FullReads

His offer, however, was gratefully accepted. The bright, hot summer days came and went, but no flower of July ever opened as rapidly and richly and warmly as his chilled, retarded nature. New thoughts and instincts came with every morning’s sun, and new conclusions were reached with every evening’s twilight. Yet as the wheat harvest drew towards the end, he felt that he must leave the place. The month of absence had gone by, he scarce knew how. He was free to return home, and, though he might offer to bridge over the gap between wheat and oats, as he had already done between hay and wheat, he imagined the family might hesitate to accept such an offer. Moreover, this life at Susan’s side was fast growing to be a pain, unless he could assure himself that it would be so forever.

They were in the wheat-field, busy with the last sheaves; she raking and he binding. The farmer and younger children had gone to the barn with a load. Jacob was working silently and steadily, but when they had reached the end of a row, he stopped, wiped his wet brow, and suddenly said, “Susan, I suppose to-day finishes my work here.”

“Yes,” she answered very slowly.

“And yet I’m very sorry to go.”

“I–WE don’t want you to go, if we could help it.”

Jacob appeared to struggle with himself. He attempted to speak. “If I could–” he brought out, and then paused. “Susan, would you be glad if I came back?”

His eyes implored her to read his meaning. No doubt she read it correctly, for her face flushed, her eyelids fell, and she barely murmured, “Yes, Jacob.”

“Then I’ll come!” he cried; “I’ll come and help you with the oats. Don’t talk of pay! Only tell me I’ll be welcome! Susan, don’t you believe I’ll keep my word?”

“I do indeed,” said she, looking him firmly in the face.

That was all that was said at the time; but the two understood each other tolerably well.

On the afternoon of the second day, Jacob saw again the lonely house of his father. His journey was made, yet, if any of the neighbors had seen him, they would never have believed that he had come back rich.

Samuel Flint turned away to hide a peculiar smile when he saw his son; but little was said until late that evening, after Harry and Sally had left. Then he required and received an exact account of Jacob’s experience during his absence. After hearing the story to the end, he said, “And so you love this Susan Meadows?”

“I’d–I’d do any thing to be with her.”

“Are you afraid of her?”

“No!” Jacob uttered the word so emphatically that it rang through the house.

“Ah, well!” said the old man, lifting his eyes, and speaking in the air, “all the harm may be mended yet. But there must be another test.” Then he was silent for some time.

“I have it!” he finally exclaimed. “Jacob, you must go back for the oats harvest. You must ask Susan to be your wife, and ask her parents to let you have her. But,–pay attention to my words!–you must tell her that you are a poor, hired man on this place, and that she can be engaged as housekeeper. Don’t speak of me as your father, but as the owner of the farm. Bring her here in that belief, and let me see how honest and willing she is. I can easily arrange matters with Harry and Sally while you are away; and I’ll only ask you to keep up the appearance of the thing for a month or so.”

“But, father,”–Jacob began.

“Not a word! Are you not willing to do that much for the sake of having her all your life, and this farm after me? Suppose it is covered with a mortgage, if she is all you say, you two can work it off. Not a word more! It is no lie, after all, that you will tell her.”