Lost Farm Camp Part 35

Swickey continued hurriedly. "Andy used to come and see me at Miss Wilkins's when he was not in the lumber-camp. I thought he just liked me the same as the other boys-"

"Other boys-ya-a-s," said Avery, removing his pipe and spitting deliberately on the clean floor of the room, which unusual action proved his complete absorption in the subject.

"-Till he wrote me that letter and sent the ring-"

"Oh, he sent a ring, hey? Go ahead, Swickey, my insides is settlin'

down."

"Of course I sent it back-Miss Wilkins said I ought to,"-Swickey sighed,-"and one Sunday he met me after church and walked home with me.

That was the time when he said he wanted to marry me-and tried to kiss me. I was afraid of him at first, but I don't think he will ever try to do that again."

"Did you cuff him good?" said Avery.

"No, I didn't have to do that. But I told him something he'll remember.

You know Andy thinks all the Tramworth girls are just waiting to marry him. Besides, he drinks whiskey, and I'll never marry a man who does that."

"I ain't howlin' temp'rance m'self," said her father, "but you're plumb c'rrect, leetle gal." He paused for a moment and contemplated the bowl of his pipe. "Dave Ross don't drink-thet is, so fur as I know."

Swickey ignored his reference to David. "Andy promised to quit drinking-"

"Did he quit fust or promise fust?" Avery's tone conveyed a certain degree of skepticism.

"I don't know." She arose and went to her father, throwing her arms round his neck. "I don't know, Pop. I wish," she sobbed, "I wish my mother was here to talk to."

"Thar, thar, leetle gal, I wisht she was too. Many's the time I've been wantin' to talk to her 'bout-wal, you, fur instance, and lots of other things. See, you're makin' Smoke feel bad, to say nothin' of your Pa. I don't care how many fellers wants to marry you, so long as they don't.

Thar! now you've upset my pipe right on your dress."

Swickey hurriedly disengaged herself and brushed the ashes from her skirt.

"Dave says in his letter thet thet young Bas...o...b.. the surveyor feller, is comin' up with him. They ought to be along purty soon now."

"What! that Mr. Bas...o...b..that tried to buy our place-and get the asbestos?"

"Yes, thet's the feller."

"I didn't think Dave would have anything to do with him after what happened. What is _he_ coming for?"

"Dave writ that he and Bas...o...b..had jined forces-said he'd explain when he comes. I reckon it's all right, seein' as it _is_ Dave; howcome I'm kind of tired worryin' 'bout the whole dinged business, but I gave my word to Dave and I'm going to stick to it."

"Of course you are, Pop. Dave would be disappointed if anything went wrong now."

"Thet's it. I ain't forgettin' what Dave Ross done fur you when he fust come here; not sayin' thet thet makes all the diff'runce. Dave's purty good leather at most anything he tackles."

Swickey made no comment and the old man arose and walked to the door.

"Guess I'll jog down to the dam and see what's doin'. Thet'll give you a spell to ketch your breath ag'in."

"All right, Pop."

Swickey sat gazing out of the window. She was thinking of a summer midnight some three years ago, when a very frightened, barefooted little girl had tapped on a cabin window to waken the Dave whom she scarcely knew then-and of his patience and gravity when she asked him to purchase the book and the "specs" for Pop. "He didn't really laugh once," she thought, and her heart warmed toward the absent David as she pictured him traveling once more to Lost Farm, eager, as his letters had stated, "to see her and her father again more than any one else in the world."

How well she remembered his keen, steady glance; his grave lips that smiled so unexpectedly at times; even the set of his shoulders and the vigorous swing of his stride.

She stepped to the gla.s.s and surveyed her face with an expression of approval. She drew quickly back, however, as the crunch of calked boots sounded on the porch.

"One of the men to see Pop," she thought, and went to the door. "Oh, it's you!"

The rugged, boyish figure of Andy Sloc.u.m, clothed in riverman's garb, confronted her.

"Why, I thought-" She hesitated, leaning against the door-frame.

"Oh, it's me all right. On the job with both feet. I come up to have a talk with you." He breathed heavily, and stared at her in a manner too direct to be natural, even for him.

"If it's about me"-she began-"why, Andy, I can't. I just can't. You know that."

"'T ain't much of a reason, Nanette-'just can't.' I've been comin' to see you for more than a year now. What makes you say you 'just can't'?

Ain't I good enough for you?"

She smiled. Then her face became suddenly grave.

"Andy, I like you-I always liked you; but, honest now, Andy, do _you_ think a man that comes straight from Jules's place to ask a girl to marry him is going to quit drinking _after_ he's married?"

Sloc.u.m's face flamed. "Who said I was at Jules's place?"

She smiled again. "It didn't need telling, Andy. You're saying it plainer every minute. Besides," she continued, "I saw you coming from Jules's when I came from Tramworth with Joe Smeaton."

Sloc.u.m laughed. "Joe Smeaton? Is it him?"

She resented his tone by maintaining a silence that he interpreted as an a.s.sent to his question.

"Ain't they no chance if I quit?"

"I want you to quit, Andy," she replied slowly, as a motherly, almost pitying expression settled on her young face. "I like you more than most any of the men I know, but I guess there's no chance. I can't help it."

Sloc.u.m stood before her like a self-conscious and disappointed schoolboy. He had what his a.s.sociates termed "plenty of nerve," but Swickey's clear brown eyes seemed to read him through and through, and he resented it by exclaiming,-

"It's that man Ross, then."

Swickey flushed despite herself.

"I knowed it," he said quickly. "So that's what he's been hanging round Lost Farm for. Hoss Avery's partner! Makin' no show of courtin' you-and he wins. Well, I'll say this, Ross is straight, and seein' somebody had to get you, I'm glad it's him instead of that plug Smeaton."

Swickey's eyes twinkled. "So somebody had to get me-you're sure about that, Andy?"

He frowned, but she stepped close to him and put her hands on his shoulders. "Andy, I like you better than ever for saying what you did about Mr. Ross, but he has never said a word to me about-that. I was only fifteen when he left here."

"Then it's Joe. But how in thunder you can-"

She interrupted him gently. "It's nearly supper-time, Andy, and my father will be along soon." She looked straight in his face and smiled wistfully. "Andy, good-bye. You're going on with the drive, and perhaps I won't see you again till next spring." And much to his astonishment she bent forward and kissed him. "Good-bye, Andy."