I reassured him with a kiss which left a decided raspberry flavor on my lips, carried him into the barn, and, tossing him on a heap of hay, said, “Sleep there, my little man, till you are rested.”
He was soon snoring blissfully, and when I reached the meadow with the wagon, Bagley was ready to help with the loading.
“Well, well!” he exclaimed, “a little breathin’-spell does do a feller good on a hot day.”
“No doubt about it,” I said. “So long as you are on the right road, it does no harm to sit down a bit, because when you start again it’s in the right direction.”
After we had piled on as much of a load as the rude, extemporized rack on my market wagon could hold, I added, “You needn’t go to the barn with me, for I can pitch the hay into the mow. Rake up another load, if you feel able.”
“Oh, I’m all right now,” he protested.
By the time I had unloaded the hay, I found that my wife and Mousie were among the raspberries, and that the number of full, fragrant little baskets was increasing rapidly.
“Winifred, isn’t this work, with your walk to the Bagley cottage, too much for you?”
“Oh, no,” she replied, lightly. “An afternoon in idleness in a stifling city flat would have been more exhausting. It’s growing cool now. What wretched, shiftless people those Bagleys are! But I have hopes of them. I’m glad Bobsey’s having a nap.”
“You shall tell me about your visit tonight. We are making good progress. Bagley is doing his best. Winnie,” I called, “come here.”
She brought her basket, nearly filled, and I saw that her eyes were heavy with weariness also.
“You’ve done well today, my child. Now go and look after your chickens, big and little. Then your day’s work is done, and you can do what you please;” and I started for the meadow again.
By six o’clock, we had in the barn three loads of hay, and Merton had packed four crates of berries ready for market. Bobsey was now running about, as lively as a cricket, and Winnie, with a child’s elasticity, was nearly as sportive. Bagley, after making up his half hour, came up the lane with a rake, instead of his ugly dog as on the evening before. A few moments later, he helped me lift the crates into the market wagon; and then, after a little awkward hesitation, began:
“I say, Mr. Durham, can’t ye give a feller a job yerself? I declar’ to you, I want to brace up; but I know how it’ll be down at Rollins’s. He’ll be savage as a meat axe to me, and his men will be a-gibin’. Give me a job yerself, and I’ll save enough out o’ my wages to pay for his chickens, or you kin keep ’nuff back to pay for ’em.”
I thought a moment, and then said, promptly: “I’ll agree to this if Rollins will. I’ll see him tonight.”
“Did yer wife go to see my wife?”
“Yes, and she says she has hopes of you all. You’ve earned your bread today as honestly as I have, and you’ve more than paid for what my wife gave you this morning. Here’s a quarter to make the day square, and here’s a couple of baskets of raspberries left over. Take them to the children.” “Well, yer bring me right to the mark,” he said, emphasizing his words with a slap on his thigh. “I’ve got an uphill row to hoe, and it’s good ter have some human critters around that’ll help a feller a bit.”
I laughed as I clapped him on the shoulder, and said: “You’re going to win the fight, Bagley. I’ll see Rollins at once, for I find I shall need another man awhile.”
“Give me the job then,” he said, eagerly, “and give me what you think I’m wuth;” and he jogged off home with that leaven of all good in his heart—the hope of better things.
XXXV
“We Shall All Earn Our Salt”
Raspberries and milk, with bread and butter and a cup of tea, made a supper that we all relished, and then Merton and I started for the boat landing. I let the boy drive and deliver the crates to the freight agent, for I wished him to relieve me of this task occasionally. On our way to the landing I saw Rollins, who readily agreed to Bagley’s wish, on condition that I guaranteed payment for the chickens. Stopping at the man’s cottage further on, I told him this, and he, in his emphatic way, declared: “I vow ter you, Mr. Durham, ye shan’t lose a feather’s worth o’ the chickens.”
Returning home, poor Merton was so tired and drowsy that he nearly fell off the seat. Before long I took the reins from his hands, and he was asleep with his head on my shoulder. Winifred was dozing in her chair, but brightened up as we came in. A little judicious praise and a bowl of bread and milk strengthened the boy wonderfully. He saw the need of especial effort at this time, and also saw that he was not being driven unfeelingly.
As I sat alone with my wife, resting a few minutes before retiring, I said: “Well, Winifred, it must be plain to you by this time that the summer campaign will be a hard one. How are we going to stand it?”
“I’ll tell you next fall,” she replied, with a laugh. “No problems tonight, thank you.”
“I’m gathering a queer lot of helpers in my effort to live in the country,” I continued. “There’s old Mr. Jacox,
