I thought how, every spring, Jobe would pull the weeds and leaves from around it, and how a many a time I saw him wipin his eyes as he stood by our baby’s rose-bush. And as I was thinkin this I thought that before long somebody else would own this ground and that bush, and we could not take care of it any more for our little girl that is gone. I wondered if anybody would stand there arter we are turned out and weep for the child that planted it. I wondered why it was that the law could tear people away from everything they love. I wondered why there couldent be some way fixed to make it easier for people to git homes and pay for them. I wondered why interest was never less than six per cent., and sometimes more. I wondered why people who paid interest had sich a hard way of gittin along, while the people who got interest got along so easy. [Illustration: “‘Mamma, ... how pritty!’”] And as I stood there by our baby’s rose-bush I thought of all the interest Jobe has paid on this place, of the taxes he has paid year in and year out, and I got to figurin, and I found he had paid for the farm nearly twice over. And then I thought of that dream I had nearly a year ago, when I dreamt that Jobe could borrow money of the county treasury at only two per cent. And I kept on a figurin, and I found that if interest had only been two per cent. since we bought this farm, the difference between the interest we have paid and what we would have had to pay at two per cent. would have let us out. We would have had our farm nearly paid for, and we could have stayed here and taken care of baby’s little rose-bush and carried the roses to her little grave each year as long as we lived. But interest haint two per cent., and we must leave the little bush, leave the trees, leave the flowers, leave all and go. Oh! that nearly chokes me. Where shall we go? Who will take care of baby’s grave? I cant rite any more. I feel so queer. [Illustration] CHAPTER XXXV. JOBE TALKS OF THINGS THAT ARE GONE. JOBE is down sick with “brain fever and nervous prostration.” The doctor says it all come from his worryin over bein foreclosed. Jobe jist lays and moans and talks to hisself. He is out of his head most of the time. [Illustration: “Jobe jist lays and moans.”] Last nite he thought he had Betty, our drivin mare, back (the one we parted with last spring to git money to pay interest to Congressman Richer). He thought our little Jane was livin agin, and he was holdin her on Betty’s back, a lettin her ride. [Illustration: “I have to chop all the wood.”] He jist kept a talkin fust one thing, then another, all nite. I dident git to sleep any, and since he has been sick I have to chop all the wood and do the chores and wait on him till I am nearly wore out and not able to write. I dont know what I will do if they foreclose us and put us out before Jobe gits able to go about.