The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1925-04-03

" mdkhCts oOkust OpOu TIE SuTucH NC
| pended the boys future. and hers.
For the first few days following the
| funeral one or another Of the neigh
boring farmers drove the DeJong team
| to market, aided the laundering Jan
| In the fields. But each had his hands
full with his own farm work. On the
| fifth day Jan Steen had to take the
garden truck to Chicago, though not
without many misgiyings on Selina's
| part. oil of which were realized when
he returned late next day with half the
load still on his wagon and sum Of
money representing exactly zero in
profits.
Selma was standing in the kitchen
doorway, Jan in the yard with the
team. She turned her face toward the
| fields. An observant person (Jan Steen
was not one Of these) would have noted
the singularly determined and clear-cut
jaw line of this drably caIicoed farm
woman.
''Ill so myself Monday
Jan stared. Go? Go where, Mon
day?'
ITO market"
At this seeming pleasantly Jan Steen
smiled uncertainty, shrugged his Shout
ders, and was off to the barn. She
was always saying things that didn't
make sense His horror and unbelief
were shared by the rest of High Prairie
when on Monday Selma literally took
| the reins in her own slim work SCARED
handles.
'To market !" argued Jan as excited
| ly as his phlegmatic nature would per-
NIT. "A woman she don't 60 to market.
A woman"
"Ths woman does" Selma had
risen at three. in the morning. Not
only that, she had got Jan up, grum-
bling. Dirk had joined them in the
| fields at five. Together the three Of
them had pulled and punched q wagon
load. 'Size them" Selma ordered, as
they started to bunch radishes, beets,
| turnips, carrots. And don't leave
them loose like that. Tie them tight at
the heads, like this. Twice around
with the string, and through. Make
bouquets Of them, not punches. And
we're going to scrub Them"
| Selma. scrubbing the carrots vigor-
! ously under the pump, thought they
| emerged from their unaccustomed bath
looking like clustered spears of pure
gold. Jan, by now, was sullen with
| bewilderment. He refused to believe
| that she actually intended to carry out
| her plan. A wOman-a High Prairie
farmers wife-driving to market like
man! Alone at night in the market
place-or at best in one of the cheap
rooming houses! BY Sunday somehow,
| mySteriOusly, the news had filtered
| through the district. A fine state of
things, and she a widow Of a week
High Prairie called at the DeJong
farm on Sunday afternoon and was
told that the widow was over in the
wet west sixteen. poking about with
| the boy Dirk at her heels.
BY Monday afternoon the parlor cur
tains of every High Prairie farmhouse
| that faced the Halsted road were agi-
tated as though by brisk wind be-
| tween the hours of three and five, when
| the market wagons were to be seen
moving toward Chicago.
Selma, having loaded the wagon in
the yard, surveyed it with more sparkle
| in her eye than High Prairie would
have approved in widow of little
more than week. They had picked
and punched only the best of the late
crop. Selma stepped back and re.
garded the riot of crimson and green.
Of white and gold and purple.
aren't they beautiful! Dirk, aren't
they beautiful"
Dirk, capering in his excitement at
the prospect of the trip before him.
shook his head impatiently.
Il don't know what yon mean. Let's
go, mother. Aren't we going now?
You said as soon as the load was on"
"Oh, Sobig, you're just exactly like
your" She stopped.
Like my what?"
Wen go now, son. There's cold
meat for your supper, Jan. and pota-
toes all sliced for frying and half an
apple pie left from noon. You ought
to get in the rest of the squash and
pumpkins by evening. Maybe l can
sell the lot instead Of taking them in
by the load. I'll see commission
man. Take less. If have to-"
She had dressed the boy in his home.
made suit cut down from one of his
fathers. He wore wide-brimmed
straw hat which he hated Selma her
self, in full-skirted black-stuff dress,
mounted the wagon agilely, took up the
reins. looked down at the boy seated
beside her, clucked to the horses. Jan
Steen gave vent to a final outraged
below.
''Never in my life did hear of such