The Homesteader. Micheaux Oscar

concerned. But whatever route a railroad took, it meant that the value to a homestead by the extension of the railroad would approximate to exceed ten dollars per acre. And Jean Baptiste now owned five hundred and twenty acres.

      Since the work now in breaking the extra two hundred acres was before him, and was more than three miles from his homestead, he sought more convenience, by determining to approach the Stewarts with a request to board him.

      It was a rainy day, when he called, only to find Jack Stewart out, while George and Bill were tinkering about the barn. They had not been informed of his purchase.

      "Oh, it is you—Mr. Baptiste," cried Agnes upon opening the door in response to his knock. "Come right in."

      "Where's the governor?" he inquired when seated.

      "Search me," she laughed. "Papa's always out, rain or shine."

      "Busy man."

      "Yes. Busy but never gets anything by it, apparently."

      She was full of humor, her eyes twinkled. He was also. It was a day to be grateful. Rainfall, though it bring delay in the work, such days always are appreciated in a new country. It made those there feel more confident.

      "Lots of rain."

      "Yes. I suppose you are glad," she said interestedly.

      "Well, I should be."

      "We are, too. It looks as if, should this keep up, we will really raise a crop."

      "Oh, it'll keep up," he said cheerfully, confidently. "It always rains in this country."

      "How optimistic you are," she said, regarding him admiringly.

      "Thanks."

      She smiled then and bit her lip.

      "How's your neighbors across the road? I've never become acquainted with them."

      "Their name is Prescott. I don't know much about them; but papa has met them."

      "How many of them?"

      "Three. The man and wife and a son."

      "A son?"

      "M-m."

      "How old is he—a young man?"

      "M-m."

      He smiled mischievously.

      "Oh, it will be great," and she laughed amusedly.

      "He farms with his parents?"

      "I don't think so. He has rented a few acres on the place north of us. Don't seem to be much force."

      "You should wake him up."

      "Humph!"

      "My congratulations," irrelevantly.

      "Please don't. He's too ugly, too lazy; loves nothing but a stallion he owns, and is very uninteresting."

      "Indeed!" Suddenly he jumped up. "I have forgotten that I came to see your dad."

      "I can't say when papa will be home," she answered, going toward the door and looking out.

      "I wanted to see him regarding a little business about boarding. I wonder if he could board me?"

      "He'll be home about noon, anyhow."

      "That won't be so long, now," said he, regarding the clock.

      "So you are tired of baching," she said with a little twinkle of the eyes.

      "Oh, baching? Before I started. But that is not what has expedited my wishing to board. I bought some more land. Couple hundred acres of that dead Indian land over south."

      "You did!"

      "Why, yes." He did not understand her exclamation.

      "Oh, but you are such a wonderful man, and to be such a young man!" She was not aware of the intimacy in her reference, and spoke thoughtfully, as if to herself more than to him.

      He was flattered, and didn't know how to reply.

      "You are certainly deserving of the high esteem in which you are held throughout the community," and still she was as if speaking to herself, and thoughtful.

      He could not shut out at once the vanity she had aroused in him. He wished to appear and to feel modest about it, however. After all, he had most of the other land to pay for, which, nevertheless, gave him no worry. His confidence was supreme. He continued silent while she went on:

      "It must be wonderful to be a young man and to be so courageous; to be so forceful and to be admired."

      "Oh, you flatter me."

      "No; I do not mean to. I am speaking frankly and what I feel. I admire the qualities you are possessed with. I read a great deal, and when I see a young man like you going ahead so in the world, I think he should be encouraged."

      How very frankly, and considerately she had said it all. His vanity was gone. He saw her as the real Agnes. He saw in her, moreover, that which he had always longed for in his race. How much he would have given to have heard those words uttered by a girl of his blood on his trips back East. But, of course the West was foreign to them. They could not have understood as she did. But the kindness she had shown had its effect. He could at least admire her openly for what she was. He spoke now.

      "I think you are very kind, Miss Stewart. I can't say when any one has spoken so sensibly to me as you have, and you will believe me when I say that such shall never be forgotten." He paused briefly before going on. "And it will always be my earnest wish that I shall prove worthy of such kind words." He stopped then, for in truth, he was too overcome with emotion, and could not trust himself to go on.

      She stood with her back to him, and could he have seen her eyes he would also have observed tears of emotion. They were honest tears. She had spoken the truth. She admired the man in Jean Baptiste, and she had not thought of his color in speaking her conviction. But withal she felt strangely that her life was linked in some manner with this man's.

      Her father's appearance at this moment served to break the silent embarrassment between them, the embarrassment that had come out of what she had said.

      They settled with regards to his boarding with them, and a few minutes later he took his leave. As he was passing out, their eyes met. Never had they appeared so deep; never before so soft. But in the same he saw again that which he had seen before and as yet could not understand.

CHAPTER XIV

       Table of Contents

      THE ADMINISTRATING ANGEL

      NEVER before since Jean Baptiste had come West and staked his lot and future there, doing his part toward the building of that little empire out there in the hollow of God's hand, had he worked so hard as he did in the days that followed that summer. When the rains for a time ceased and the warm, porous soil had dried sufficiently to permit a return to the fields, from early morn until the sun had disappeared in the west late afternoons, did he labor. Observation with him seemed to be inherent. Ever since he had played as a boy back in old Illinois he had been deeply sensitive with regards to his race. To him, notwithstanding the fact that he realized that less than fifty years had passed since freedom, they appeared—even considering their adverse circumstances—to progress rather slowly. He had not as yet come fully to appreciate and understand why they remained always so poor; always the serf; always in the position to gain so little—but withal to suffer so much! Oh, the anguish it had so often given him!

      His being in the West had come of an ulterior purpose. It has been stated that he was a keen observer. While so he had cultivated also the faculty of determination. By now it had became a sort of habit, a sort of second nature as it were. But there were certain things he could not seem to get away from. For instance: It seemed to him that the most difficult task