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"Not a mite!" Calvin echoed mechanically.
"Now," Mr. Sam drew himself up, and tapped Calvin on the shoulder. "I want you to help me, Calvin Parks!"
Calvin growled, but a growl may mean anything. Mr. Sam took it for assent.
"That's right!" he said. "That's it, Calvin. You talk to Cousin, and tell her about the farm, and kinder throw in a word for Sim now and then. Why, he's a real good fellow, Sim is, when he ain't a darned fool. They'd get on fust-rate. And you talk to him, too, when she's out of the way! Tell him he needs a woman of his own, and like that. Mebbe you might drop a hint about my goin' away, if you see a good openin'; why, you're jest the one to make a match, with your pleasant ways, kind o' jokin' and cheerful. Make her feel as if she wanted a man of her own, too. Think about it, Cal! Say you'll think about it!"
"I'll think about it!" said Calvin Parks.
CHAPTER VIII "PLAYING S'POSE"
He thought about it on the road; and hossy missed the usual fire of cheery remarks, grew morose, and jogged on half asleep. He was still thinking about it, when he came to a narrow lane that branched off from the main road, some half a mile from the Sill farm. It was a pretty lane, but it had a deserted look, and there were no wheel-marks on its grass and clover. Coming abreast of this opening, Calvin checked the brown horse with a word, and sat for some time looking
thoughtfully down the lane. It ended, a few hundred yards away, in an open gateway; there was no gate. Beyond stood some huge old maple trees, which might hide anything or nothing.
"Want to go in, hossy?" asked Calvin. He flicked hossy on the ear, but his tone was not the usual one of friendly banter. Hossy shook his head.
"Might as well!" said Calvin. "I've kep' away so fur, but it's there, you know, hossy, all the same. Gitty up!"
Thus urged, the brown horse jogged slowly up the grassy lane, snatching now and then at the tall grass as he went. Passing through the empty gateway, they came to the maple trees, and saw only one of them knew before what they hid. A yawning hole in the ground; at one side of it a well, its covering dropping to pieces, its sweep fallen on the ground; behind, a tangle of bushes that might once have been a garden. In front, almost on the edge of the hole, some long blocks of granite lay piled one atop of the other; these had been the door-steps, when there was a door.
Calvin Parks sat silent for a long time looking at these things. Then, "Hossy," he said, "look at there!"
Hossy looked; saw little that appealed to him, and fell to cropping the grass.
"What did I tell you?" said Calvin, addressing some person unseen. "Even the dumb animal won't look at it. Hossy, what do you think of this place, take it as a place? Speak up now!"
Hossy, flicked on the ear, shook himself fretfully, whinnied, and returned to his cropping.
"Nice home to offer a woman?" said Calvin. "Cheerful sort of habitation? Hey? Well, there! you see how 'tis yourself. A rolling stone gathers no moss, little hossy."
As he spoke he was climbing down from his perch; now he threw the reins over the brown horse's neck, and walking to the edge of the empty cellar-place, sat down on one of the granite blocks.
"But I want you to understand that I warn't born rollin'!" he continued with some severity. "If you think that, hossy, you show your ignorance. I was a stiddy boy, and a good boy, as boys go. Mother never made no complaint, fur as I know. Poor mother! if I'm glad of anything in this mortal world, it's that mother went before the house did. That old lobster was right, darn his hide! a woman has to have a home. Poor mother! She thought a sight of her home and her gardin. I can't but scarcely feel she must be round somewheres, now; pickin' gooseberries, most likely. Sho! gooseberries in October! well, butternuts, then! The old butternut tree warn't burned. Hossy, I tell you, it seems as though if I was to turn round this minute I should expect to see mother's white apurn "
He turned as he spoke, and stopped short. Something white glinted behind the withered bushes of the garden plot.
Calvin Parks sat motionless for a moment, gazing with wide eyes. A cold finger traced his spine, and his heart thumped loud in his ears. The something white seemed to move a swaying motion; and now a soft voice began to croon, half speaking, half singing.
"I'd I'd like to know what you are scairt of!" said Calvin Parks, addressing himself. "You might put a name to it. It would be just like mother, wouldn't it, to come back if it was anyways convenient, and see to them butternuts? Well, then! You wouldn't be scairt of mother, would you? I've no patience with you. The dumb critter there has more spunk than what you have."
The brown horse had raised his head, and his ears were pointed toward the something white that glinted through the bushes.
Another instant, and Calvin rose, and casting a scared look at the brown horse, made his way with faltering steps round the cellar-hole and put aside the bushes.