Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1903-07-17
THE IRRIGATED LAND.

carrying a pan piled high with new po-
tatoes, she threw an impatiently sharp
glance toward her husband. He was
standing near a chair. his hand resting
weakly on its back.
" You kin talk to me forever, Hi Claw
SON bout that water; but If | had fifty
springs stead o. fifteen and the dry sea-
son lasted twelve months stead o six,
/ not drop. not a soltry drop, would
| Mary Long git from one o my trenches.
| Shes no friend o. mine
She wuz back East. mother -
! Clawson choked at his own boldness.
/ Her veg tables is all dryin up-her
boarders is leavin on ev'ry down stage
/ a faint red showed itself under Mrs
/ Clawsons DARK. wrinkled skin. She
/ lowered her brows omniously.
| D'yeh happen to mind Mary Longs
| a-rrophecyin' that I'd never do better
/ than pick up crooked stick in the mat
/ rmonyel Market
Clawson had heard the report of Mary
/ Longs speech on the occasion of many
family jars: yet the words never failed
to make him vince. He sat down.
throwing one knee over the other. Then
he crossed his wrists and let his head
] fall forward humbly.
Il wouldn't lift a finger Mrs Claw
sons voice was as solemn as the tolling
of belD for Mary Long-I wouldn't
q
gin at my back door. No not-not If
even Bobbie asst me to-
Bobbie was their son. and to refuse any
. request of his was the final test and tri
umph of Mrs. Clawson's will power.
Clawson's eyes followed his wife "a
she drew up a chair and began to scrape
the skins from the small pink brown
potatoes. a look of incredulity came
into his patient stare and rested there.
After a little while he said. still observ
ing his wife keenly: " never knew you
to refuse Bobbe anything yet. | bet if
he'd want o. marry Mary Longs gurrl
| you'd"
But ne stopped speaking. silenced by
the glare from his wifes dark eyes.
The hand holding the knife began to
tremble
You ought % be ashamed o. yourself
/ suggestn' sech thing. our Bobbie to
marry into that family. I'd rather he'd
1 marry an Injun from up the valley.
| Don't set there with that look on your
face as if you blieved sech a thing could
. happen"
She threw up her head stifiy keeping
her eyes on her husband, meaning to
look him out Of countenance.
His glance dropped. Don't let's
quarrl !. mother. Got anything for me to
do? Got plenty o. wood in?"
For a moment she was silent Her
husband must not be permitted to inn
agine that her Indignation could be APP
peased by any such trihing overtures.
Yes" she said, cutting off the word
fercely. d" have got somethin fer you
TO do. Strengthen up that trench where
it makes the sharp turn mex Mary
Longs field Wen be irrigatin' ner corn
patch frs thing you know" She spoke
contemptuously; then she laughed, low
and maliciously. " That dry trench o.
hers with only a foot or two of solid
ground between it and that fine little
stream of ours And some time, father
between this an bedtime. ! want you to
take a stick and scratch two or three
channels down forwards the tomatoes
The other garden stun is fairly CROWN
up out Of swamp; but. somehow. the
tomatoes has been forgot"
ClawSon rose slowly and left the room
While Mrs Clawson prepared the
noon-hour dinner she frequently peered
up the long slope leading from the
kitchen porch. 1t was planted in method
ical patches of garden truck. Some of
the green clumps had outgrown their
strength and could be seen to sprawl, as
If for support, over smaller, stockier
growths. Mrs. Clawson's gaze was
bounded by hedge of manzanita. whose
small trunks and twisted limbs showed a
soft red. like dressed cedar. \ wide
ditch ran along the hedge. the water
turning near the group Of pines and hur-
~ ing DOWN through the SoltnWeSteTl
corner of the Clawson ranch to the
creek.
When Mrs. Clawson saw her husband
bend to pick up an armful of broken
rock she sat down contentedly near the
open door; she braced the small square
coffee mill firmly between her knees and
turned the handle with a fierce spirited
movement.
Clawson. dinners ready she called
half an hour later,
As she went along the path she pulled
off the withered roses from the bushes.
When she came TO the barbed-wire fence
she stood looking out critically across
her neighbors blighted cornield Not a
healthy stalk to be seen anywhere
amcng those sickly plants; each one
thirsting for water.
The ditch flowed rather noisily at her
feet as it ran along the steepest part of
the hill. Three hundred feet west the
creek sang unsteady in muffied roar.
Mrs. Clawson's thin lips curved in a
downward crescent.
Clawson,' she called again. But he
was at her side and followed her heavily
over the plank laid across the trench
Whatever has become of that boy of
ours she said affectionately. Took his
rods and fly hook early this morning
Said he'd be back at dinner time sure
Wen. Clawson how'd YOU git along with
the work. She turned suspicious eye
on her husband.
- frightened the wall" he replied
meekly.
They walked along silently to the
kitchen door. Mrs. Clawson went on, go
ing round to the front of the house.
She looked about in every direction,
shading her eyes with her brown. knotty
hands. She tried to decipher the spaces
of shadow among the thickets and trees
near the creek. She Thought she saw
splotch of dark red and gold color.
Must be the sun strkin' on the back
o. wild cattle. They been a-strayin
round here lately"
Clawson. I'm going down to see if
can't see somethin' o Bobbie. Don't
touch that light plnkish piece of ham in
the skillet; that's fer Bobbie.'
Mrs. Clawson walked with long strides
through the young orchard. When she
came to the bank where the footpath
descended precipitately to the creek she
stopped, looking up, down, across. The
water dashed, foaming, from among a
tumbled mass of bOulders.
She went down the path, brushing
against the willows. At the opening
where the bushes had been cut away
she could see the bend. The water ran
swiftly around the low, opposite bank,
| broke into a stretch of little metallic
like waves. over there the trout might
be caught by the hundred in an hour or
| two.
| Mrs. Clawson thought she heard a
laugh, shril and happy, above the bub-
| hing and chatter and roar Of the creek