Myrtle Reed - At the Sign of the Jack O'Lantern стр 6.

Do you reckon, asked the blacksmith, after a long silence, that theyre goin to live in the Jack-o-Lantern?

I aint a-sayin, answered Mr. Blake, cautiously. Theyre educated, an theres no tellin what educated folks is goin to do. This young lady, now, that come up with him last night, she said it was a dear old place an she loved it aready. Thems her very words!

Do tell!

Thats crrect, an as I said before, when youre dealin with educated folks, youre swimmin in deep water with the shore clean out o sight. Education was what ailed him. By a careless nod Mr. Blake indicated the Jack-o-Lantern, which could be seen from the main thoroughfare of Judson Centre.

Ive hearn, he went on, taking a fresh bite from his morning purchase of plug, that he had one hull room mighty nigh plum full o nothin but books, an there was always more comin by freight an express an through the post-office. Its all on account o them books that hes made the front o his house into what it is. My wife had a paper book wunst, a-tellin How to Transfer a Hopeless Exterior, with pictures of houses in it like they be here an more arter theyd been transferred. You bet I burnt it while she was gone to sewin circle, an there aint no book

come into my house since.

Mr. Blake spoke with the virtuous air of one who has protected his home from contamination. Indeed, as he had often said before, you cant never tell what folksll do when books gets a holt of em.

Do you reckon, asked the blacksmith, that therell be company?

Company, snickered Mr. Blake, oh, my Lord, yes! A little thing like death aint never going to keep company away. Aint you never hearn as how misery loves company? The more miserable you are the more company youll have, an vice versey, etcetery an the same.

Hush! warned the blacksmith, in a harsh whisper. Hes a-comin!

City feller, grumbled Mr. Blake, affecting not to see.

Good-morning, said Harlan, pleasantly, though not without an air of condescension. Can you tell me where I can find the stage-driver?

Thats me, grunted Mr. Blake. Be you wantin anythin?

Only to pay you for taking us up to the house last night, and to arrange about our trunks. Can you deliver them this afternoon?

I aint a-runnin of no livery, but I can take em up, if thats what youre wantin.

Exactly, said Harlan, and the box, too, if you will. And the things Ive just ordered at the grocery can you bring them, too?

Mr. Blake nodded helplessly, and the blacksmith gazed at Harlan, open-mouthed, as he started uphill. Must sure have a ailment, he commented, but I hear tell, Hank, that in the city they never carry nothin round with em but perhaps an umbrell. Everythin else they have sent.

Reckon its true enough. I took a ham wunst up to the sanitarium for a young sprig of a doctor that was too proud to carry it himself. He was goin that way, too walkin up to save money so I charged him for carryin up the ham just what Id have took both for. Pigs is high, I told him, same price for one as for nother, but he didnt pay no attention to it an never raised no kick about the price. Thinkin bout sunthin else, most likely most of em are.

Harlan, most assuredly, was thinkin bout sunthin else. In fact, he was possessed by portentous uneasiness. There was well-defined doubt in his mind regarding his reception at the Jack-o-Lantern. Dorothys parting words had been plain almost to the point of rudeness, he reflected, unhappily, and he was not sure that a brute would be allowed in her presence again.

The bare, uncurtained windows gave no sign of human occupancy. Perhaps she had left him! Then his reason came to the rescue there was no way for her to go but downhill, and he would certainly have seen her had she taken that path.

When he entered the yard, he smelled smoke, and ran wildly into the house. A hasty search through all the rooms revealed nothing even Dorothy had disappeared. From the kitchen window, he saw her in the back yard, poking idly through a heap of smouldering rubbish with an old broomstick.

What are you doing? he demanded, breathlessly, before she knew he was near her.

Dorothy turned, disguising her sudden start by a toss of her head. Oh, she said, coolly, its you, is it?

Harlan bit his lips and his eyes laughed. I say, Dorothy, he began, awkwardly; I was rather a beast, wasnt I?

Of course, she returned, in a small, unnatural voice, still poking through the ruins. I told you so, didnt I?

I didnt believe you at the time, Harlan went on, eager to make amends, but I do now.

Thats good. Mrs. Carrs tone was not at all reassuring.

There was an awkward pause, then Harlan, putting aside his obstinate pride, said the simple sentence which men of all ages have found it hardest to say perhaps because it is the sign of utter masculine abasement. Im sorry, dear, will you forgive me?

In a moment, she was in his arms. It was partly my fault, she admitted, generously, from the depths of his coat collar. I think there must be something in the atmosphere of the house. We never quarrelled before.