Harvard University -- Fiction; Love stories; Plantations -- Virginia -- Fiction; Youth -- Fiction
“Then I shan’t be one,” he said, smilingly. “I――――” He stopped and
studied his hands for a moment. “When I said I don’t know what I want
to be I wasn’t quite telling the truth. I do know what I want to be and
what I want to do. Only it seems so idiotic that I’m rather ashamed to
tell you.” He looked up for encouragement and found it in the little
grave smile she gave.
“Well, since I came down here and have seen this country, and seen
the jolly, quiet, healthful sort of life you Virginians lead, I――I’ve
wanted to come here, too, and live among these hills and fields. I’d
like to buy land here and farm it, and ride and hunt and shoot now and
then, and wear out my old clothes, and live quietly and contentedly and
respectably all my life and die of gout at a good old age.”
Margaret laughed quietly and shook her head. “I’m glad you like our
country and the way we live,” she said gravely, “but I don’t think it
would do for you. You’d like it well enough at first, I don’t doubt;
but then you’d get tired of our humdrum life and tired of farming, and
you’d long to get back to the world you know. Besides, there’s more in
farming than appears on the surface, Mr. North, and I fear you couldn’t
learn it in a year, or even five.”
“I know that. And when I said farming I was thinking of cattle.”
“But what I said of farming is just as true of cattle. I’m afraid it
wouldn’t pay.”
“But I wouldn’t care a great deal if it didn’t. It would be an
occupation. Lots of occupations don’t pay.”
“You’d be just a kind of idler, then, wouldn’t you? I mean, you
wouldn’t be accomplishing anything for yourself or for any one else.
It’s so easy to do things that don’t pay and that lead to nothing.”
“You’re terribly discouraging,” laughed John, more than half vexed.
“For that matter, perhaps it would pay. I could get a good overseer and
let him do the managing.”
“While you did the riding and shooting and hunting and acquired the
gout?” She shook her head. “That wouldn’t do.”
“Well,” he answered, “I hadn’t thought very seriously of trying it,
Miss Ryerson, but now――I believe I’ll do it if only to show you that I
can.”
“I should be sorry to have anything I’ve said lead you into losing your
money, Mr. North. And so I’ll take everything back. You could do it
beautifully; being a Northerner, you would, of course, understand our
way of doing things; having had a good college education you would,
naturally, be thoroughly fitted to buy and sell cattle at a profit; and
good overseers are found everywhere; and with a good overseer―――― But,
dear me, what am I saying? _Without_ a good overseer, Mr. North, there
is not the least doubt in the world but that you’d become immensely
wealthy in a very short time――say two or three years.”
She still leaned with chin in palm, and the little smiling, half-mocking
expression in the warm brown eyes tempted John to do rash things. With
an effort he laughed lightly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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