By The Rule Of Contrary
by
“Look here, Burton,” said old John Ellis in an ominous tone of voice, “I want to know if what that old busybody of a Mary Keane came here today gossiping about is true. If it is–well, I’ve something to say about the matter! Have you been courting that niece of Susan Oliver’s all summer on the sly?”
Burton Ellis’s handsome, boyish face flushed darkly crimson to the roots of his curly black hair. Something in the father’s tone roused anger and rebellion in the son. He straightened himself up from the turnip row he was hoeing, looked his father squarely in the face, and said quietly,
“Not on the sly, sir, I never do things that way. But I have been going to see Madge Oliver for some time, and we are engaged. We are thinking of being married this fall, and we hope you will not object.”
Burton’s frankness nearly took away his father’s breath. Old John fairly choked with rage.
“You young fool,” he spluttered, bringing down his hoe with such energy that he sliced off half a dozen of his finest young turnip plants, “have you gone clean crazy? No, sir, I’ll never consent to your marrying an Oliver, and you needn’t have any idea that I will.”
“Then I’ll marry her without your consent,” retorted Burton angrily, losing the temper he had been trying to keep.
“Oh, will you indeed! Well, if you do, out you go, and not a cent of my money or a rod of my land do you ever get.”
“What have you got against Madge?” asked Burton, forcing himself to speak calmly, for he knew his father too well to doubt for a minute that he meant and would do just what he said.
“She’s an Oliver,” said old John crustily, “and that’s enough.” And considering that he had settled the matter, John Ellis threw down his hoe and left the field in a towering rage.
Burton hoed away savagely until his anger had spent itself on the weeds. Give up Madge–dear, sweet little Madge? Not he! Yet if his father remained of the same mind, their marriage was out of the question at present. And Burton knew quite well that his father would remain of the same mind. Old John Ellis had the reputation of being the most contrary man in Greenwood.
When Burton had finished his row he left the turnip field and went straight across lots to see Madge and tell her his dismal story. An hour later Miss Susan Oliver went up the stairs of her little brown house to Madge’s room and found her niece lying on the bed, her pretty curls tumbled, her soft cheeks flushed crimson, crying as if her heart would break.
Miss Susan was a tall, grim, angular spinster who looked like the last person in the world to whom a love affair might be confided. But never were appearances more deceptive than in this case. Behind her unprepossessing exterior Miss Susan had a warm, sympathetic heart filled to the brim with kindly affection for her pretty niece. She had seen Burton Ellis going moodily across the fields homeward and guessed that something had gone wrong.
“Now, dearie, what is the matter?” she said, tenderly patting the brown head.
Madge sobbed out the whole story disconsolately. Burton’s father would not let him marry her because she was an Oliver. And, oh, what would she do?
“Don’t worry, Madge,” said Miss Susan comfortingly. “I’ll soon settle old John Ellis.”
“Why, what can you do?” asked Madge forlornly.
Miss Susan squared her shoulders and looked amused.
“You’ll see. I know old John Ellis better than he knows himself. He is the most contrary man the Lord ever made. I went to school with him. I learned how to manage him then, and I haven’t forgotten how. I’m going straight up to interview him.”
“Are you sure that will do any good?” said Madge doubtfully. “If you go to him and take Burton’s and my part, won’t it only make him worse?”