The Wyandotte herald. (Wyandotte, Mich.) 1879-1943, 1942-10-02
The Farm That
Wouldn't Sell
By d. LOUIS RAYBOLD
CITIZEN il is understood, Miss

that In addition to your fee as co.
taker, Mr.. Gerrish will allow you
a nominal commission If the lali,,
is disposed of through your ef1oI'Si
Lawyer John Pangburn buttoneo his
fur coat snugly about HIM anu
turned away.
A touch on his arm arrested NM
'lt's rather a pity, isn't it, MAI
garet Andrews questioned him, Ior
the last of the Gerrishes to Lex tne
property 60 out of the family?
Eyes, young lady," admitted Pang-
burn. at is, undoubtedly. But, Loro'
these young chaps nowadays
what's a few acres and a buncn
Of cows compared to the subway
rush and the bright white hghtsi
Henry seems to think he can SET
Wall street on fire with the proceeds
from the sale of the farm
Left alone, Margaret watched her
recent visitors car growing smaller
along the ribbon of road mat
threaded the Woodbridge hills. But
her thoughts were elsewhere-wltn
old Henry Gerrish, who few days
before had gone to join his fathers
on the hill; with young Henry Ger
IRISH, whom she had never seen un-
til the day of the funeral, and then
only at distance.
For Henry had gone out to an
uncle ranching it in the West some
months before Margaret's arrival IN
Woodbridge and had not come home
until summoned by the death of his
father. Immediately after the BRIEF
reading of his fathers will, he had
instructed Pangborn to put the old
homestead on the market.
AS time passed, however, and the
place remained unsold, Margaret
came to feel for it continually IN
creasing fondness. Watching the
spring sowing of fields rented to a
neighbor, tending the small flower
gardens about the doorwayS, open
ing the windows to flood with ster-
ilizing brightness the unused house,
busting the quiet rooms-an these
activities developed in her almost a
sense of part ownership with Henry
Gerrish. And more and more she
waxed indignant with him for wish
ing to dispose of his inheritance.
Would-be purchasers happened
along now and again, but for one
reason or another departed unim-
pressed. One year passed-two
years-three.
Then one sunny afternoon in April
into John Pangburn's dingy Office
stalked a youth with worried lines
about his eyes. Look here, Mr..
Pangburn," he began without pre-
amble, I'm hard up. Things haven't
PANIED out as I hoped. What / get
in from the farm hardly pays the
taxes. The house won't rent. Why
the deuce doesn't the place sell?"
Pangburn shook his head. "Hen-
~, / don't know. It's the dickens
of a ways for me to travel down
with every Tom, Dick, and Harry,
but I've wondered sometimes-do
you suppose that Miss Andrews
queers the deal? She'll lose her
little income if she sells the farm. "
Henry nodded. Guess you've hit
it. And she stands to get the COM
mission in the end. Listen, now
I've got an idea. The girl doesn't
know me. Send me down to look
it over as buyer and I'll size up
the situation"
Good scheme" said Pangburn,
ga COMPOUNDED good scheme"
One afternoon the last of the Ger
rishes (pro tem.) followed in amaze
ment Margaret's slim figure and
marveled at the words which fell
from her lips. How unfair had
Pangburn been!
Cant you see it," she was de-
handing. Those forty acres in
corn, the west twenty in alfalfa, that
swamp drained for celery, the tim
Der lot cleared and yielding q little
ready cash, good utility stock in the
chicken runs, a few grade cows
to start with"
'This line of talk" unused Henry
to himself, bewildered, should have
nailed every customer" Aloud. 81
wonder why the present owner doesn't
keep it," he said. why does he
want to sell?"
Because" said Margaret prompt
ly, ''he's an idiot"
On his return to town Henry cast
a bombshell at Pangburn's feet.
Heavens, man." he cried. "She's
made the place so darned attrac-
tive I'm going to farm it myself"
One year from the day she met
him Margaret Andrews married
Henry Gerrish and came back from
the little Woodbridge church to the
old house she had tended.
Funny" ruminated Henry. "old
Pangburn thought maybe the place
didn't sell because you ran it down.
or something of the sort"
Margaret was silent a moment.
Then, Maybe" she confessed SLOW.
ly, ''he was right. You see, I hated
to see old Henry Gerrish's sor
squander the work of years and gen
erations. Not that ever actually
said anything-only, well, could
have been more enthusiastic!',
"But why" demanded Henry. p,,z-