she stayed in the
buggy while Robert slipped the harness from the sorrel
and let him through the pasture gate. As they went
into the kitchen her husband put his arm around her
and drew her with him to the parlor door.
“Come in here a minute.” She glanced up at him,
half startled at the oddness of his tone. He crossed the
room, and, rolling up the shade, turned and looked at
her, as she paused in the door.
A shining bulk filled one corner of the little parlor. In
the fading light it gleamed wine-red, cut across by the
white row of keys.
Alice stood quite still, while her eyes widened and the
color left her face. Then she swept across the floor
like a whirlwind, and Robert gathered her up in a per
fect storm of tears.
“Why, why, why!" He was really distressed. “I
didn’t s’pose you’d take it that way.” His own voice
was a trifle unsteady. “ Wouldn’t you rather have it
than anything else? I’ve thought about it ever since
we was married.”
“Oh, I would—l would! It isn’t that. It’s just,
somehow— you l"
When she was quieter, Robert smoothed her hair
hack and said gently: “Ain’t you goin’ to try it?
'Twould seem good to bear you play again the way you
used to.”
She hid her face in his arm with a swift turn.
"You’ll understand if just to-night I don’t even touch
it? It’s beautiful, and I love it—love it! but just to
night? I want to shut it up in here and go out on the
porch.” She drew him after her. He followed, smil
ing, and closed the door.
The rain-soft air wrapped them in a gust of fragrance
as they came out on the porch. They sat down on the
top step The blooming fruit trees shone pale in the
dusk. From somewhere came the soft, quivering cry
of an owl. The wren in her box on the apple branch
chirped uneasily, and her mate from -his nearby twig
answered with a sleepy twitter. Finally Robert said
slowly:
“ It didn’t seem just right not to do what you wanted
to, but I’d been plannin’ this ever since we was married.
I knew you’d miss your piano. I was afraid it wouldn’t
seem quite the same if you had it any other day. And
then, it didn’t come as soon as Haynes—” Alice stopped
him.
“Please—f-don’t want to know; only—could we af
ford it ? ”
Robert laughed very tenderly. “ I guess so. Be
sides, it wouldn’t mean so much if we really could,
would it? Anyhow, that crop o’ corn’ll pay for it-’*
