Other Main-Travelled Roads. Garland Hamlin

were no longer where they could glare on him, and in spite of his cool exterior Lime had just as soon not have the old man looking at him.

      Besides, the old farmer had been telling about his "river eighty," which was without a tenant; the man who had taken it, having lost his wife, had grown disheartened and had given it up.

      "It's an almighty good chance for a man with a small family. Good house an' barn, good land. A likely young feller with a team an' a woman could do tiptop on that eighty. If he wanted more, I'd let him have an eighty j'inun'—"

      "I'd like t' try that m'self," said Lime, as a feeler. The old fellow said nothing in reply for a moment.

      "Ef you had a team an' tools an' a woman, I'd jest as lief you'd have it as anybody."

      "Sell me your blacks, and I'll pay half down—the balance in the fall. I can pick up some tools, and as for a woman, Merry Etty an' me have talked that over to-day. She's ready to—ready to marry me whenever you say go."

      There was an ominous silence under the seeder, as if the father could not believe his ears.

      "What's—what's that!" he stuttered. "Who'd you say? What about Merry Etty?"

      "She's agreed to marry me."

      "The hell you say!" roared Bacon, as the truth burst upon him. "So that's what you do when I go off to town and leave you to chop wood. So you're goun' to git married, hey?"

      He was now where Lime could see him, glaring up into his smiling blue eyes. Lime stood his ground.

      "Yes, sir. That's the calculation."

      "Well, I guess I'll have somethin' t' say about that," said Bacon, nodding his head violently.

      "I rather expected y' would. Blaze away. Your privilege—my bad luck. Sail in ol' man. What's y'r objection to me fer a son-in-law?"

      "Don't you worry, young feller. I'll come at it soon enough," went on Bacon, as he turned up another burr in a very awkward corner. In his nervous excitement the wrench slipped, banging his knuckle.

      "Ouch! Thunder—m-m-m!" howled and snarled the wounded man.

      "What's the matter? Bark y'r knuckle?" queried Lime, feeling a mighty impulse to laugh. But when he saw the old savage straighten up and glare at him he sobered. Bacon was now in a frightful temper. The veins in his great, bare, weather-beaten neck swelled dangerously.

      "Jest let me say right here that I've had enough o' you. You can't live on the same acre with my girl another day."

      "What makes ye think I can't?" It was now the young man's turn to draw himself up, and as he faced the old man, his arms folded and each vast hand grasping an elbow, he looked like a statue of red granite, and the hands resembled the paws of a crouching lion; but his eyes smiled.

      "I don't think, I know ye won't."

      "What's the objection to me?"

      "Objection? Hell! What's the inducement? My hired man, an' not three shirts to yer back!"

      "That's another; I've got four. Say, old man, did you ever work out for a living?"

      "That's none o' your business," growled Bacon a little taken down. "I've worked an' scraped, an' got t'gether a little prop'ty here, an' they ain't no sucker like you goun' to come 'long here, an' live off me, an' spend my prop'ty after I'm dead. You can jest bet high on that."

      "Who's goin' t' live on ye?"

      "You're aimun' to."

      "I ain't, neither."

      "Yes, y'are. You've loafed on me ever since I hired ye."

      "That's a—" Lime checked himself for Marietta's sake, and the enraged father went on:—

      "I hired ye t' cut wood, an' you've gone an' fooled my daughter away from me. Now you just figger up what I owe ye, and git out o' here. Ye can't go too soon t' suit me."

      Bacon was renowned as the hardest man to handle in Cedar County, and though he was getting old, he was still a terror to his neighbors when roused. He was honest, temperate, and a good neighbor until something carried him off his balance; then he became as cruel as a panther and as savage as a grisly. All this Lime knew, but it did not keep his anger down so much as did the thought of Marietta. His silence infuriated Bacon, who yelled hoarsely:—

      "Git out o' this!"

      "Don't be in a rush, ol' man—"

      Bacon hurled himself upon Lime, who threw out one hand and stopped him, while he said in a low voice:—

      "Stay right where you are, ol' man. I'm dangerous. It's for Merry's sake—"

      The infuriated old man struck at him. Lime warded off the blow, and with a sudden wrench and twist threw him to the ground with frightful force. Before Bacon could rise, Marietta, who had witnessed the scene, came flying from the house.

      "Lime! Father! What are you doing?"

      "I—couldn't help it, Merry. It was him 'r me," said Lime, almost sadly.

      "Dad, ain't you got no sense? What 're you thinking of? You jest stop right now. I won't have it."

      He rose while she clung to him; he seemed a little dazed. It was the first time he had ever been thrown, and he could not but feel a certain respect for his opponent, but he could not give way.

      "Pack up yer duds," he snarled, "an' git off'n my land. I'll have the money fer ye when ye come back. I'll give ye jest five minutes to git clear o' here. Merry, you stay here."

      The young man saw it was useless to remain, as it would only excite the old man; and so, with a look of apology, not without humor, at Marietta, he went to the house to get his valise. The girl wept silently while the father raged up and down. His mood frightened her.

      "I thought ye had more sense than t' take up with such a dirty houn'."

      "He ain't a houn'," she blazed forth, "and he's just as good and clean as you are."

      "Shut up! Don't let me hear another word out o' your head. I'm boss here yet, I reckon."

      Lime came out with his valise in his hand.

      "Good-by, Merry," he said cheerily. She started to go to him, but her father's rough grasp held her.

      "Set down, an' stay there."

      Lime was going out of the gate.

      "Here! Come and get y'r money," yelled the old man, extending some bills. "Here's twenty—"

      "Go to thunder with your money," retorted Lime. "I've had my pay for my month's work." As he said that, he thought of the sunny kitchen and the merry girl, and his throat choked. Good-by to the sweet girl whose smile was so much to him, and to the happy noons and nights her eyes had made for him. He waved his hat at her as he stood in the open gate, and the sun lighted his handsome head into a sort of glory in her eyes. Then he turned and walked rapidly off down the road, not looking back.

      The girl, when she could no longer see him, dashed away, and, sobbing violently, entered the house.

      II

      There was just a suspicion of light in the east, a mere hint of a glow, when Lyman walked cautiously around the corner of the house and tapped at Marietta's window. She was sleeping soundly and did not hear, for she had been restless during the first part of the night. He tapped again, and the girl woke without knowing what woke her.

      Lyman put the blade of his pocket-knife under the window and raised it a little, and then placed his lips to the crack, and spoke in a sepulchral tone, half groan, half whisper:—

      "Merry! Merry Etty!"

      The dazed girl sat up in bed and listened, while her heart almost stood still.

      "Merry, it's me—Lime. Come to the winder."