The Homesteader. Micheaux Oscar

wonder has he ever."

      "I don't think so."

      "That is very thoughtful of him."

      "It is. He is a real gentleman."

      "So everybody says."

      "And so pleasant to listen to."

      "Indeed."

      "Mrs. Reynolds is carried away with him. Says he's one of the most industrious and energetic young men of the country."

      "Isn't that fine! But it seems rather odd, doesn't it? Him out here alone."

      "It is indeed singular. But he is just the kind of man a new country needs."

      "If the country had a few hundred more like him we wouldn't know it in five years."

      "In three years!" she said admiringly.

      "How shall we explain in regards to Bill?..."

      "I've explained."

      "You have!"

      "Oh, I didn't come out and say it in words, of course. I didn't need to."

      "Then how? How did you make him understand?"

      "It was easy. It was easy because he is so quick witted. He seems to readily understand anything."

      "I'll bet!"

      "He spoke of the fact that being a bachelor it was awkward to keep hired men, and this fact seemed to worry him."

      "But why didn't you explain that Bill could stay home?"

      "I did."

      "Oh!"

      "And he was so relieved."

      "I'm sure he was. It is very inconvenient."

      "It is. And I feel rather sorry for him."

      "Needs a wife."

      She was silent.

      "Wonder why he doesn't marry?"

      "I don't know."

      "Will make some girl a fine husband."

      Silence.

      "I guess he has a girl, though, and will likely marry soon."

      "I don't think so."

      "Why?"

      "Well," she said slowly. She blushed unseen and went on: "Mrs. Reynolds joked him about it, and he denied it."

      "But any man would do that. They like to be modest; to appear like they have no loves. It creates sympathy. Men are sentimental, too. They like sympathy."

      "Yes, I suppose so," she said slowly, thoughtfully. "But I don't think he has a girl. In my mind he is a poor lonesome fellow. Just like he has no close friends...."

      He was silent now.

      "I have thought about it since I met him."

      "You have?"

      "Why, yes. Certainly."

      Her father laughed.

      "Why are you laughing?" she asked, somewhat nettled.

      "I was thinking."

      "Thinking? Thinking of what?"

      "Of Jean Baptiste."

      "What do you mean?"

      "Why, there is a good chance for you."

      "Father!"

      "Why not!"

      "Father! How can you!"

      He laughed. She acted as if angry. He looked at her mischievously. She did not grant him a smile.

      "Tut, tut, Aggie! Can't you take a joke?"

      "But you should not joke like that."

      "Oh, come now. It pleased me to joke like that."

      "Why should it please you?"

      "Why, I have a sense of humor."

      "A sense of humor?"

      "Yes."

      "But I don't see the joke?"

      "Why, Aggie," he turned to her seriously. "Almost I don't think it is a joke."

      "Father!"

      "Well, dear? You seem to be so interested in the man."

      "Father, oh, father!" and the next instant she was crying. He reached out and caught her fondly to him. "My girl, my girl, I didn't intend to upset you. Now be papa's little darling and don't cry any more!"

      "You have never been this way before," she sobbed. He caressed her more now.

      "Well, dearest. You see. Well, your mother—"

      "My mother!" she sat quickly up.

      "We are going to raise a great crop this year. I feel sure of it."

      "But my mother!"

      "I think I know where I can get some good seed oats."

      They rode along in silence the rest of the way, consumed with their own thoughts. No words passed, but Agnes was thinking. She would never get out of her mind what her father had started to say. But he had stopped in time.... Her mind went back to the strange incidents in her life. She lived over again the day she had looked in the mirror and had seen that strange look, she connected it singularly with what her father had started to say. She was silent thereafter, but her soul was on fire.

CHAPTER XI

       Table of Contents

      WHAT JEAN BAPTISTE FOUND IN THE WELL

      "WELL, my friend," said A.M. Barr, stopping before Baptiste's hut one day shortly after his visit to Kaden's, "I have my date and will make proof on the 22nd of March. I have listed you as one of my witnesses. Guess I may depend on you to be ready that day?"

      "I shall remember it, Mr. Barr," answered Baptiste. "Have you rented your place yet?"

      "No, I have not. Rather, not the buildings. My neighbor across the road, however, will put the thirty acres I have broken into crop, and break a few more."

      "M-m."

      "How much do you plan seeding this season?"

      "All of both places anyhow."

      "Ah, young man, I tell you, you are a worker! Such young men as you will be the making of this country. And you'll be rich in time."

      "Oh, no," cried Baptiste disdainfully.

      "If I were young and strong like you, I would be doing the same."

      "You expect to go away when you have completed your proof...."

      "Well, I don't know," whereupon A.M. Barr cast a furtive glance in his direction. Baptiste pretended not to see it.

      "What'll you do with your horses?" Another furtive glance.

      "Well, I might advertise a sale," he said boldly. He cast a dark look in Baptiste's direction, which the other pretended not to see—but did see nevertheless. "Why, what could he know," was in Barr's mind. "Nothing," he answered his own question. A moment later he was the same Barr; the officious Englishman when he drove down the road a few minutes later, and none the wiser therefor.

      March the twenty-second came and went, and Augustus offered proof on his homestead, and passed, Baptiste assisting him as witness.

      Sunday was the next day, and when it came, all calm and beautiful, Baptiste realized that he did not have enough seed wheat to sow all his land that he wished put in