Dorian Part 10

"You are all she has. Are you making her days happy by your personal care and presence. Are you giving of yourself to her?"

"Well, perhaps I am not so considerate as I might be; I am away quite a lot; thank you for calling my attention to it."

"Are you neglecting anybody else?"

"Not that I know."

"Good. Now I must clear away my table and get ready for meeting. You'll go with me."

"I can't. I haven't my Sunday clothes."

"The Lord will not look at your clothes."

"No; but a lot of people will."

"We go to meeting to worship the Lord, not to be looked at by others. Go home and put on your Sunday best; there is time." The old man was busy between table and cupboard as he talked. "Have you seen Carlia lately?"

"No," replied Dorian.

"The last time she was here I thought she was a little peaked in the face, for you know she has such a rosy, roly-poly one."

"Is that so? She comes to see you, then?"

"Yes; oftener than you do."

"I never meet her here."

"No; she manages that, I surmise."

"What do you mean?"

"I tell you Carlia is a lovely girl," continued Uncle Zed, ignoring his direct question. "Have you ever eaten b.u.t.ter she has churned?"

"Not that I know."

"She used to bring me a nice pat when my cow was dry; and bread of her own baking too, about as good as I myself make." He chuckled as he wiped the last dish and placed it neatly in the rack.

Dorian arose to go. "Remember what I have told you this evening" said Uncle Zed. The old man from behind his window watched his young friend walk leisurely along the road until he reached the cross-lots path which led to the Duke home. Here he saw him pause, go on again, pause once more, then jump lightly over the fence and strike out across the field.

Uncle Zed then went on finishing his preparations for meeting.

As Dorian walked across the field, he did think of what Uncle Zed had said to him. Dorian had built his castles, had dreamed his dreams; but never before had the ideas presented to him by Uncle Zed that afternoon ever entered in them. The good old man had seemed so eager to pa.s.s on to the young man an unfulfilled work, yes, a high, n.o.ble work. Dorian caught a glimpse of the greatness of it and the glory of it that afternoon, and his soul was thrilled. Was he equal to such a task?... He had wanted to become a successful farmer, then his vision had gone on to the teaching profession; but beyond that he had not ventured. He was already well on the way to make a success of his farms. He liked the work. He could with pleasure be a farmer all his life. But should a man's business be all of life? Dorian realized, not of course in its fuller meaning, that the acc.u.mulating of worldly riches was only a means to the accomplishing of other and greater ends of life; and here was before him something worthy of any man's best endeavors. Here was a life's work which at its close would mean something to him and to the world. With these thoughts in his mind he stepped up to the rear of the Duke place where he saw someone in the corral with the cows, busy with her milking.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

"h.e.l.lo, Carlia", greeted Dorian as he stopped at the yard and stood leaning against the fence.

Carlia was just finishing milking a cow. As she straightened, with a three-legged stool in one hand and a foaming milk pail in the other, she looked toward Dorian. "O, is that you? You scared me."

"Why?"

"A stranger coming so suddenly."

The young man laughed. "Nearly through?" he asked.

"Just one more--Brindle, the kickey one."

"Aren't you afraid of her?"

Carlia laughed scornfully. The girl had beautiful white teeth. Her red cheeks were redder than ever. Her dark hair coiled closely about her shapely head. And she had grown tall, too, the young man noticed, though she was still plump and round-limbed.

"My buckets are full, and I'll have to take them to the house before I can finish," she said. "You stay here until I come back--if you want to."

"I don't want to--here, let me carry them." He took the pails from her hand, and they went to the house together.

The milk was carried into the kitchen where Mrs. Duke was busy with pots and pans. Mr. Duke was before the mirror, giving the finishing touches to his hair. He was dressed for meeting. As he heard rather than saw his daughter enter, he asked:

"Carlia, have you swilled the pigs?"

"Not yet," she replied.

"Well, don't forget--and say, you'd better give a little new milk to the calf. It's not getting along as well as it should--and, if you have time before meetin', throw a little hay to the horses."

"All right, father, I'll see to all of it. As I'm not going to meeting, I'll have plenty of time."

"Not goin'?" He turned, hair brush in hand, and saw Dorian. "h.e.l.lo, Dorian," he greeted, "you're quite a stranger. You'll come along to meetin' with Carlia, I suppose. We will be late if we don't hurry."

"Father, I told you I'm not going. I--" she hesitated as if not quite certain of her words--"I had to chase all over the hills for the cows, and I'm not through milking yet. Then there are the pigs and the calves and the horses to feed. But I'll not keep Dorian. You had better go with father"--this to the young man who still stood by the kitchen door.

"Leave the rest of the ch.o.r.es until after meetin'," suggested the father, somewhat reluctantly, to be sure, but in concession to Dorian's presence.

"I can't go to meeting either," said Dorian. "I'm not dressed for it, so I'll keep Carlia company, if you or she have no objections."

"Well, I've no objections, but I don't like you to miss your meetin's."

"We'll be good," laughed Dorian.

"But--"

"Come, father," the mother prompted, "you know I can't walk fast in this hot weather."

Carlia got another pail, and she and Dorian went back to the corral.

"Let me milk," offered Dorian.