Springfield globe-republic. (Springfield, Ohio) 1884-1887, 1885-03-22

"Who else? Yes. We must make
our plans, and I'll tell you what they're
to be. I've been writing to Prestons',
of course, every day. They won't hear
of my leaving them and setting up on
my own hook as surveyor at Hun
chester, As I'd have chosen to do; and
sooner than that they've made my
partnership settled thing. You see
what they think of me up there! That
means our fortunes made. They don't
want capital-they want me- he said,
with natural and honest pride. ''Pres-
tons u Ii rlow will pay off the charges
on Legs Croft, and become the mort
gagees themselves, on condition that
they manage it themselves for year
ut least; that's but fair. for it's in as
bad state as can be, and father can't
get it in order again all alone. I've
talked it out with him. and he agrees-
FABLE THE SECOND CONTINUED.
He'll come and stay with us at Millport
for year. and take a holiday of his
own; and when the years out, and he
is broken a bit out of his own ways,
he'll stay on another, and another, and
another, for as long as he's spared.
He'll always be Blackthorn, of Legs
Croft, you see; the land will always be
his, whether he lives there or no, only
the trouble will be off his hands. Do
You see? He'll lose neither the land
nor you. So the long and the short Of
it is, I'm Off tomorrow to Manchester
to buy you plain gold ring. Wen be
married here, and then start for Mill
port, all three, as soon as Prestons'
send down their man to see to the farm,
and I've put him in the way. Darling,
we will all be SO happy there, as happy
as the days are long.
And so she knew, or thought, as well
as he. But she had grown so happy
already during her season of troth-
plight that she would willingly have
heightened it out without limit; and,
now that marriage was brought face
to face with her as fact, the very idea
of any greater happiness than the pres
ent assumed sort of awe. One can
but be happy-how can any change
make us more?
But all he had urged. with the sort of
eloquence that has nothing to do with
words. was not to be denied. And then
he had so plainly been thinking, if of
her own wishes first, still, of her father
next; he was royalty generous. how
could she even seem to be less, without
shame?
stephen" she said, looking up into
his face, whatever you wish, l wish
too. If trying will do it. you shall be
the happiest man in the world"
Darling! You'll make me that with
out irving said he. "Give me your
finger, please. No; not that, the fourth,
of the left hand. Where's my measur-
ing tape? Oh, here"
The surveyor got to work, and meas
ured that vast estate which lies be-
tween the knuckles and the first joint
of the fourth finger of the left hand OF
girl.
The morning after this happy even
ing. Farmer Marrish, though it was but
eight o'clock, had gone over well-nigh
every inch of every field, had seen
every man and woman at his and her
task, and had done good deal of hard
head-work besides. For he was one oi
those farmers, rare and often misunder.
stood folk in those simple times, who
put brains into the soil. He never did
single thing without knowing the rea-
son why; and SO (though this does moi
by any means follow he prospered
while others failed. So one can only
Judge that the brains he used were ex-
cellent brains. Returning to the house,
a square, squat, stone building, without
a green leaf about it to break its stare.
and standing between a straw-yard and
a garden without blossom, he cooked
for himself, in saucepan, about pint
of exceedingly thin cruel, and ate it,
from the same vessel, with an iron
spoon. The meal was cheap. if not sat
isfying; but then there was the gratifi.
cation of feeling, with every mouthful.
that it might have been beef or bacon,
so that, not being either, at every
mouthful something was saved. and
therefore something gained. There was
nobody to wait upon him. for Farmer
Marrish kept no more hands about
house or land than were needful fol
profitable work. and what profit could
there be in keeping a cook Of
parlor-maid when he had hands
of his own, and only his owr
mouth to feed? He had breakfasted on
that thin cruel, getting thinner and
thinner, every day since he was one and
twenty, and. though it made the body
lank. it made the pocket swell. HI
dined mostly on bread and cheese, Of
cold bacon, that wanted no cooking al
all. except on Sunday, when he made
potatoes and the weeks odds and ends
into hot stew. to avoid waste; and he
supped on cruel again. with a single
tumbler of rum. He did keep ale fol
his men. because in those days to worh
on water was thing undreamed of
but even those ready and uncritica,
omnibiban.s, who held as general rrls
that beer was beer, were driven to
grumble. at times, of the smallness of
Welstead brew. He would dine with .
neighbor when invited, and would then
spare no expense. since the expense was
not his own; but he kept no company
at all. 1t need hardly be said, seeing
that half the parish at least. and not .
few of the tradesmen of Manchester,
were in his debt. that nobody in all that
country was more respected than he;
nay, it was whispered that he had tho
vicar himself under his thumb. and that
he could buy up the Digbys themselves,
who constituted the ar stocratic element
of that part of the word. Nobody had
ever got the better of him in a bargain,
and no eyes bad ever seen the color of
his money except his own.
And yet this man, sordid and grasp
ing as he was. and apparently with no
thought beyond adding guinea to
guinea and field to field, vas made by
nature with passions of all kinds of in
tensity such as is given to few to feel.
lf ppo eide nf hin, baI M, hoo,, n