Prescott of Saskatchewan Part 5

Prescott smiled.

"Well," he said, "I must have grown very staid since then."

Muriel changed the subject, but they talked with much good-humor until they reached the homestead, where the man alighted and held out his arms to her. She hesitated a moment, and then was seized by him and swung gently to the ground, but she left him with a trace of heightened color in her face and went quietly into the house.

CHAPTER IV

MURIEL FEELS REGRET

It was pleasantly cool in the shadow of Jernyngham's wooden barn, where Prescott sat, talking to its owner. Outside the strip of shade, the sun fell hot upon the parched gra.s.s, and the tall wheat that ran close up to the homestead swayed in waves of changing color before the rush of breeze. The whitened, weather-worn boards of the house, which faced the men, seemed steeped in glowing light, and sounds of confused activity issued from the doorway that was guarded by mosquito-netting. A clatter of domestic utensils indicated that Ellice was baking, and she made more noise than she usually did when she was out of temper. Jernyngham listened with faint amus.e.m.e.nt as he filled his pipe.

"Sorry I can't ask you in, Jack," he said. "The kitchen is a pretty large one, but when Ellice starts bread-making, there isn't a spot one can sit down in. Of course, we've another living-room--I furnished it rather nicely--but for some reason we seldom use it."

The mosquito door swung back with a crash and Ellice appeared in the entrance with a hot, angry face, and hands smeared with dough, her hair hanging partly loose in disorder about her neck, her skirt ungracefully kilted up.

"Ain't you goin' to bring that water? Have I got to wait another hour?"

she cried, ignoring Prescott.

Jernyngham rose and moved away. Returning, he disappeared into the kitchen with a dripping pail and Ellice's voice was raised in harsh upbraiding. Then the man came out, looking a trifle weary, though he sat down by Prescott with a smile.

"These things should be a warning, Jack," he said. "Still, one has to make allowances; this hot weather's trying, and Ellice got a letter that disturbed her by the last mail. I didn't hear what was in it, but I suspect it was a bill."

Prescott nodded, because he did not know what to say. Mrs. Jernyngham had, he gathered, been unusually fractious for the last week or two, and Cyril was invariably forbearing. Indeed, Prescott sometimes wondered at his patience, for he imagined that his comrade had outgrown what love he had borne her. The man had his virtues: he was rash, but he seldom failed to face the consequences with whimsical good-humor.

"Your friends are going to-morrow," Prescott told him. "They understand that you will write home and explain your reasons for remaining."

"I suppose I'll have to do so, though it will be difficult. You see, to give the reasons that count most would be cruel. If it's any comfort to my folks to think favorably of me, I'd rather let them. I've made a horrible mess of things, but that's no reason why others should suffer."

Prescott glanced round at the dilapidated house, the untidy stable, the door of which was falling to pieces, and the wagon standing with a broken wheel. There was no doubt that Jernyngham was right in one respect.

"Jack," Cyril resumed, "your manner gives me the impression that you'll be sorry to lose your visitors."

"I shall be sorry. I pressed them to stay and I think they'd have done so, only that Mrs. Colston was against it."

"Ah! That strikes me as significant. You see, I can make a good guess at her motives; I've suffered from that kind of thing. She evidently considers you dangerous. Don't you feel flattered?"

"Mrs. Colston has no cause for uneasiness; I could wish she had."

"Then I'm glad my friends are going. It will save you trouble, Jack. A match between Miss Hurst and you is out of the question."

"I've felt that, so far as my merits go, which is the best way I can put it," said Prescott gravely. "You speak as if there were stronger reasons."

"There are; I'm a little surprised you don't see them. Your merits--I suppose you mean your character and appearance--should go a long way; we'll admit that you're a man who might have some attraction for even such a girl as Miss Hurst seems to be, if she didn't pause to think.

Unfortunately for you, however, it's her duty to her relatives to make a brilliant match and I've no doubt she recognizes it. Girls of her station--you had better face the truth, Jack--never marry beneath them."

"But a man may."

"A fair shot," laughed Jernyngham. "I can't resent it. But the man generally suffers, and the price is a heavier one when the girl has to pay. There's a penalty for breaking caste."

"You seem to tolerate worse things in the old country."

"Not often, after all--you hear of the flagrant offenders, and though I dare say there are others who are not found out, the bulk against whom there's no reproach, excite no attention. But we'll let that go. I want you to understand. You're right, Jack; it's your position that's all wrong. Girls of the kind we're considering are brought up in luxury, taught every accomplishment that's economically useless, led to believe that every comfort they need will somehow be supplied. They're charming in their proper environment, but it's a cruelty to take them out of it.

They'd be helpless in this grim country, where you must work for all you want and do without many things even then. Can you imagine Miss Hurst standing over a hot stove all day and spending her evenings mending your worn-out s.h.i.+rts?"

Prescott looked up, his face set hard.

"You have said enough."

There was silence after this, until a big man dressed in old brown overalls stopped his horse near-by.

"I've fixed up with Farrer to send over his gasoline tractor to do the fall breaking," he said. "Saw the telephone construction people yesterday and told them I'd let them have two teams to haul in their poles. It's going to pay us better than keeping them for plowing."

"Quite right, Wandle," replied Jernyngham, and the fellow nodded to Prescott and rode away.

He lived on the next half-section and a.s.sisted Jernyngham in the management of his ranch, besides sharing the cost of labor, implements and horses with him, though Prescott had cause for believing that the arrangement was not to his friend's benefit.

"You'd be better off if you didn't work with that man," he said.

"It's possible," Jernyngham agreed. "I know he robs me, but he saves me bother. Besides, if we decided to separate and came to a settlement, I dare say he would claim that I was in his debt; and he might be right.

I'm no good at business. Ranching I don't mind, but I could never learn how to buy and sell."

"It's a very useful ability," Prescott rejoined with some dryness. "But as I want to be home for supper, I must get on."

He unhitched his horse and mounted, and Jernyngham walked with him to the gate in the wire fence.

"You'll remember what I told you, Jack," he said meaningly.

"Yes," Prescott answered with a stern face. "I suppose I ought to thank you. I'm not likely to forget."

He rode home and arriving in time for supper took his place at the table with mixed feelings, foremost among which was keen regret. Except for the company of his Scandinavian hired man and the latter's hard-featured wife, he had lived alone in Spartan simplicity, thinking of nothing but his farm; and his guests' arrival had revealed to him the narrowness of his life. They had brought him new desires and thoughts, besides recalling ideas he had long forgotten, and among other things had made the evening meal a pleasant function to be looked forward to, instead of an opportunity for hurriedly consuming needed food.

The spotless cloth and the flowers on the table were novelties, but they pleased his eye. Colston with his cheerful, well-bred air and fastidiousness in dress, talked interestingly; Mrs. Colston with her gracious dignity, and Muriel, who was wholly alluring, seemed to fill the room with charm. It was perhaps all the more enjoyable because Prescott had been accustomed to pleasant society in Montreal, before he abandoned it with other amenities and went out to a life of stern toil and frugality in the grim Northwest.

He said little, though it was the last time they would gather tranquilly round his board--they were to leave for the railroad early on the morrow.

A heavy melancholy oppressed him, though bright sunlight streamed into the room and an invigorating breeze swept in through the open window, outside which tall wheat and blue flax rolled away. He could not force himself to talk, though he laughed at Colston's anecdotes, and it was a relief when the meal was over. Half an hour later he overtook Muriel strolling along the edge of the wheat.

"Have you recovered yet?" she asked. "You looked very downcast."

"That's how I feel. It strikes me as perfectly natural. I'll be alone to-morrow."

"But you were alone before we came."

"Very true; I didn't seem to mind it then. I was happy thinking how I could put in a bigger crop or raise another bunch of stock. My mind was fixed on the plow. But you have lifted me out of the furrow. I guess it's weak, but somehow I hate the thought of going back to the clods."

Remembering Jernyngham's remarks, it struck him that this was not the line he should have taken, and for a moment or two Muriel turned her head. Then she looked at him, smiling.