The Wrong Woman (11 page)

She raised her arms slowly, spreading her fingers. Steve was a most attentive
listener and spectator. He rather wished there were other plants to imitate.

"But that wasn't really what I started to tell about," she went on. "As I was
walking along I came to awell, you might say a whole
crowd
of them.
There was quite a growth like a patch of ferns. I had n't got to them yet, or
even taken particular notice of them,I must have been ten or twelve feet
away,when they all began to close up. I stopped perfectly still; and pretty
soon the green leaves were gone and the place was all changed. Now, how do you
suppose those plants ever
knew
I was coming? I would give anything to
know how such things can be."

"How much would you give?" inquired Steve.

For a moment, the spirit of this question hung in the balance. He felt the
spell of her inquiring eyes as her hand dropped idly on Shep's back.

"Whydo you know?" she asked doubtfully.

"I think I do," he answered. "You see, that kind of plants have very long
roots; they run away out. You stepped on their toes."

"Well, I declare," said Janet, enthusiastic again. "And what a way of saying
it."

"It looks simple enough, does n't it?" he remarked.

"And I never thought of it. Why, it was enough to make a person
superstitious. Isn't nature wonderful!"

As she took up the coffee, too long neglected, Steve got an imaginary taste
of it, and finding it neither hot nor cold, he arose and took her cup. Having
refilled it and offered her more of the beans, which to his surprise and
gratification she accepted, he made another trip to the corral. In a little
while he returned and promptly took his place.

"You were saying this morning," he began, "that you were going to the
county-seat. Were you sure that you could find your way all alone?"

"Oh, yes," answered Janet. "I was there before. You see, I took an
examination a couple of months ago, when I first came."

"Oh; that's it. What sort of a certificate did that littleexaminergive
you?"

There was something in the sound of this question which conveyed to her that
he regarded her standing in an examination largely as a matter of luck. Janet
felt an instant approval of this philosophy of the matter.

"Third-class," she answered.

"Well, that's better than fourth-class," he remarked.

"Ohbut there
is
no fourth-class," exclaimed Janet.

Her eyes widened as she waited to hear what his reply to this might be.

He entirely ignored the matter.

"That examiner is a kind of a cocky little rooster, is n't he?" he commented.

"Did you ever have any trouble with him?" inquired Janet.

"Me!" He was evidently surprised that she should think so. "Why, no. I don't
know him. I just saw him a few times. He is a sort of a dried-up little party.
You know I get up to the court-house once in a while to have a brand registered
or something like that."

"He
is
rather importantfor his size," mused Janet. "And very
particular about his looks."

"They have a man teacher at a school near my house," remarked Steve, in no
seeming connection.

"I suppose he has a first-class certificate," said Janet. "Until lately it
was easy to get a school in Texas. But the country school boards rate you by
your certificate more and more. This time I am going to get first-class, or at
least second. If I don't I 'll have to go back North."

"What kind of questions does that fellow ask when he examines people?" Steve
inquired.

"Wellfor instance'Give the source and course of the Orizaba.'"

"Huh!" remarked Steve.

"To tell the truth," said Janet, "I would n't have got even third-class if it
had n't been for the way I pulled through in geography."

"Are you good in geography?"

"Hardly. I just passed. He asked a great many questions about climate, and
every time he asked that I wrote that it was salubrious. You see," she
explained, with a sly little air, "in the children's geographies the climate of
a country is nearly always salubrious. So I took a chance on every country. That
brought my average up."

"Good for you," exclaimed Steve. "Nothing like beating them at their own
game. Won't you have some more coffee?"

"No, thank you," said Janet. "Two cups is really more than I ought to drink
at night."

Having risen in expectation of getting the coffee, he gave the fire another
armful of mesquite.

"You take a good deal of notice of flowers, don't you!" he said, sitting down
again.

"A person could hardly help it in Texas. Lilies and trumpet-flowers and
lobelias and asters and dahlias and wax-plantsthey all grow wild here. And in
spring it is just wonderful. There is scarcely room for grass."

"Texas won't be like that long, if it keeps on."

"No?"

"These plants all grow from seed. And when the land is heavily grazed they
don't have a chance to plant themselves. They becomewhat do you call
itextinguished?"

"Extinct," prompted Janet.

"On my ranch, about twelve miles from here, it is n't what it used to be in
springtime. We've got it pretty heavily stocked; we 're working it over into
shorthorn. This place that we're on now has a fence all around it; the country
is becoming crowded. And they are breaking farms all the time, too. It won't
last long."

"Won't that be a shame!" said Janet. "People spoil everything, don't they? I
am glad I came down here just to see the Texas prairie in spring. Even if I do
have to go back again. Just look at that!"

She reached out, and, grasping a handful, she bent the still rooted bouquet
so that the light shone full upon its countenance.

"How did you come to know the names of them all?" he asked.

"Why, we grow them in gardens up North. I know their names in that way. They
are old acquaintances."

"Oh, that's it. Well, it is n't hard to grow them here. Us fellows out on the
prairie make all our flower-beds round."

Janet paused.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "You mean the
horizon
. Is n't that an idea! I am
going to tell that to Ruth Ferguson the first time I write."

Steve made no reply. Janet gave her attention for a space to the beans. Then,
suddenly reminded, she put down her fork.

"Mr. Brown! If you were teaching just ten or twelve children, would n't it
strike you as rather foolish to call the roll every morning? You know there were
only fourteen pupils in the school where I was substituting; so of course I got
acquainted with them all right away. Well, one morning when the weather was bad
there were only six present; so when the hour came I just began to teach. But a
little boy who is in the first reader held up his hand and told me I had to call
the roll first. I could hardly keep from smiling. As if I could n't see the six
that were there. Then I made inquiry and I found that Miss Porter called the
roll when there were only four there. Does n't it seem funny for a person to go
through a formality like that just becausewell, just because?"

"That's because you 've got sense," said Steve.

She dropped her eyes and ate. When this remark had had time to pass over,
Janet's sociable spirit, never self-conscious for long, began to unfold its
leaves and raise its stems and lift up its branches again.

In this juncture, the dog profited. Shep had been giving her such unremitting
attention, his wistful brown eyes following each forkful as it went from plate
to mouth, that Janet's consciousness of her selfish situation kept bearing in
upon her till now every bean carried reproach with it. Thinking to convince him
that it was only beans, and not desirable, she put him down a forkful from her
own too generous allowance. She was surprised at the suddenness with which it
disappeared. Beans were his staff of life also, a discovery which made her
smile. And as one good turn deserves anotherat least Shep seemed to think
soshe was expected to do it again; thus supper, with his assistance, was soon
over. And now Janet, with nothing whatever to do, sat face to face with her
situation.

"Have you got a dishpan?" she inquired.

"Oh, you don't need to mind that. I have n't got anything you are used to. I
just take them down to the stream and swab them off with a bunch of dry grass."

"Oh!" remarked Janet.

She felt, however, that it would be easier to be doing something. She
gathered things together and made general unrest among the dishes. Mr. Brown,
instead of being stirred by this operation of cleaning up, stretched himself out
more contentedly, moved up a little closer, and took still fuller possession of
her presence; and as he did so he poked up the fire and struck her a light on a
new topic. But this time the train of conversation did not catch. Janet was
thinking. And like most of us she could not talk well while thinking.

Mr. Brown seemed quite contented, then, with silence and peace. Evidently he
too was thinking. After a little time he sat up and reached into an inside
pocket. He drew forth a large leather wallet which, upon being opened, disclosed
two compartments well filled with bank-notes and documentary-looking papers.
There was another compartment with a flap on it and a separate fastening,
opening which he took out an object wrapped in tissue paper. Having carefully
unwrapped it, he folded the paper again and placed it where it would not blow
away.

"That's my mother's picture," he said, handing it over formally to his guest.

Janet received it rather vaguely and sat looking at it, saying nothing.

"She died just last winter," he added, in his usual deliberate way.

"Oh, did she?"

What else to say, she hardly knew. Turning it to the light she studied it
more closely and noted each resemblance to his own features, looking up at him
in an impersonal sort of way and with a soberness of countenance which was a
reflection of his own entirely serious mood.

"She had a very kind-looking face," she said.

To this there was no reply. Janet, about to hand it back, was momentarily in
doubt as to how long a proper respect should prompt her to retain it; this,
however, settled itself when she observed that he had ready to offer her a long
newspaper clipping.

"I had the editor put some of that in myself," he said, reaching the long
ribbon of paper over to her.

It was an obituary of Mrs. Stephen P. Brown, who passed to "the realms
beyond" on the eighteenth of November. With this Janet found no difficulty.

"But," he added suddenly as it occurred to him, "I did n't have him print
that part at the bottom. He just put that in himself. I mean that stuff about
me."

Janet at once turned her attention to the bottom. He sat silently with the
wallet in hand, his countenance a shade more solemn than usual. In the midst of
this waiting there came a wail from the corral and he left suddenly upon one of
his unexplained errands, this time without excusing himself. He got back while
Janet was still engaged upon the article. When she looked up he was standing
beside the fire looking down at her. There was something new in his face, a look
half lugubrious, semi-humorous, apologetic.

"We've got another lamb," he announced.

"Oh!another little lamb?" she exclaimed.

"There are only three so far. Three lambs and two mothers. It has n't really
got started yet, but I 'm afraid it will. My herder ought to have got back
yesterday and brought help along."

"Then you have a great deal to do?" queried Janet.

"Yes; after it once gets really started. Then it never rains but it pours. I
have been hoping it would hold off a day or two longer; but you can't tell
exactly."

He put more wood on the fire and took his place again.

"You mustn't let me interfere with your work," she suggested.

"Oh, that is n't it at all. I was just explaining. I'll get through somehow;
it won't amount to anything."

With a characteristic sweep of his arm he waved the whole subject aside as if
he did not want to have it interfere with her reading of the newspaper clipping.
Janet had dropped it absent-mindedly in her lap; she now took it up again.
Besides the tribute to Mrs. Brown's character, who was not a native of Texas but
had come to the state in her girlhood from West Virginia, there was a
considerable memoir of Stephen Brown, senior, relating his activities and
adventures as a Texas patriot. He had "crossed the Great Divide" six years
before. Finally, there was a paragraph of sympathy with the only son, "one of
our most valued citizens."

"Your father knew Houston, did n't he?" remarked Janet.

"Oh, yes; he knew a lot about him."

"How interesting that must have been. Your father was a pioneer, was n't he?"

"Oh, no. You 've got to go back pretty far in history to be a Texas pioneer.
He was just a Texan."

She gave another perusal to certain parts and offered it back.

"There is another piece on the other side," he said.

She turned it over and found a shorter clipping carefully pasted to the back.
This also she read.

AN ARTISTIC MONUMENT

Mr. Stephen Brown yesterday received from Austin the monument
which he had made for the grave of his mother, Mrs. Stephen P. Brown, who died
last November. It is a most beautiful work of art and was much admired by those
who saw it. It is a massive block of imported gray granite skillfully carved
with clusters of grapes in high relief. Mr. Brown ordered it from the leading
marble-cutters in Austin. The reverse side of the stone was cut after his own
design, and consists simply of a Lone Star. On the base is the word Mother. Many
of our citizens were enabled to inspect it as it went up Main Street, Mr. Jonas
Hicks stopping his three yoke of oxen to accommodate those who wished to look it
over. It will be by far the most beautiful work of art in our local cemetery.