That Printer of Udell's Part 34

"Amy, I am sure you are mistaken; you must be. When you meet your father it will all come right, I know."

Again there seemed to be a hidden meaning in her words. "When I meet my father?" Amy repeated slowly.

Anna grew confused. "Yes--I--we--you know John has been trying to sell for a long time; we want to go back to Cleveland; and to-day he learned that a buyer was coming from Boyd City to--"

Amy's face grew white as she rose, trembling, to her feet. "My father,"

she gasped--"coming here?"

Anna took the frightened girl in her arms--"There, there, dear, don't be afraid. All will be for the best, I am sure. John and I will stand by you and you shall go with us if you wish. But I am sure your father will be glad to take you home with him; and you ought to go; you know you ought; not for your family's sake alone, but for his, you know."

And so they talked as the shadows grew, until in the twilight John came from the field with his tired team, when they went into the house to prepare the evening meal.

Adam Goodrich had by no means forgiven his beautiful daughter for the blow dealt his pride, though one would not easily detect from his manner that there was anything but supreme self-satisfaction in the life of this worthy member of the Jerusalem Church. Mrs. Goodrich's health was broken, but she still remained the same society-loving, fashion-worshipping woman, who by her influence and teaching had ruined her child. It never occurred to the mother that Amy's conduct was the legitimate outcome of her training or a.s.sociates, but she looked at it always as a weakness in the girl; and Frank, true son of his father, never mentioned his sister but with a curl of his lip, and lived his life as though she had never existed. The family still attended church once each week, still contributed the same amount to the cause, and still found fault with Cameron for his low tastes and new-fangled methods; while they laughed at the new a.s.sociation as a dream of fools and misguided enthusiasts.

Adam had long wanted to add a good farm to his possessions, and after some correspondence with the agent who had advertised the Barton property, he boarded the train one bright day, to pay a visit of inspection to his contemplated purchase. Reaching the little city of Zanesville in the evening, he spent the night at a hotel. In the morning he called upon the agent, and the two were soon whirling along the road behind a pair of wiry little ponies.

The drive of eight or ten miles pa.s.sed very pleasantly between the real estate man and his prospective customer in such conversation as gentlemen whose lives are spent in the whirl of the money world indulge in between moments of activity.

At last they neared the farm, and bringing the ponies to a walk, the agent began pointing out the most desirable features of the property: the big barn, the fine timber land in the distance, the rich soil of a field near by, the magnificent crop of corn, the stream of water where cattle stood knee-deep lazily fighting the flies, and the fine young orchard just across the road from the house.

"Yes, the building is old"--as they drove up in front of the big gate; "but it is good yet, and with just a little expense, can be converted into a model of modern convenience and beauty."

As they drove into the yard and got out to hitch the ponies, Mrs. Barton came to the door.

"Just come right in, Mr. Richards, John is over in the north field; I'll go for him."

"Oh No, Mrs. Barton, I'll go. This is Mr. Goodrich, who wishes to look at the farm. Mr. Goodrich, just wait here in the shade and I'll go after Mr. Barton."

"I believe," said Adam, "if you don't mind, I'll walk through the orchard until you return."

"Certainly, certainly," said both the agent and the farmer's wife; and the woman added, nervously, "just make yourself at home, Mr. Goodrich; you'll find the girl out there somewhere. Dinner will be ready in about an hour."

Leisurely crossing the road, Adam paused at the orchard gate, to watch some fine young shoats that were running about with their mother nearby.

From the pigs, his gaze wandered about the farm buildings, the fields, and the garden. Turning at last to enter the orchard, he saw a young woman, clad in the homely every-day dress of a country girl; her face hidden beneath a large sun-bonnet of blue gingham. She was gathering apple blossoms. Something in her manner or figure struck him as being familiar, and with his hand on the gate, he paused again. As he stood watching her all unconscious of his presence, she sprang lightly from the ground in an effort to reach a tempting spray of blossoms, and at her violent movement the sun-bonnet dropped from her head, while a wealth of brown hair fell in a rippling ma.s.s to her waist. Then as she half turned, he saw her face distinctly, and with a start of surprise and astonishment, knew her as his daughter.

Under the first impulse of a father's love at seeing his child again, Adam stepped forward; but with the gate half open, he checked himself and then drew back, while the old haughty pride, that dominant key in his character, hardened his heart again; and when he at last pushed open the gate once more, his love was fairly hidden.

When Amy first caught sight of her father advancing slowly toward her beneath the blossom-laden trees she forgot everything and started quickly toward him, her face lighted with eager welcome, ready to throw herself in his arms and there pour out her whole tearful story and beg his love and forgiveness. But when she saw his face, she dared not, and stood with downcast eyes, trembling and afraid.

"So this is where you hide yourself, while your family faces your shame at home," began Adam, coldly. "Tell me who brought you here and who pays these people to keep you."

The girl lifted her head proudly. "No one pays them sir; I am supporting myself."

The man looked at her in amazement. "Do you mean that your position here is that of a common servant?"

"There are worse positions," she replied sadly. "The people here are very kind to me."

"But think of your family; you are a disgrace to us all. What can I tell them when I go back and say that I have seen you?"

"Tell them that I am well, and as happy as I ever expect to be."

She pressed her hand to her bosom where a letter was hidden.

"But what will people say when they know that my daughter is working on a farm for a living?"

"They need never know unless you tell them."

Then the man lost all control of himself; that this girl who had always yielded to his every wish, without so much as daring to have a thought of her own, should so calmly, but firmly, face him in this manner, enraged him beyond measure. He could not understand. He knew nothing of her life since that night he had refused to listen to her explanation, and in his anger taunted her with being the plaything of d.i.c.k Falkner, and then, because her face flushed, thought that he had hit on the truth and grew almost abusive in his language.

But Amy only answered, "Sir, you are mistaken now, as you were when you drove me from home; Mr. Falkner had nothing to do with my leaving Boyd City."

"You are my daughter still," stormed Adam, "and I will force you to leave this low position and come home to us. You cannot deceive me with your clever lie about supporting yourself. What do you know about a servant's work? That cursed tramp printer is at the bottom of all this, and I'll make him suffer for it as I live. I will force you to come home."

Amy's face grew pale, but she replied quietly, "Oh no, father, you will not do that, because that would make public my position you know.

I have no fear of your proclaiming from the housetops that your daughter is a hired girl on a farm."

"But father," she said, in softer voice, as Adam stood speechless with rage; "Father, forgive me for this, for I know that I am right. Let me stay here and prove that I am not useless to the world, and then perhaps I will go to you. In the meantime, keep my secret and no one shall know that your claim on society has teen lessened because your daughter is learning to do a woman's work."

Just a shade of bitter sarcasm crept into her voice, but Adam did not notice, for he saw the agent and the farmer coming. "Very well," he said hurriedly, "you have chosen your path and must walk in it. But you cannot expect me to acknowledge a servant as my daughter." And turning his back, he went to meet the men, while Amy slipped off to the house with her blossoms.

Mrs. Barton needed no word to tell her of the result of the interview from which she had expected so much, and with a kiss and a loving word, permitted the girl to go upstairs, where she remained until Mr. Goodrich had left the place.

After completing the purchase of the farm, Adam wrote his daughter from the office of the agent in Zanesville: "The place where you are living now belongs to me, and the Bartons must give possession at once.

If you will promise never to speak to that man Falkner again, you may come home and be received into your old place, but on no other terms will I acknowledge you as my daughter. Refuse and you are thrown on the charity of the world, for you cannot remain where you are."

Amy carried the letter to her friends, together with her reply, and they, by every argument of love, tried to induce her to go with them back to Cleveland; but she refused in tears. And when she would not be persuaded, they were compelled to leave her. With many expressions of love, they said good-bye, and departed for their old home in the eastern city; but before going, they arranged with a kind neighbor to give her a place in their already crowded home until she could find means of support.

Upon d.i.c.k's return from his Cleveland trip, he had thrown himself into his work with feverish energy, while in his heart the struggle between love and prejudice continued. But as the weeks went by and Amy's letters had come, telling of her life on the farm, and how she was learning to be of use in the world; and as he had read between the lines, of her new ideas and changed views of life, his love had grown stronger and had almost won the fight. Then a letter came, bidding him good-bye, and telling him that she was going away again, and that for her sake, he must not try to find her; that she was deeply grateful for all that he had done, but it was best that he forget that he had ever known her.

d.i.c.k was hurt and dismayed. It seemed to him that she had given up, and the devil, Doubt, ever ready to place a wrong construction upon the words and deeds of mortals, sent him into the black depths of despair again.

"I never saw such a man," declared George Udell to Clara Wilson, one evening, as they caught a glimpse of him bending over a desk in Mr.

Wicks' office, "he works like a fiend."

"Like an angel, you'd better say," replied Clara. "Didn't I tell you that he was no common tramp?"

"Yes, dear, of course; and you never made a mistake in your life; that is, never but once."

"When was that?" asked Clara curiously.

"When you said 'No' to me night before last. Won't you reconsider it, and--"

"Where do you suppose Amy Goodrich is now?" interrupted the young lady.

"Do you know, I have fancied at times, that Mr. Falkner learned something on his trip last fall, that he has not told us?"

George opened his eyes. "What makes you think that?"