A Prairie Courtship

"I suppose you want to borrow a team from him again?"

"No," Thorne replied tranquilly; "in this case my object is to borrow money – or, at least, I want to raise it in such a way that if I don't meet my obligations your husband will be liable."

He turned toward his host.

"Do you think you could guarantee me to the extent of, say, a thousand dollars?"

"If it's merely a question of ability, I believe I could. Whether it would be judicious is quite another matter. What are you going to do with the money?"

Thorne explained his purpose much as he had done to Farquhar and Hunter listened with quiet amusement.

"The whim might last a month, and then there'd probably be an auction of your stock and implements, and we would get word that you had gone off on the trail again," he said. "A quiet life wouldn't suit you. You tried it once with Bishop and it's generally understood that you turned his house inside out one day during the winter you spent with him."

"There's just a little truth in that," Thorne confessed. "Bishop's a nice man, but he has the most exasperating ways, and one would need more patience than I have to stand them. Try to imagine it – three months of improving conversation and undeviating regularity. Breakfast to the minute; the kettle to stand always on the same spot on the stove; the potato pan on another. Your boots must be put in exactly the same corner."

"It's unthinkable," laughed Mrs. Hunter. "We once had him here for a day or two. But what was the particular cause of trouble?"

Her husband smiled.

"House cleaning, I believe. Bishop undertakes it systematically once a month in the winter."

"Oftener," interjected Thorne. "That is, when the temperature's high enough for him to wash the floor."

"It wasn't high enough on the day in question," Hunter proceeded; "but I understand that he insisted on putting his furniture outside so that he could brush the place thoroughly, and Thorne told him to get the door open and stand carefully clear."

"Well?" Mrs. Hunter prompted.

"Thorne fired the things, you see, as quick as he could lift them; first the chairs and table, then the whole outfit of plates and cups and pots and pans. When he got half-way through, Bishop, who was horror-struck, made a protest. Thorne told him he would have the things put out, and out they were going."

Mrs. Hunter laughed and addressed her guest.

"Did you get a bump on your forehead on that occasion? Still, I suppose one could manage it by falling out of a wagon."

"I didn't," replied Thorne. "For any further particulars about this one I'm afraid you must apply at the settlement; but it seems to me that the subject I'm most anxious to talk about is being tactfully avoided."

"When you have so many friends up and down the prairie, why did you come to Elcot?"

"Your husband," explained Thorne unblushingly, "has the most money. Each will, however, be provided with an opportunity for contributing according to his ability. I'll borrow a team from one and a plow from another; the man who can't spare either can lend me a mower. In addition to this I'll have to arrange a second loan."

"Do you mean to stay with it?" Hunter asked.

"Give me a show and I'll convince you," Thorne assured him with a sudden intentness in his eyes. "I'm dead serious now."

Hunter looked at him quietly for a minute or two before he answered.

"Then," he said, "I'll guarantee you for a thousand dollars, payable after harvest."

Thorne thanked him and presently strolled away to get something out of his wagon. When he disappeared Florence turned to her husband.

"Elcot," she protested, "you are going to throw every dollar of that money away."

"I'm far from sure of it," returned Hunter quietly.

"In any case, it's only a few days since you told me you couldn't face the expense when I said that I wanted to spend a month in Toronto this spring."

"I should like to point out that you spent a good deal of the winter in Montreal."

"Would you expect me to live here altogether?"

Hunter made a gesture of weariness.

"I did expect something of that kind once upon a time; I'm sorry you have made it clear that I was wrong."

Florence favored him with a mocking smile.

"After all, you have stood it rather well. It's only during the last few months you have been getting bitter; but that's beside the question. Why are you so willing to waste on that man the money you can't spare for me?"

"To begin with, I'm by no means certain that I'll have to pay it. There's good stuff in him, and I want to give him an opportunity for becoming a useful citizen. In the next place, the line must be drawn somewhere, and the crop I'm putting in wouldn't stand the cost of a spring in Toronto, if it's to be anything like the winter in Montreal."

Florence saw that he meant it and changed the subject, for there were times when she realized that it was not advisable to drive her husband too far. After a while he strolled away toward the stables in search of Thorne, and a few minutes later they sat down together on the summit of a low rise. Hunter lighted his pipe and, resting one elbow in the grass, lay smoking thoughtfully for a while before he spoke to his companion.

"Mavy," he said, "you are going to do what would be the wisest thing in the case of the average man – but I'm not wholly sure it would be that in yours. After all, there's a good deal to be said for the life you lead."

"It will hurt a little to give it up," Thorne acknowledged. "But isn't there something to be said for – the other kind?"

Hunter pointed with his pipe to where the rise ran into the birches.

"I spent my first summer as a farmer in a tent yonder, and in several ways it was the happiest one I've ever known. I couldn't cook, and as a rule when I unyoked my oxen after the day's work I was too played out to light a fire. I lived on messes that would probably kill me now, and my clothes went to bits before the summer was half-way through, but I was bubbling over with aspirations and a whole-hearted optimism then. I had scarcely a dollar, but I had what seemed better – an unwavering belief in the future. It was just as good then to lie down, healthily tired, and listen to the little leaves whispering in the cool of the dusk as it was to get up with the dawn without a care, fit and ready for what must be done."

"Oh, yes," assented Thorne, "I know. They never cast a stove in a foundry that would give you the same warmth as the red fire in the birch bluff, and the finest tea that goes to Russia wouldn't taste as good as what you drink flavored with wood smoke out of a blackened can. Then there's the empty prairie with the long trail leading on to something you feel will be better still beyond the horizon. Silence, space, liberty. How they get hold of you!"

"Then, what do you expect instead of them when you give them up?"

"It strikes me that you should be able to tell me."

Hunter smiled in a rather weary fashion and glanced back toward his house.

"Well," he said, "I've a place that's generally supposed to be the smartest one within sixty miles, and some status in the country, whatever it may be worth – my wife sees to that. The Grits would make me a leader if I cared for politics."

"Then why don't you? Your wife would like it."

"I think you ought to know. We both escaped from the cities, and while you drive your wagon I follow the plow. Men like you and I have nothing to do with wire-pullers' tricks, juggling committees, and shouting crowds. It's my part to make a little more wheat grow."

Thorne looked at him with a thoughtful face.

"I wonder," he said, "why you want to prevent me from doing the same?"

"I don't. I only want to warn you that if you make a success of it you can't own a house and land and teams without facing the cost."