Part 19

“Everybody calls me Jake.”

“'Jake!' Jacob is better. Well, Jacob, I hope you'll give us all the help you can.”

With a nod and a light laugh she sprang upon the machine. There was a sweet throb in Jacob's heart, which, if he could have expressed it, would have been a triumphant shout of “I'm not afraid of her! I'm not afraid of her!”

The farmer was a kindly, depressed man, with whose quiet ways Jacob instantly felt himself at home. They worked steadily until sunset, when the girl, detaching her horses from the machine, mounted one of them and led the other to the barn. At the supper-table, the farmer's wife said: “Susan, you must be very tired.”

“Not now, mother!” she cheerily answered. “I was, I think, but after I picked up Jacob I felt sure we should get our hay in.”

“It was a good thing,” said the farmer; “Jacob don't need to be told how to work.”

Poor Jacob! He was so happy he could have cried. He sat and listened, and blushed a little, with a smile on his face which it was a pleasure to see. The honest people did not seem to regard him in the least as a stranger; they discussed their family interests and troubles and hopes before him, and in a little while it seemed as if he had known them always.

How faithfully he worked! How glad and tired he felt when night came, and the hay-mow was filled, and the great stacks grew beside the barn! But ah! the haying came to an end, and on the last evening, at supper, everybody was constrained and silent. Even Susan looked grave and thoughtful.

“Jacob,” said the farmer, finally, “I wish we could keep you until wheat harvest; but you know we are poor, and can't afford it. Perhaps you could--”

He hesitated; but Jacob, catching at the chance and obeying his own unselfish impulse, cried: “Oh, yes, I can; I'll be satisfied with my board, till the wheat's ripe.”

Susan looked at him quickly, with a bright, speaking face. “It's hardly fair to you,” said the farmer.

“But I like to be here so much!” Jacob cried. “I like--all of you!”

“We DO seem to suit,” said the farmer, “like as one family. And that reminds me, we've not heard your family name yet.”

“Flint.”

“Jacob FLINT!” exclaimed the farmer's wife, with sudden agitation.

Jacob was scared and troubled. They had heard of him, he thought, and who knew what ridiculous stories? Susan noticed an anxiety on his face which she could not understand, but she unknowingly came to his relief.

“Why, mother,” she asked, “do you know Jacob's family?”

“No, I think not,” said her mother, “only somebody of the name, long ago.”

His offer, however, was gratefully accepted. The bright, hot summer days came and went, but no flower of July ever opened as rapidly and richly and warmly as his chilled, retarded nature. New thoughts and instincts came with every morning's sun, and new conclusions were reached with every evening's twilight. Yet as the wheat harvest drew towards the end, he felt that he must leave the place. The month of absence had gone by, he scarce knew how. He was free to return home, and, though he might offer to bridge over the gap between wheat and oats, as he had already done between hay and wheat, he imagined the family might hesitate to accept such an offer. Moreover, this life at Susan's side was fast growing to be a pain, unless he could assure himself that it would be so forever.

They were in the wheat-field, busy with the last sheaves; she raking and he binding. The farmer and younger children had gone to the barn with a load. Jacob was working silently and steadily, but when they had reached the end of a row, he stopped, wiped his wet brow, and suddenly said, “Susan, I suppose to-day finishes my work here.”

“Yes,” she answered very slowly.

“And yet I'm very sorry to go.”

“I--WE don't want you to go, if we could help it.”

Jacob appeared to struggle with himself. He attempted to speak. “If I could--” he brought out, and then paused. “Susan, would you be glad if I came back?”

His eyes implored her to read his meaning. No doubt she read it correctly, for her face flushed, her eyelids fell, and she barely murmured, “Yes, Jacob.”

“Then I'll come!” he cried; “I'll come and help you with the oats. Don't talk of pay! Only tell me I'll be welcome! Susan, don't you believe I'll keep my word?”

“I do indeed,” said she, looking him firmly in the face.

That was all that was said at the time; but the two understood each other tolerably well.