The Starbucks Part 30

"Wall," said he, looking at his work, "it's the truth, an' thar ain't nuthin' skeercer than truth on grave-yard rocks."

Margaret came out of the house. "Howdy, Laz."

"Ain't runnin' no foot races, but so as to be about."

"Folks all as well as usual?"

"Ain't hearn no loud complaint."

"Miz Mayfield," said Margaret, "Kintchin fotch me a letter from the post-office this mornin' an' as my eyes ain't right good to-day, I wish you'd come in an' read it to me."

"Yes, gladly."

"Thank you--'specially as my eyes ain't right good this mornin'. Skuze us, Laz," she said, turning to go into the house.

"Help yo'se'f," Laz replied, again wiping his jews-harp; and when the two women had gone into the house, he began to play, and the old man, sitting now upon the wood-pile, looking over his epitaph, nodded time.

Suddenly the musician left off.

"Say, Peters has got his app'intment."

The old man's arms dropped. "Air you sh.o.r.e?"

"I'm a tellin' you. He's got it writ out on a piece of paper that looks like white luther."

"Wall," said Jasper, getting up. "I don't know of any man that's a goin'

to w'ar out his shoes a runnin'. But I'm sorry. Was in hopes that he couldn't git it. An' yit, I didn't put the strings back into my shoes."

"I understand. You don't want to die with 'em on. But I wouldn't give him any of the advantage."

"No, Laz, fur the man that gives the mad dog any of the advantage is almost sh.o.r.e to git bit. An' I don't want Jim to know any mo' about this comin' trouble than he kin help."

"I reckon not, Jasper. It's sorter noised about that he's a pinin' for the lady from off yander."

"Yes, caliker is got him at last. It's all right, though. The Lord has lit up brown jeans with a smile. Now, here's what I want cut on that rock," he added, handing the paper to Laz, but suddenly withdrawing it, remarked: "Remember, I ain't lendin' you this."

He gave the paper to the borrower, who, looking at it, turning it over and over, replied: "All right. Don't need it--yit."

"Say, Laz, come over with me to the mill. There's suthin' I want to put away."

As they were going out through the gap, Lou came running into the yard.

CHAPTER XVII.

NOT TO TELL HER A LIE.

The girl ran to the rocking-chair, sat down and covering her face with her hands, uttered what to her must have been a sad lament: "Oh, she has made a coward out of me." A moment later Tom came, walking briskly.

"Miss Lou," he said, slowly approaching, "what made you run away from me? I wanted to tell you--"

She sprang to her feet and with snapping eyes exclaimed: "What do you want to tell me? Somethin' that ain't true. Do you want to look a lie at me?"

"No, I want to tell you something that is true. Do you know why I let that scoundrel Peters insult me?"

And looking down she replied: "You told me not to ask and I haven't?"

"Was it because you didn't want to know?"

"Mebby I was almost dyin' to know, but you told me not to ask."

"I didn't kill him because--"

"Not because you were afraid to try," she broke in.

"No. It was because they told me that--that you loved him."

"What!" she cried, blazing at him, "I love that--that skeer crow! Oh, how could they tell you such a thing; and if you believed it I am mad at you."

This greatly distressed him and he was quick to reply, "Oh, I didn't believe it much, you know."

"But you believed it strong enough not to--"

"Oh," he pleaded, "don't play me like a fish. Take the hook out of my mouth and don't make me flop. How did I know you didn't love him? Why, the prettiest girl I ever saw loved a--a scarecrow. And I wouldn't harm a scarecrow that you loved. I may be a scarecrow myself--I feel like one, and I know I must act like one, but I love you and I want you to be my wife."

And now she was all of a flutter. "Oh, you love me? Do you--do you?" She clasped her hands and he took them and drew her toward him.

"Do I? Why, I love you till I haven't got any sense. Didn't you see me out there in the rain yesterday?" She shook her head, looking down, hiding her eyes from him. "Didn't you see me there? I didn't have sense enough to come in."

She s.n.a.t.c.hed away her hands and stood looking at him. "Would you live a lie, like the man that married your aunt? Would you?"

"Oh, he was a sport."

"A 'sport!'" she gasped. "What's that?"

"A fool that thinks he's got a sure thing when he hasn't. A man who might risk his home on the turn of a card. I'm not that sort of a fellow. I never loved any girl but you, and I never can love any other."

"Oh, can it be true?" she cried, gazing at him; and neither of them saw Old Jasper, who at this moment came through the gap. He halted and stood perfectly still looking at them.

"You know it is true," said Tom. He put his hands upon his breast. "Why, when I first saw you it seemed--seemed that they were lighting candles all around in here. And Lou, you must be my wife. Don't you know it is true?"

"Yes, I know," she replied, with her hand upon her heart, as if to calm it; "yes, I know, but there is somethin' a flutterin' here and I'm afraid it will fly away. But--but I love you so!"

In his arms he seized her and slowly Old Jasper came to them as they stood, lost to all earth, and about them he put his brown arms. They sprang apart and he took his daughter to his breast; and the boy stood there waiting, striving to say something.

"Mr. Starbuck, I--"