Canadian fiction; Country life -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction; Humorous stories
Months went by, and we regained our happiness to an amazing extent;
indeed, if Marion had not still refused to confirm it, I would have
supposed that I was completely forgiven, for she sometimes went so far
as to smile in recalling my conversation with the minister. I no longer
worried over her refusal to express an opinion about the farm, for I had
made up my mind to have nothing to do with Peter, and to grow potatoes,
and potatoes, and yet more potatoes. I had a strong instinct that
potatoes would be trumps. Seed was cheap, though labor came high. Joe
Wrigley was the only available man, and though he had previously been
eager to work for me at a dollar and a half a day, his terms went up to
two dollars when I tried to hire him for the season. I thought his
wholesale price should be lower than the retail one, but I had to agree
to his terms. Day after day he ploughed and harrowed and planted, until
I called a halt on the first of July with about one-third of the farm in
potatoes. Throughout the summer I bore the jocular allusions of my
experienced neighbors to the potato farm, replying only with a shrewd
and complacent smile; later, I was flattered to notice that knowing
glances of amusement were conspicuously absent when I entered the
post-office at mail time, and that my casual remarks were treated with
grave consideration. Later still, when the price went up to a dollar and
a half a bag, and the prospect that I would have a large crop became a
certainty, I was able to indulge in exultant calculations of my probable
profits. These delightful anticipations were slightly marred by Marion's
persistent lack of enthusiasm, and the fact that when I asked her if she
could ever forgive me she always replied that she hoped to be able to
before winter. There was something so pointed and yet elusive in this
remark that I could not fathom her meaning, and it was not until I
noticed that whenever I mentioned potatoes a peculiar tight expression
appeared about her mouth that I could guess she was reserving her
forgiveness until my promise was redeemed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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