THE SOUND OF BEATING HOOFS
On Monday morning Mrs. Atterson put her house in the agent's hands. On Wednesday a pair of spinster ladies came to look at it. They came again on Thursday and again on Friday.
Friday being considered an "unlucky" day they did not bind the bargain; but on Saturday money was passed, and the new keepers of the house were to take possession in a week. Not until then were the boarders informed of Mother Atterson's change of circumstances, and the fact that she was going to graduate from the boarding house kitchen to the farm.
After all, they were sorry--those light-headed, irresponsible young men. There wasn't one of them, from Crackit down the line, who could not easily remember some special kindness that marked the old lady's intercourse with him.
As soon as the fact was announced that the boarding house had changed hands, the boarders were up in arms. There was a wild gabble of voices, over the supper table that night. Crackit led the chorus.
"It's a mean trick. Mother Atterson has sold us like so many cattle to the highest bidder. Ungrateful--right down ungrateful, I call it," he declared. "What do you say, Feeble?""It is particularly distasteful to me just now," complained the invalid. "When Sister has learned to give me my hot water at just the right temperature," and he took a sip of that innocent beverage. "Don't you suppose we could prevail upon the old lady to renig?""She's bound to put us off with half rations for the rest of the time she stays," declared Crackit, shaking his head wisely. "She's got nothing to lose now. She don't care if we all up and leave--after she gets hers.""That's always the way," feebly remarked Mr. Peebles. "Just as soon as I really get settled down into a half-decent lodging, something happens."Mr. Peebles had been a fixture at Mother Atterson's for nearly ten years. Only Old Lem Camp had been longer at the place.
The latter was the only boarder who had no adverse criticism for the mistress's new move. Indeed this evening Mr. Camp said nothing whatever;even his usual mumblings to himself were not heard.
He ate slowly, and but little. He was still sitting at the table when all the others had departed.
Mrs. Atterson started into the dining-room with her own supper between two plates when she saw the old man sitting there despondent in looks and attitude, his head resting on one clawlike hand, his elbow on the soiled table cloth.
He did not look up, nor move. The mistress glanced back over her shoulder, and there was Sister, sniffling and occasionally rubbing her wrist into her red eyes as she scraped the tower of plates from the dinner table.
"My soul and body!" gasped Mother Atterson, almost dropping her supper on the floor. "There's Sister--and there's Old Lem Camp! Whatever will I do with 'em?"Meanwhile Hiram Strong had already left for the farm on the Wednesday previous. The other boarders knew nothing about his agreement with Mother Atterson; he had agreed to go to the place and begin work, and take care of the stock and all, "choring for himself", as the good lady called it, until she could complete her city affairs and move herself and her personal chattels to the farm.
Hiram bore a note to the woman who had promised to care for the Atterson place, and money to pay her what the boarding-house mistress had agreed.
"You can 'bach' it in the house as well as poor old Uncle Jeptha did, I reckon," this woman told the youth.
She showed him where certain provisions were--the pork barrel, ham and bacon of the old man's curing, and the few vegetables remaining from the winter's store.
"The cow was about gone dry, anyway," said the woman, Mrs. Larriper, who was a widow and lived with her married daughter some half-mile down the road toward Scoville, "so I didn't bother to milk her.
"You'll have to go to town to buy grain, if you want to feed her up--and for the chickens and the horse. The old man didn't make much of a crop last year--or them shiftless Dickersons didn't make much for him.
"I saw Sam Dickerson around here this morning. He borrowed some ofthe old man's tools when Uncle Jeptha was sick, and you'll have to go after 'em, I reckon.
"Sam's the best borrower that ever was; but he never can remember to bring things back. He says it's bad enough to have to borrow; it's too much to expect the same man to return what he borrows.
"Now, Mrs. Dickerson," pursued Mrs. Larriper, "was as nice a girl before she married--she was a Stepney--as ever walked in shoe-leather. And I guess she'd be right friendly with the neighbors if Sam would let her.
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"Now, on the other side o' ye there's Darrell's tract, and you won't have no trouble there, for there ain't a house on his place, and he lets it lie idle. Waiting for a rise in price, I 'spect.
"Some rich folks is comin' in and buying up pieces of land and making what they calls 'gentlemen's estates' out o' them. A family named Bronson--Mr. Stephen Bronson, with one little girl-- bought the Fleigler place only last month.
"They're nice folks," pursued this amiable but talkative lady, "and they don't live but a mile or so along the Scoville road. You passed the place-- white, with green shutters, and a water-tower in the back, when you walked up.""I remember it," said Hiram, nodding.
"They're western folk. Come clear from out in Injiany, or Illiny, or the like. The girl's going to school and she ain't got no mother, so her father's come on East with her to be near the school.
"Well, I can't help you no more. Them hens! Well, I'd sell 'em if I was Mis' Atterson.
"Hens ain't much nowadays, anyhow; and I expect a good many of those are too old to lay. Uncle Jeptha couldn't fuss with chickens, and he didn't raise only a smitch of 'em last year and the year before--just them that the hens hatched themselves in stolen nests, and chanced to bring upalive.
"You better grease the cart before you use it. It's stood since they hauled in corn last fall.
