The Wall Between Part 22

"Well, they say down to the town that your aunt made her will 'bout three weeks ago. Even Lawyer Benton himself admitted that much. Folks saw Miss Webster goin' into his office an' questioned him. He warn't for tellin'

anything 'til they nagged at him; then he did own that the farm an'

everything else was left to _relatives_. Elias Barnes an' some of the others were mighty quick to hunt up who the Webster relatives were. They were pretty sure you were the only one, an' it 'pears you are. So it's you will get the place an' the money, an' goodness knows, Miss Lucy, you've earnt it. The men all agreed to that."

"You know, Tony, Miss Webster is my aunt," began Lucy in a warning voice, loyalty resenting this criticism.

"Yes, but there's aunts--an' aunts," interrupted the lad with a grin.

"It's no use pretendin' you ain't drawn the devil of a one, 'cause I know.

Don't I live close at hand, an' ain't I got eyes?"

Lucy did not answer. They were nearing the village and to put an end to the conversation, she took out her list of errands and began to read it absently. But in the back of her mind she was turning over Tony's remarks.

She had never allowed herself to dwell on the time when the Webster homestead would actually be her own. It seemed unfitting to plan on acquiring property that could only come to her through the death of another person. Now, however, she suddenly gave her imagination rein and began to consider what changes she would make when the farm was really in her hands.

The barn must be cleared out the first thing and be re-s.h.i.+ngled. Then she would strip the farm of its litter of rubbish and repair some of the tools and household furniture. What a delight it would be to renovate the old home with chintz hangings and fresh paint and paper! There were great possibilities for making the interior of the house attractive on a small expenditure of money. The time-worn mahogany was good, the proportions of the rooms pleasing, and the great fireplaces, several of which were now boarded up, were a distinct a.s.set.

Of course she would have to have help with the work. It would be well to get a capable man to manage the garden for her--some strong, intelligent person, familiar with the problems of soil, fertilizer, and horticulture; a person, for example, like, well--like Martin Howe. A flood of color crept into her cheek.

Although she had never addressed a remark to Martin since the night when he had abandoned her at the foot of the Howe driveway to face the onslaughts of that drenching storm, she was perfectly aware that her goings and comings had become a matter of no little concern to the austere gentleman who dwelt on the other side of the wall. That he watched her she knew, for she had been feminine enough to trap him into changing his position that he might keep her in view.

Besides, was there not the miraculous bunch of flowers? She had, to be sure, never acknowledged them even by the lifting of an eyelash, nor had she proof that Martin's hand had really put them within her reach; nevertheless, she could have staked her oath upon it.

Once she had almost defied his silence by thanking him; in fact, she had actually ventured to the confines of the Webster land with this intention; but on arriving within range of his presence, her courage had deserted her. He looked so forbidding that a foolish agitation had swept over her, and compelled her to drop her eyes, and walk away in silence.

She had never known herself to be so nervous before. One would almost think she was afraid of Martin Howe. How absurd! He was nothing to her, less than nothing.

If she liked to study his fine, athletic figure and the free swing of his magnificent body as he worked, it was solely from an aesthetic standpoint.

One seldom had an opportunity to see a man as perfectly molded as he. His face was interesting, too; not handsome, perhaps, but attractive. It was a pity it was so stern and set, for she was sure he could smile if he chose; indeed he had smiled that night when he had come home and been unconscious of her presence in the house. It had been a compelling smile, charming for its very rareness. She had often thought of it since and wished she might behold it again. Of course she never would. Yet it would be pleasant to do so. Probably he smiled often at home,--even laughed sometimes. How she would like to hear him laugh,--just once.

He was a very fascinating person,--purely as a character study, of course, nothing more. Since, however, she was indulging in speculations concerning him, it would be amusing to know what he thought of her; for he did think of her, that was obvious. What motive prompted him to do it? Perhaps he admired her, thought her pretty. If he did, why didn't he make some further effort to talk with her? Usually men were only too eager to improve the acquaintance of girls they liked. It surely could do Mr.

Martin Howe no harm to call a good morning to her over the wall, as his sisters did, even if he did deplore the existence of the Websters.

Then the tenor of Lucy's arguments s.h.i.+fted. Probably Martin neither admired nor liked her. Doubtless, along with her aunt and all that pertained to the hated blood, he despised her and simply watched her in disgust. But if so, why did he bother to send flowers to her?

Lucy shook her head. She was back at the point from which she had started and was no nearer a solution of Martin Howe and his baffling mental outlook. What did it matter anyway? What he thought or felt was no concern of hers, and she was silly to burden her mind with speculations that really interested her so little.

By this time Tony, who had lapsed into a silence as unbroken as her own, drew up at the smooth stone flagging before Elias Barnes's store and, leaping out over the wheel, helped his companion to dismount from the wagon and unload the farm produce they had brought with them for sale.

"I'll get home somehow, Tony," the girl said to him, as he prepared to drive off. "You needn't come for me."

"All right, Miss Lucy, only I do hope you won't have to foot it back in this heat."

"I shan't mind."

"It's going to be a terrible day," insisted the lad. "Them buzzin'

locusts is enough to prove that. They're good as a thermometer."

Lucy laughed.

"Don't worry about me," she remarked kindly. "Just as soon as I finish my errands I shall start home."

"You'd be wise to."

As the mare scuffed off down the road, amid a cloud of dust, Lucy entered the store.

A stuffy odor of coffee, mola.s.ses, and calico greeted her; so, too, did Elias Barnes, who came forward from behind the counter, extending his damp and sticky palm and showing every tooth that an expansive smile permitted.

"So it's you, Miss Lucy," he observed with pleasure. "I was expecting to see your aunt. She was here the other day."

"Yes, she drove to town last Friday."

"Came on an interestin' errand, too," chirped Elias. "Leastwise, I 'magine 'twas interestin' to you." He grinned slyly.

"Why?"

"Why?" repeated the man, taken aback. "Because--well, ain't such things always interestin'?"

"What things?"

Elias stared, uncertain as to how to proceed.

Was it possible the girl was ignorant of her aunt's mission?

"Mebbe you didn't know Miss Webster's errand in town," he began eagerly.

"I know she went to see Mr. Benton and get her will made, if that is what you mean."

"An' don't you call that interestin'?" demanded the discomfited Elias.

"Not particularly."

The storekeeper gasped.

"Likely the matter was all cut an' dried an' nothin' new to you,"

persisted he, with a wan, disappointed smile. "There warn't much choice left your aunt, fur as relatives went, was there? Still, I reckon she couldn't 'a' found a better one to pa.s.s her property on to than you,"

concluded the man with a leer.

"What makes you so sure she has pa.s.sed it on to me?" inquired Lucy, annoyed.

"Well, ain't she?"

"I don't know."

"You don't--by thunder! She ain't told you nothin'?"

"Certainly not."

Elias looked puzzled.

"Why," he said, "most folks thought that was the condition that brought you to Sefton Falls. Surely nothin' but some sort of a reward, an' a big one, too, would coax a body to come an' live with such a----"