Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
“Now about the boys, Dorothy,” he said, two hours later, as they stood
together by the fire in the low, oak-finished room, which was his office
and book-room. The door was ajar so that Dorothy might hear her mother's
bell. “Don't you think they had better be sent to school somewhere?”
“Yes,” said Dorothy, “they ought to go to school,--but--well, I may as well
tell thee the truth. There's very little to do it with. We've had a poor
summer. I suppose I've managed badly, and mother has been sick a good
while.”
“You've forgotten about the pond-rent, Dorothy.”
“No,” she said, with a quick flush, “I hadn't forgotten it, but I couldn't
_ask_ thee for it.”
“I spoke to your father about monthly payments, but he said better leave
it to accumulate for emergencies. Shouldn't you call this an 'emergency,'
Dorothy?”
“But does thee think we ought to ask rent for a pond that has all leaked
away?”
“Oh, there's pond enough left, and I've used it a dozen times over this
summer. I should be ashamed to tell you, Dorothy, how my horn has been
exalted in your father's absence. However, retribution has overtaken me at
last; I'm responsible, you know, for all the damage last night. It was in
the agreement that I should keep up the dams.”
“Oh!” said Dorothy; “is thee sure?”
Evesham laughed.
“If your father was like any other man, Dorothy, he'd make me 'sure,' when
he gets home. I will defend myself to this extent; I've patched and propped
them all summer, after every rain, and tried to provide for the fall
storms; but there's a flaw in the original plan”--
“Thee said that once before,” said Dorothy. “I wish thee wouldn't say it
again.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love those old mill-dams. I've trotted over them ever since I
could walk alone.”
“You shall trot over them still. We will make them as strong as the
everlasting hills. They shall outlast our time, Dorothy.”
“Well, about the rent,” said Dorothy. “I'm afraid it will not take us
through the winter, unless there is something I can do. Mother couldn't
possibly be moved now; and if she could, it will be months before the house
is fit to live in. But we cannot stay here in comfort, unless thy mother
will let me make up in some way. Mother will not need me all the time, and
I know thy mother hires women to spin.”
“She'll let you do all you like if it will make you any happier. But you
don't know how much money is coming to you. Come, let us look over the
figures.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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