THE OWNER OF THE MILL FARM.
Beyond his necessity, a tired man is not apt to be polite. This Mrs.Miner had generalized from long experience with her husband. She knew ata distance, by the way he wore his hat when he came in out of the field,whether he was in a peculiarly savage mood, or only in his usual stateof sullen indifference.
As he came in out of the barn on this spring day, he turned to look upat the roof with a curse. Something had angered him. He did not stop tocomb his hair after washing at the pump, but came into the neat kitchenand surlily took a seat at the table.
Mrs. Miner, a slender little woman, quite ladylike in appearance, hadthe dinner all placed in steaming abundance upon the table, and thechildren, sitting side by side, watched their father in silence. Therewas an air of foreboding, of apprehension, over them all, as if theyfeared some brutal outbreak on his part.
He placed his elbows on the table. His sleeves were rolled up,displaying his red and much sunburned arms. He wore no coat, and hisface was sullen, and held, besides, a certain vicious quality, like thatof a bad-tempered dog.
He had not spoken to his wife directly for many weeks. For years it hadbeen his almost constant habit to address her through the children, bycalling her "she" or "your mother." He had done this so long that eventhe little ones were startled when he said, looking straight at her:
"Say, what are you going to do about that roof?"
Mrs. Miner turned her large gray eyes upon him in sudden confusion."Excuse me, Tom, I didn't----"
"I said 'What you goin' t' do with that roof?'" he repeated brutally.
"What roof?" she asked timidly.
"What roof?" he repeated after her. "Why, the barn, of course! It'sleakin' and rottin' my oats. It's none o' my business," he went on, hisvoice containing an undercurrent of vicious insult. "Only I thoughtyou'd like to know it's worse than ever. You can do as you like aboutit," he said again, and there was a peculiar tone in his voice, as if,by using that tone, he touched her upon naked nerves somewhere. "I guessI can cover the oats up."
A stranger would not have known what it all meant, and yet there wassomething in what he said that made his wife turn white. But sheanswered quietly:
"I'll send word to the carpenter this forenoon. I'm sorry," she wenton, the tears coming to her eyes. She turned away and looked out of thewindow, while he ate on indifferently. At last she turned with a suddenimpulse: "O Tom, why can't we be friends again? For the children's sake,you ought to----"
"Oh, shut up!" he snarled. "Good God! Can't you let a thing rest? Suitsme well enough. I ain't complainin'. So, just shut up."
He rose with a slam and went out. The two children sat with hushedbreath. They knew him too well to cry out.
Mrs. Miner sat for a long time at the table without moving. At last sherose and went sighfully at work. "Morty, I want you to run down to Mr.Wilber's and ask him to come up and see me about some work." She stoodat the window and watched the boy as he stepped lightly down the road."How much he looks like his father, in spite of his sunny temper!" shethought, and it was not altogether a pleasant thing to think of, thoughshe did not allow such a thought to take definite shape.
The young carpenter whom Wilber sent to fill Mrs. Miner's order walkedwith the gay feet of youth as he passed out of the little town towardthe river. When he came to the bridge, he paused and studied the scenewith slow, delighted eyes. The water came down over its dam with a leapof buoyant joy, as if leaping to freedom. Over the dam it lay in a quietpool, mirroring every bud and twig. Below, it curved away between lowbanks, with bushes growing to the water's edge, where the pickerel lay.
But the young man seemed to be saddened by the view of the mill, whichhad burned some years before. It seemed like the charred body of aliving thing, this heap of blackened and twisted shafts and pulleys,lying half buried in tangles of weeds.
It appealed so strongly to young Morris that he uttered an unconscioussigh as he walked on across the bridge and clambered the shelving road,which was cut out of the yellow sandstone of the hillside.
The road wound up the sandy hillside and came at length to a beautifulbroad terrace of farm land that stretched back to the higher bluffs. Thehouse toward which the young fellow turned was painted white, and hadthe dark-green blinds which transplanted New-Englanders carry with themwherever they go.
Soldierly Lombardy poplar trees stood in the yard, and beds of flowerslined the walk. Mrs. Miner was at work in the beds when he came up.
"Good day," he said cordially. "Glorious spring weather, isn't it?" Hesmiled pleasantly. "Is this Mrs. Miner?"
"Yes, sir." She looked at him wonderingly.
"I'm one of Wilber's men," he explained. "He couldn't get away, so hesent me up to see what needed doing."
"Oh," she said, with a relieved tone. "Very well; will you go look atit?"
They walked, side by side, out toward the barn, which had the look ofgreat age in its unpainted decay. It was gray as granite and worn fuzzywith sleet and snow. The young fellow looked around at the grass, thedandelions, the vague and beautiful shadows flung down upon the turf bythe scant foliage of the willows and apple trees, and took off his hat,as if in the presence of something holy. "What a lovely place!" hesaid--"all but the mill down there; it seems too bad it burnt up. I hateto see a ruin, most of all, one of a mill." She looked at him insurprise, perceiving that he was not at all an ordinary carpenter. Hehad a thoughtful face, and the workman's dress he wore could notentirely conceal a certain delicacy of limb. His voice had a touch ofcultivation in it.
"The work I want done is on the barn," she said at length. "Do you thinkit needs reshingling?"
He looked up at it critically, his head still bare. She was studying himcarefully now, and admired his handsome profile. There was somethingfine and powerful in the poise of his head.
"You haven't been working for Mr. Wilber long," she said.
He turned toward her with a smile of gratification, as if he knew shehad detected something out of the ordinary in him.
"No, I'm just out of Beloit," he said, with ready confidence. "You seethat I'm one of these fellows who have to work my passage. I put in myvacations at my trade." He looked up at the roof again, as if checkinghimself. "Yes, I should think from here that it would have to bereshingled."
She sighed resignedly, and he knew she was poor. "Well, I suppose youhad better do it."
She thought of him pleasantly, as he walked off down the road after thelumber and tools that were necessary. And, in his turn, he wonderedwhether she were a widow or not. It promised to be a pleasant job. Shewas quite handsome, in a serious way, he decided--very womanly anddignified. Perhaps this was his romance, he thought, with the readyimagination upon this point of a youth of twenty-one.
He returned soon with a German teamster, who helped him unload hislumber and erect his stagings. When noon came he was working away on theroof, tearing the old shingles off with a spade.
He was a little uncertain about his dinner. It was the custom to boardcarpenters when they were working on a farm, but this farm was so neartown, possibly Mrs. Miner would not think it necessary. He decided,however, to wait till one o'clock, to be sure. At half past twelve, aman came in out of the field with a team--a short man, with curly hair,curly chin beard, and mustache. He walked with a little swagger, and hislegs were slightly bowed. Morris called him "a little feller," andcatalogued him by the slant on his hat.
"Say," called Morris suddenly, "won't you come up here and help me raisemy staging?"
The man looked up with a muttered curse of surprise. "Who the hell y'take me for? Hired man?" he asked, and then, after a moment, continued,in a tone which was an insult: "You don't want to rip off the wholebroad side of that roof. Ain't y' got any sense? Come a rain, it'llraise hell with my hay."
"It ain't going to rain," Morris replied. He wanted to give him a sharpreply, but concluded not to do so. This was evidently the husband. Hisromance was very short.
"Tom, won't you call the ma
n in?" asked Mrs. Miner, as her husband cameup to the kitchen door.
"No, call 'im yourself. You've got a gullet."
Mrs. Miner's face clouded a little, but she composed herself. "Morty,run out and tell the carpenter to come to dinner."
"Boss is in a temper," Morris thought, as he listened to Miner's reply.He came up to the well, where Morty brought him a clean towel, andwaited to show him into the kitchen.
Miner was just sitting down to the table when Morris entered. Hissleeves were rolled up. He had his old white hat on his head. He loungedupon one elbow on the table. His whole bearing was swinish.
"What do I care?" he growled, as if in reply to some low-voiced warninghis wife had uttered. "If he don't like it, he can lump it, and if youdon't like my ways," he said, turning upon her, "all you've got to do isto say so, and I git out."
Morris was amazed at all this. He could not persuade himself that he hadrightly understood what had been said. There was something beneath theman's words which puzzled him and forbade his inquiry. He sat down nearthe oldest child and opposite Mrs. Miner. Miner began to eat, and Morriswas speaking pleasantly to the child nearest him, when he heard an oathand a slap. He looked up to see Miner's hat falling from Mrs. Miner'scheek.
She had begun a silent grace, and her husband had thrown his hat in herface. She kept her eyes upon her plate, and her lips moved as if inprayer, though a flush of red streamed up her neck and covered hercheek.
Morris leaped up, his eyes burning into Miner's face. "H'yere!" heshouted, "what's all this? Did you strike her?"
"Set down!" roared Miner. "You're too fresh."
"I'll let you know how fresh I am," said the young fellow, shaking hisbrawny fist in Miner's face.
Mrs. Miner rose, with a ghastly smile on her face, which was now as paleas it had been flushed. "Please don't mind him; he's only fooling."Morris looked at her and understood a little of her feeling as a wifeand mother. He sat down. "Well, I'll let him know the weight of my fist,if he does anything more of that business when I'm around," he said,looking at her, and then at her husband. "I didn't grow up in a familywhere things like that go on. If you'll just say the word, I--I'll----"
"Please don't do anything," she said, and he saw that he had better not,if he wished to shield her from further suffering. The meal proceeded insilence. Miner apparently gloried in what he had done.
The children were trembling with fear and could scarcely go on withtheir dinners. They dared not cry. Their eyes were fixed upon theirfather's face, like the eyes of kittens accustomed to violence. The wifetried to conceal her shame and indignation. She thought she succeededvery well, but the big tears rolling down from her wide unseeing eyes,were pitiful to witness.
Morris ate his dinner in silence, not seeing anything further to do orsay. His food choked him, and he found it necessary to drink greatdraughts of water.
At last she contrived to say, "How did you find the roof?" It was apitiful attempt to cover the dreadful silence.
"It was almost as good as no roof at all," he replied, with the desireto aid her. "Those shingles, I suppose, have been on there for thirtyyears. I suppose those shingles must have been rived out by just such amachine as Old Man Means used, in the 'Hoosier Schoolmaster.'" Fromthis, he went on to tell about some of the comical parts of the story,and so managed to end the meal in a fairly presentable way.
"She's found another sympathizer," sneered the husband, returning to hishabit of addressing his wife in the third person.
After eating his dinner, Miner lit his pipe and swaggered out, as if hehad done an admirable thing. Morris remained at the table, talking withthe children. After Miner had passed out of earshot, he looked up atMrs. Miner, as if expecting her to say something in explanation of whathad occurred. But she had again forgotten him, and sat biting her lipsand looking out of the window. Her bosom heaved like that of one aboutto weep. Her wide-open eyes had unutterable sorrow in their beautifuldepths.
Morris got up and went out, in order to prevent himself from weepingtoo. He hammered away on the roof like mad for an hour, and wished thatevery blow fell on that little villain's curly pate.
He did not see Mrs. Miner to speak to her again till the next forenoon,when she came out to see how the work was getting on. He came down fromthe roof to meet her, and they stood side by side, talking the job overand planning other work. She spoke, at last, in a low, hesitating voice,and without looking at him:
"You mustn't mind what Mr. Miner does. He's very peculiar, and you'relikely--that is, I mean----"
She could not finish her lie. The young man looked down on herresolutely. "I'd like to lick him, and I'd do it for a leather cent."
She put out her hand with a gesture of dismay. "Oh, don't make trouble;please don't!"
"I won't if you don't want me to, but that man needs a licking the worstof any one I ever saw. Mrs. Miner," he said, after a little pause, "Iwish you'd tell me why he acts that way. Now, there must be some reasonfor it. No sane man is going to do a thing like that."
She looked away, a hot flush rising upon her face. She felt a distinctlonging for sympathy. There was something very engaging in this youngman's candid manner.
"I do not know who is to blame," she said at last, as if in answer to aquestion. "I've tried to be a good wife to him for the children's sake.I've tried to be patient. I suppose if I'd made the property all over tohim, as most wives do, at first, it would have avoided all trouble." Shepaused to think a moment.
"But, you see" she went on suddenly, "father never liked him at all, andhe made me promise never to let the mill or the farm go out of my hands,and then I didn't think it necessary. It belonged to us both, just asmuch as if I'd signed it over. I considered he was my partner as well asmy husband. I knew how father felt, especially about the mill, and Icouldn't go against his wish."
She had the impulse to tell it all now, and she sat down on a bunch ofshingles, as if to be able to state it better. Her eyes were turnedaway, her hands pressed upon each other like timid, living thingsseeking aid, and, looking at her trembling lips, the young man felt alump rise in his throat.
"It began all at once, you see. I mean the worst of it did. Of course,we'd had sharp words, as all people who live together are apt to have, Isuppose, but they didn't last long. You see, everything was mine, and hehad nothing at all when he came home with me. He'd had bad luck, andhe--he never was a good business man."
The tears were on her face again. She was retrospectively approachingthat miserable time when her suffering began. The droop of her headappealed to the young man with immense power. He had an impulse to takeher in his arms and comfort her, as if she were his sister.
She mastered herself at last, and went on in low, hesitating voice, moretouching than downright sobbing: "One day, the same summer the millburned, one of the horses kicked at little Morty, and I said I'd sellit, and he said it was all nonsense; the horse wasn't to blame. And Itold him I wouldn't have a horse around that would kick. And when hesaid I shouldn't sell it, I said a dreadful thing. I knew it would cuthim, but I said it. I said: 'The horse is mine; the farm is mine; I cando what I please with my own, for all of you.'"
She fell silent here, and Morris was forced to ask, "What did he dothen?"
"He looked at me, a queer, long look that made me shiver, and then hewalked off, and he never spoke to me again directly for six months. Andfrom that day he almost never speaks to me except through the children.He calls me names through them. He cuts me every time he can. He doeseverything he can to hurt me. He never dresses up, and he wears his hatin the house at all times, and rolls up his sleeves at the table, justbecause he knows it makes me suffer. Sometimes I think he is crazy, andyet----"
"Oh, no, he ain't crazy. He's devilish," Morris blurted out. "Greatguns! I'd like to lay my hands on him."
She seemed to feel that a complete statement was demanded. "I can'tinvite anybody to the house, for there's no knowing what he'll do. Hemay stay in the fields all day and never come in at a
ll, or he may comein and curse and swear at me or do something--I never can tell what heis goin' to do."
"Haven't you any relatives here?" Morris asked.
"Yes, but I'm ashamed to let them know about it, because they all saidI'd repent; and then he's my husband, and he's the father of mychildren."
"A mighty poor excuse of one I call him," said the young man withdecision.
"I tried to give him the farm, when I found it was going to maketrouble, but he wouldn't take it _then_. He won't listen to me at all.He keeps throwing it up to me that he's earning his living, and if Idon't think he is he will go any minute. He works in the field, butthat's all. He won't advise with me at all. He says it's none of hisbusiness. He won't do a thing around the house or garden. I tried to gethim to oversee the mill for me, but, after our trouble, he refused to doanything about it. I hired a man to run it, but it didn't pay that way,and then it was idle for a while, and at last it got afire some way andburned up--tramps, I suppose.
"Oh, dear!" she sighed, rising, "I don't see how it's going to end; itmust end some time. Sometimes it seems as if I couldn't stand it anotherday, and then I think of my duty as a mother and wife, and I thinkperhaps God intended this to be my cross."
The young fellow was silent. It was a great problem. The question ofdivorce had never before been borne in upon him in this personal way. Itseemed to him a clear case. The man ought to be driven off and the womanleft in peace. He thought of the pleasure it would give her to hear thesound of the mill again.
They stood there side by side, nearly the same age, and yet the woman'sface was already lined with suffering, and her eyes were full of shadow.There seemed no future for her, and yet she was young.
"Please don't let him know I've said anything to you, will you?"
"I'll try not to," he said, but he did not consider himself bound to anydefinite concealment.
They ate dinner together without Miner, who had a fit of work on handwhich made him stubbornly unmindful of any call to eat. Moreover, he wassure it would worry his wife.
The meal was a pleasant one on the whole, and they found many things incommon to talk about. Morris wanted to ask her a few more questionsabout her life, but she begged him not to do so, and started him off onthe story of his college life. He was an enthusiastic talker and toldher his plans with boyish frankness. He forgot his fatigue, and she lostfor a time her premature cares and despairs. They were laughing togetherover some of his college pranks when Miner came in at the door.
"Oh, I see!" he said, with an insulting, insinuating inflection. "Now Iunderstand the early dinner."
Morris sprang up and, walking over to the sneering husband, glared downat him with a look of ferocity that sat singularly upon his round, freshface. "Now you _shut up_! If you open your mouth to me again I'll lickyou till your hide won't hold pumpkins!"
Miner shrank back, turned on his heel, and went off to the barn. He didnot return for his dinner.
Morris insisted on helping Mrs. Miner clear up the yard and uncover thegrapevine. He liked her very much. She appealed to the protector in him,and she interested him besides, because of the melancholy which waslined on her delicate face, and voiced in her low, soft utterances.
He appealed to her, because of his delicacy as well as strength. He hadsomething of the modern man's love for flowers, and did not attempt toconceal his delight in thus tinkering about at woman's work. He atesupper with her and worked on until it was quite dark, tired as he was,and then shook hands and said "Good night."
Morris came back to his work the next day with a great deal of pleasure.He had spent considerable thought upon the matter. He had almostdetermined on a course of action. He had thought of going directly toMiner and saying:
"Now look here, Miner, if you was _half_ a man, you'd pull out and leavethis woman in peace. How you can stand around here and occupy theposition you do, I don't see."
But when he remembered Mrs. Miner's words about the children, anotherconsideration came in. Suppose he should take the children withhim--that was the point; that was the uncertain part of the problem. Itdid not require any thought to remember that the law took very littleconsideration of the woman's feelings. He said to himself that if heever became judge, he would certainly give decisions that would sendsuch a man as Miner simply whirling out into space.
Miner was in the barn when Morris clambered up the ladder with a bunchof shingles on his shoulder, about seven o'clock. He came out and said:
"Say, you want to fix that window up there."
"Get away from there!" shouted Morris, in uncontrollable rage, "or I'llsmash this bunch of shingles on your cursed head. Don't you open thatugly p'tater trap at me, you bow-legged little skunk! I'm goin' to lickyou like a sock before I'm done with you."
He would have done so then had he been on the ground, but he disdainedtaking the trouble to climb down. He planned to catch him when he cameup to dinner. The more he thought of it the more his indignation waxed.As he grew to hate the man more, he began to entertain the suspicions,which Wilber confessed to in confidence, concerning the burning of themill.
They had a cheerful meal together again, for Miner did not come in untilone o'clock. During the nooning Morris finished spading the flowerbeds, in spite of Mrs. Miner's entreaties that he should rest. It gavehim great pleasure to work there with her and the children.
"You see, I'm lonesome here," he explained. "Just out of school, and Imiss the boys and girls. I don't know anybody except a few of thecarpenters here, and so--well, I kind of like it. I always helped aroundthe house at home. It's all fun for me, so don't you say a word. I'vegot lots o' muscle to spare, and you're welcome to it."
He spaded away without many words. The warm sun shone down upon themall, and they made a pretty group. Mrs. Miner, rake in hand, waspulverizing the beds as fast as he spaded, her face flushed and almosthappy. The children were wrist-deep in the fresh earth, planting twigsand pebbles, their babble of talk some way akin to the cry of thewoodpecker, the laugh of the robin, the twitter of the sparrow, thesmell of spring, and the merry downpour of sunshine.
Mrs. Miner was silent. She was thinking how different her life wouldhave been if her husband had only taken an interest in her affairs. Shedid not think of any one else as her husband, but only Miner in adifferent mood.
Morris went back to work. As the work neared the end, his determinationto punish the scoundrel husband grew. His inclination to charge him withburning the mill grew stronger. He wondered if it wouldn't serve as aclub. "Now, sir," he said, meeting Miner as he came out of the barn thatnight, "I'm done on the barn, but I'm not done on you. I'm goin' towhale you till you won't know yourself. I ought 'o 'a done it that firstday at dinner." He advanced upon Miner, who backed away, scared atsomething he saw in the young man's eyes and something he heard in hisinflexible tone of voice.
He thrust out his palm in a wild gesture. "Keep away from me! I'll splityour heart if you touch me!"
Morris advanced another step, his eyes looking straight into Miner'swith the level look of a tiger's. "No, y' won't! You're too much of aninfernal, sneaky little _whelp_!"
At the word whelp, he cuffed him with his hammerlike fist, and Minerwent down in a heap. He was so abject that the young man could onlystrike him with his open hand.
He took him by the shirt collar with his left hand and began to cuff himleisurely and terribly with his right. His blows punctuated hissentences. "You're a little [whack] villain. I'll thrash you till youwon't see out of your blasted eyes for a month! I can't stand a man[here he jounced him up and down with his left hand, apparently withinfinite satisfaction] who bullies his wife and children as you do [herehe cuffed him again], and I'll make it my business to even thingsup----"
The prostrate man began to scream for help. He was livid with fear. Hefancied murder in the blaze of his assailant's eye.
"Help! help! Minnie!"
"Call her by her first name now, will yeh? will yeh? Call her out tohelp yeh! Do you think she will? I wa
nt to tell you, besides, I knowsomething about that mill burning. It's just like your contemptiblemustard-seed of a soul to burn that mill!"
Mrs. Miner came flying out. She could not recognize her husband in thebleeding, dirty, abject thing squirming under the young man's knee.
"Why, Mr. Morris, who--why--why, it's Tom!" she gasped, her eyesdistended with surprise and horror.
Morris looked up at her coolly. "Yes, it's Tom." He then gave hisattention to the writhing figure under him. "Crawl, you infernal whelp!Lick the dust, confound you! Quick!" he commanded, growing each momentmore savage.
Mrs. Miner clung to his arm. "Please don't," she pleaded. "You'rekilling him."
Morris did not look up. "Oh, no, I ain't. I'm giving him a little tasteof his own medicine." He flopped Miner over on his face and dragged himaround in the dust like an old sack. "Beg her pardon, or I'll thrash theground with yeh!"
"Please don't," pleaded the wife, using her whole strength to stop himin his circuit with the almost insensible Miner.
"Beg!" he said again, "beg, or I'll cave your backbone in." There was aterrible upward inflection in his voice now, a half-jocular tone thatwas more terrible than the muffled snarl in which he had previously beenspeaking.
"I beg! I beg!" cried Miner.
Morris released him, and he crawled to a sitting posture. Mrs. Minerfell on her knees by his side, and began wiping the blood from his face.She was breathless with sobbing and the children were screaming. Thetears streamed down her face, which was white and drawn into ghastlywrinkles.
"You've killed him!" she gasped.
Morris put his hands in his pockets and looked down on them both, with acurious feeling of having done something which he might repent of. Hefelt in a way cut off from the satisfactory ending of the thing he hadplanned.
"Oh, you've killed him!"
"Oh, no, I haven't. He's all right." He looked at them a moment longerto see if there were any rage remaining in the face of the husband, andthen at the wife to discover her feeling concerning his action. Then helooked back at the husband again, and apparently justified himself forwhat he had done by the memory of the ineffable shame to which the wifehad been subjected.
"Now, if I hear another word of your abuse," he said, as he shook thedust from his own clothes and prepared to go, "I'll give you anotherthat will make you think that this is all fooling. More than that," hesaid, turning again, "I know something that will put you where the crowswon't eat you!--If I can be of any service to you, Mrs. Miner, at anytime while I'm here, I hope you'll let me know. Good-by."
Mrs. Miner did not reply, and when Morris reached the gate and lookedback she was still kneeling by the side of her husband, the sunlightshining down upon her graceful head. Some way the problem had increasedin complexity. He felt a disgust of her weakness, mingled with a feelingthat he was losing something very fine and tender which had but justcome into his life.
He went back to his work on the other side of the river, where his crewwas working. He was called home a few weeks later, and he never sawhusband or wife again. He learned from Wilber, however, in a shortletter that things were going much the same as ever.
"Dear Sir: I don't know much about Miner. Hees purty quiet I guess.Dock Moss thinks hees a little off his nut. I don't. I think its purcussidness."