Father Brighthopes Part 23

When young ladies are suspected of being objects of attraction, they think they have a legitimate right to make fun of all newly-developed admirers. They may marry them next year; they perhaps look upon such an event as probable and desirable; but they will laugh about them to-day, alike regardless of the pain they inflict on their victims, should they perceive the ridicule, and careless of the distress of prudent mothers and friends.

Fortunately for Mr. Kerchey, his talent for observation was not remarkable. Phrenologically speaking, his perceptive faculties were small, as well as "language" and "concentration." He was rather flattered by Sarah's attentions than otherwise, and very readily accepted an invitation to prolong his call until evening.

"Would you--ah--would you like to--ride--a little ways--ah--after my pony?" he asked of Sarah, as they were sitting in the parlor, after supper.

"Thank you; but I hardly think I ought to go this evening," replied the ready girl.

What a relief it was to hear her silver-ringing voice, after Mr.

Kerchey's painful efforts to speak!

"You--you are--you are not--partial to riding--perhaps?"

"Oh, I like it well; but a carriage seems monotonous. Horseback exercises for me!"

"You--like--you like it?"

"Pa.s.sionately!" cried Sarah. "Oh, how I love a spirited, prancing, bounding pony!"

With his usual labor of enunciation, Mr. Kerchey said that, if she could inform him where a side-saddle was to be obtained, he would be "most--ah--happy" to give her his best horse to ride that evening. He was five minutes occupied in expressing so much.

"We have a ladies' saddle," said Sarah; "but I'd rather not go and ride on Sundays merely for pleasure."

"Ah! a thousand--ah--pardons!" rejoined Mr. Kerchey, conscious of having committed an indiscretion. "Some--some other time?"

Sarah excused his freedom, and gayly told him "almost any time;" and when he finally took his leave, declared that she had "got well rid of him, at last."

Meanwhile, Sam had decoyed Willie and Georgie into the orchard, and betrayed them into a game of ball. He made his lame foot a good excuse to sit upon the gra.s.s and enjoy all the "knocking" or "licks," while the boys threw and "chased."

"What are you about there, you rogue?" cried Mr. Royden, who had enough natural religious feeling to desire that his family should behave decorously on the Sabbath.

"Oh, nothing much," said Sam; "only playing ball a little."

"Do you know what day it is?"

"It an't Sunday after sundown, is it? You always let us play then."

"But the sun isn't down yet."

Mr. Royden pointed to the great luminary which still glowed amid the trees in the west.

"Golly! I thought it was!"

"What a story that is! The sun is nearly half an hour high. You could not help seeing it."

Sam looked with amazement, squinting across his ball-club, and dodging his head this way and that, as if to a.s.sure himself that it was no delusion.

"It _an't_ down, _is_ it?" he said, honestly. "I'm a little cross-eyed, I expect; and that's why I couldn't see it before."

XIX.

MONDAY MORNING.

"I am not going to put off washing until the middle of the week, to wait for any girl!" said Mrs. Royden, positively. "We shall have enough to do after Margaret comes, without keeping a great heap of dirty clothes to be washed."

"Well, do as you like," replied her husband, with a dissatisfied air.

"But I know just how it will be. You and the girls will wear yourselves out before noon. If you would only take things quietly, and not try to do too much, you would get along better; but you see so much to accomplish, that you fly into a heat and a hurry, which you seldom recover from for two or three days."

Mrs. Royden was resolved. The regular Monday's work was to be done, and nothing could induce her to postpone it. The great boiler was put on the kitchen stove before breakfast, and the clothes got ready for the wash.

It seemed her nature to be cross on such days, and the children knew what to expect. There could be no fun on Monday morning. All must do something,--even Georgie must pull out the st.i.tches of a seam, and Willie must rock the baby. It seemed that poor Hepsy did everything, and gave satisfaction in nothing.

That was a hard day for Sam. The mowers came, one after the other, and he had to turn the grindstone for them to grind their scythes in succession. They were good-natured, energetic men; and, not wishing them to know how lazy he was, he worked industriously at the crank, before and after breakfast. But the last man "bore on enough to break the stone," Sam said; and he groaned under the infliction, asking, from time to time, if the scythe was "most finished."

At length, to his great joy, it was well ground from heel to point, and its master fastened it to the snath. Shouldering it, and thrusting a "rifle" into his belt, the jolly mower went whistling to the meadow, to join his companions and Mr. Royden, who had gone before.

In the midst of his rejoicing, Sam was dismayed to see Chester make his appearance, with another scythe. It was to be ground, and Sam was just the fellow to help do that work, with his lame ankle.

"Let _me_ hold the scythe and _you_ turn," whined the lad.

"Turn away!" exclaimed Chester, authoritatively.

Sam turned very slowly, groaning with each revolution of the crank.

"You lazy scamp! I'll cut a sprout, and lay it on your back, if you don't work smarter!"

"Can't!" muttered Sam. "'Most dead. Han't done nothing but turn grindstone since sunrise. Didn't eat no breakfast, nuther."

The grinding apparatus stood under an apple-tree, behind the house. The spot was retired, offering conveniences for the adjustment of private differences; and Chester, who did not return to farm labor, after being so long at school, in very good humor, quietly clipped a thin green sapling from the roots of the tree.

"I haven't settled with you for the caper you cut up with Frank, the other night," he said, between his teeth. "Now go to work, and hold your tongue, or I'll make you wish the horse had run with you to the end of the world, and jumped off!"

"Better not hit me with that!" muttered Sam, growing desperate.

"Will you turn the grindstone?"

There was something dangerous in the flash of Chester's eye, and Sam was afraid to disobey. A minute later, he was glad to see Mr. Royden coming through the orchard, with his hat in his hand, and his sweaty brow exposed to the summer breeze.

"I am afraid you don't know how to grind a tool," said he, smiling indulgently, as he examined the edge of the scythe.

"I will go and mow in your place, if you will finish it," replied Chester.

"Very well; carry some drink to the men. I will get it for you."

Mr. Royden went to the well, drew up a dripping bucket of clear, cold water, drank from the mossy rim on the curb, and afterwards filled a stone jug.