I
“WE'LL the whole day, and go hunting. I want you to see the country here,” Kennicott at breakfast. “I'd take the car—want you to see how she since I put in a new piston. But we'll take a team, so we can right out into the fields. Not many left now, but we might just to onto a small covey.”
He over his hunting-kit. He his out to full length and them for holes. He his shells, her on the of powder. He the new out of its leather case and her through the to see how free they were from rust.
The world of and camping-outfits and fishing-tackle was to her, and in Kennicott's she something and joyous. She the stock, the hard of the gun. The shells, with their and green and on the wads, were and in her hands.
Kennicott a hunting-coat with pockets the inside, which at the wrinkles, and shoes, a hat. In this he virile. They out to the buggy, they packed the and the box of into the back, to each other that it was a day.
Kennicott had Jackson Elder's red and white English setter, a dog with a of which in the sunshine. As they started, the dog yelped, and at the horses' heads, till Kennicott took him into the buggy, where he Carol's and out to at farm mongrels.
The out on the hard road with a song of hoofs: “Ta ta ta rat! Ta ta ta rat!” It was early and fresh, the air whistling, on the rod. As the sun the world of into a of yellow they from the highroad, through the of a farmer's gate, into a field, slowly over the earth. In a of the they of the country road. It was warm and placid. Locusts among the wheat-stalks, and little across the buggy. A of the air. Crows and in the sky.
The dog had been let out and after a of he settled to a of the field, and back, and back, his nose down.
“Pete Rustad this farm, and he told me he saw a small of in the west forty, last week. Maybe we'll some sport after all,” Kennicott blissfully.
She the dog in suspense, every time he to halt. She had no to birds, but she did to to Kennicott's world.
The dog stopped, on the point, a up.
“By golly! He's a scent! Come on!” Kennicott. He from the buggy, the about the whip-socket, her out, up his gun, in two shells, toward the dog, Carol after him. The ahead, his quivering, his close to the stubble. Carol was nervous. She clouds of large to up instantly. Her were with staring. But they the dog for a of a mile, turning, doubling, two low hills, kicking through a of weeds, the of a barbed-wire fence. The walking was hard on her pavement-trained feet. The earth was lumpy, the and with grass, thistles, of clover. She and floundered.
She Kennicott gasp, “Look!” Three were starting up from the stubble. They were round, dumpy, like bees. Kennicott was sighting, moving the barrel. She was agitated. Why didn't he fire? The would be gone! Then a crash, another, and two in the air, down.
When he her the she had no of blood. These of were so soft and unbruised—there was about them no hint of death. She her man them into his pocket, and with him to the buggy.
They no more that morning.
At they into her farmyard, a private village, a white house with no save a low and dirty at the back, a with white trimmings, a silo, an ex-carriage-shed, now the of a Ford, an cow-stable, a chicken-house, a pig-pen, a corn-crib, a granary, the galvanized-iron tower of a wind-mill. The was of packed yellow clay, treeless, of grass, with and of cultivators. Hardened mud, like lava, the pig-pen. The doors of the house were grime-rubbed, the and were with rain, and the child who at them from the window was smeary-faced. But the was a of geraniums; the was in motion; the metal of the with a hum; a neighed, a crowed, in and out of the cow-stable.
A small woman with from the house. She was a Swedish patois—not in monotone, like English, but it, with a whine:
“Pete he say you soon hunting, doctor. My, dot's you kom. Is de bride? Ohhhh! Ve say las' night, ve maybe ve see her day. My, a lady!” Mrs. Rustad was with welcome. “Vell, vell! Ay you country! Von't you for dinner, doctor?”
“No, but I wonder if you wouldn't like to give us a of milk?” Kennicott.
“Vell Ay should say Ay vill! You a second and Ay on de milk-house!” She to a red the windmill; she came with a of milk from which Carol the bottle.
As they off Carol admired, “She's the thing I saw. And she you. You are the Lord of the Manor.”
“Oh no,” much pleased, “but still they do ask my about things. Bully people, these Scandinavian farmers. And prosperous, too. Helga Rustad, she's still of America, but her will be doctors and lawyers and of the and any thing they want to.”
“I wonder——” Carol was into last night's Weltschmerz. “I wonder if these farmers aren't than we are? So and hard-working. The town on them. We are parasites, and yet we to them. Last night I Mr. Haydock talking about 'hicks.' Apparently he the farmers they haven't the social of selling and buttons.”
“Parasites? Us? Where'd the farmers be without the town? Who them money? Who—why, we supply them with everything!”
“Don't you that some of the farmers think they pay too much for the services of the towns?”
“Oh, of there's a of among the farmers same as there are among any class. Listen to some of these kickers, a fellow'd think that the farmers ought to the and the whole shooting-match—probably if they had their way they'd up the with a of farmers in manure-covered boots—yes, and they'd come tell me I was on a salary now, and couldn't my fees! That'd be for you, wouldn't it!”
“But why shouldn't they?”
“Why? That of——Telling ME——Oh, for heaven's sake, let's arguing. All this may be all right at a party but——Let's it while we're hunting.”
“I know. The Wonderlust—probably it's a than the Wanderlust. I just wonder——”
She told herself that she had in the world. And after each self-rebuke she again on “I just wonder——”
They ate their sandwiches by a slew: long up out of clear water, bogs, red-winged black-birds, the a of gold-green. Kennicott a pipe while she in the and let her be in the Nirvana of the sky.
They to the and from their sun-soaked at the of the hoofs. They paused to look for in a of woods, little woods, very clean and and gay, and with green trunks, a of bottom, a in the of prairie.
Kennicott a red and at he had a at a of from the upper air, the lake, vanishing.
They home under the sunset. Mounds of straw, and wheat-stacks like bee-hives, out in rose and gold, and the green-tufted glistened. As the of darkened, the land in and browns. The black road the to a lavender, then was to grayness. Cattle came in a long line up to the gates of the farmyards, and over the land was a dark glow.
Carol had the and which had failed her in Main Street.
II
Till they had a they took dinner and six o'clock supper at Mrs. Gurrey's boarding-house.
Mrs. Elisha Gurrey, of Deacon Gurrey the in and grain, was a pointed-nosed, woman with iron-gray so tight that it a her head. But she was cheerful, and her dining-room, with its thin on a long table, had the of clean bareness.
In the line of unsmiling, guests, like at a manger, Carol came to one countenance: the pale, long, and of Mr. Raymond P. Wutherspoon, as “Raymie,” professional bachelor, manager and one the sales-force in the shoe-department of the Bon Ton Store.
“You will Gopher Prairie very much, Mrs. Kennicott,” Raymie. His were like those of a dog waiting to be let in out of the cold. He passed the effusively. “There are a great many people here. Mrs. Wilks, the Christian Science reader, is a very woman—though I am not a Scientist myself, in I sing in the Episcopal choir. And Miss Sherwin of the high school—she is such a pleasing, girl—I was her to a pair of yesterday, I declare, it was a pleasure.”
“Gimme the butter, Carrie,” was Kennicott's comment. She him by Raymie:
“Do you have and so on here?”
“Oh yes! The town's just full of talent. The Knights of Pythias put on a last year.”
“It's you're so enthusiastic.”
“Oh, do you think so? Lots of me for trying to up and so on. I tell them they have more gifts than they know. Just yesterday I was saying to Harry Haydock: if he would read poetry, like Longfellow, or if he would join the band—I so much out of playing the cornet, and our band-leader, Del Snafflin, is such a good musician, I often say he ought to give up his and a professional musician, he play the in Minneapolis or New York or anywhere, but—but I couldn't Harry to see it at all and—I you and the doctor out yesterday. Lovely country, isn't it. And did you make some calls? The life isn't like medicine. It must be to see how trust you, doctor.”
“Huh. It's me that's got to do all the trusting. Be more 'f they'd pay their bills,” Kennicott and, to Carol, he something which like “gentleman hen.”
But Raymie's were at her. She helped him with, “So you like to read poetry?”
“Oh yes, so much—though to tell the truth, I don't much time for reading, we're always so at the store and——But we had the professional at the Pythian Sisters last winter.”
Carol she a from the traveling salesman at the end of the table, and Kennicott's was a embodied. She persisted:
“Do you to see many plays, Mr. Wutherspoon?”
He at her like a March moon, and sighed, “No, but I do love the movies. I'm a fan. One trouble with books is that they're not so by as the are, and when you into the library and take out a book you know what you're your time on. What I like in books is a wholesome, story, and sometimes——Why, once I started a by this Balzac that you read about, and it told how a lady wasn't with her husband, I she wasn't his wife. It into details, disgustingly! And the English was poor. I spoke to the library about it, and they took it off the shelves. I'm not narrow, but I must say I don't see any use in this in immorality! Life itself is so full of that in one wants only that which is pure and uplifting.”
“What's the name of that Balzac yarn? Where can I of it?” the traveling salesman.
Raymie him. “But the movies, they are mostly clean, and their humor——Don't you think that the most quality for a person to have is a of humor?”
“I don't know. I haven't much,” said Carol.
He his at her. “Now, now, you're too modest. I'm sure we can all see that you have a perfectly of humor. Besides, Dr. Kennicott wouldn't a lady that didn't have. We all know how he loves his fun!”
“You bet. I'm a old bird. Come on, Carrie; let's it,” Kennicott.
Raymie implored, “And what is your interest, Mrs. Kennicott?”
“Oh——” Aware that the traveling salesman had murmured, “Dentistry,” she hazarded, “Architecture.”
“That's a art. I've always said—when Haydock & Simons were the new on the Bon Ton building, the old man came to me, you know, Harry's father, 'D. H.,' I always call him, and he asked me how I liked it, and I said to him, 'Look here, D. H.,' I said—you see, he was going to the plain, and I said to him, 'It's all very well to have modern and a big display-space,' I said, 'but when you that in, you want to have some architecture, too,' I said, and he laughed and said he maybe I was right, and so he had 'em put on a cornice.”
“Tin!” the traveling salesman.
Raymie his teeth like a mouse. “Well, what if it is tin? That's not my fault. I told D. H. to make it granite. You make me tired!”
“Leave us go! Come on, Carrie, us go!” from Kennicott.
Raymie them in the and Carol that she musn't mind the traveling salesman's coarseness—he to the pollwa.
Kennicott chuckled, “Well, child, how about it? Do you an guy like Raymie to like Sam Clark and me?”
“My dear! Let's go home, and play pinochle, and laugh, and be foolish, and up to bed, and sleep without dreaming. It's to be just a solid citizeness!”
III
From the Gopher Prairie Weekly Dauntless:
One of the most of the season was Tuesday at the new of Sam and Mrs. Clark when many of our most citizens to the new of our popular local physician, Dr. Will Kennicott. All present spoke of the many of the bride, Miss Carol Milford of St. Paul. Games and were the order of the day, with talk and conversation. At a late hour were served, and the party up with many of at the affair. Among those present were Mesdames Kennicott, Elder——
Dr. Will Kennicott, for the past years one of our most popular and physicians and surgeons, gave the town a when he returned from an in Colorado this week with his bride, Miss Carol Milford of St. Paul, family are in Minneapolis and Mankato. Mrs. Kennicott is a lady of charms, not only of of but is also a of a in the East and has for the past year been in an position of with the St. Paul Public Library, in which city Dr. “Will” had the good to meet her. The city of Gopher Prairie her to our and for her many happy years in the city of the and the future. The Dr. and Mrs. Kennicott will for the present at the Doctor's home on Poplar Street which his mother has been for him who has now returned to her own home at Lac-qui-Meurt a of friends who her and to see her soon with us again.
IV
She that if she was to any of the “reforms” which she had pictured, she must have a starting-place. What her the three or four months after her marriage was not of that she must be definite, but careless of her home.
In the of being a she loved every detail—the with the weak back, the water-cock on the hot-water reservoir, when she had familiar with it by trying to it to brilliance.
She a maid—plump Bea Sorenson from Scandia Crossing. Bea was in her attempt to be at once a and a friend. They laughed together over the that the did not draw, over the of fish in the pan.
Like a child playing Grandma in a skirt, Carol for her marketing, to along the way. Everybody to her, and all, and her that they wanted her, that she here. In city shops she was A Customer—a hat, a voice to a clerk. Here she was Mrs. Doc Kennicott, and her in grape-fruit and manners were and and . . . if they weren't fulfilling.
Shopping was a of conferences. The very merchants she the at the two or three parties which were to welcome her were the of all when they had something to talk about—lemons or or floor-oil. With that skip-jack Dave Dyer, the druggist, she a long mock-quarrel. She that he her in the price of and candy; he she was a from the Twin Cities. He the prescription-counter, and when she her he came out wailing, “Honest, I haven't done nothing today—not yet.”
She her of Main Street; had the same at its ugliness. By the end of two shopping-tours had proportions. As she entered it, the Minniemashie House to for her. Clark's Hardware Store, Dyer's Drug Store, the of Ole Jenson and Frederick Ludelmeyer and Howland & Gould, the meat markets, the shop—they expanded, and all other structures. When she entered Mr. Ludelmeyer's store and he wheezed, “Goot mornin', Mrs. Kennicott. Vell, a day,” she did not notice the of the the of the girl clerk; and she did not the mute with him on her view of Main Street.
She not the of food she wanted, but that shopping more of an adventure. When she did to at Dahl & Oleson's Meat Market the was so that she with and the wise butcher, Mr. Dahl.
She the of village life. She liked the old men, farmers, G.A.R. veterans, who when they sometimes on their on the sidewalk, like Indians, and over the curb.
She in the children.
She had that her married friends their for children. But in her work in the library, children had to her, citizens of the State with their own and their own of humor. In the library she had not had much time to give them, but now she the luxury of stopping, Bessie Clark her had yet from its rheumatism, and with Oscar Martinsen that it would be Good Fun to go “mushrats.”
She touched the thought, “It would be sweet to have a of my own. I do want one. Tiny——No! Not yet! There's so much to do. And I'm still from the job. It's in my bones.”
She rested at home. She to the village common to all the world, or prairie; and with magic—dogs barking, making a of content, children at play, a man a rug, wind in the trees, a fiddling, a on the walk, voices of Bea and a grocer's boy in the kitchen, a anvil, a piano—not too near.
Twice a week, at least, she into the country with Kennicott, to in with sunset, or to call on who looked up to her as the squire's lady and thanked her for toys and magazines. Evenings she with her husband to the motion pictures and was by every other couple; or, till it too cold, they sat on the porch, to passers-by in motors, or to neighbors who were the leaves. The in the low sun; the was with the of leaves.
V
But she wanted some one to she say what she thought.
On a slow when she over and that the telephone would ring, Bea Miss Vida Sherwin.
Despite Vida Sherwin's eyes, if you had looked at her in detail you would have her lined, and not so much as with the off; you would have her flat, and her from and and penholder; her and plain cloth skirts undistinguished; and her too back, a forehead. But you did look at Vida Sherwin in detail. You couldn't. Her electric activity her. She was as as a chipmunk. Her fluttered; her came out in spurts; she sat on the of a chair in to be near her auditor, to send her and across.
She into the room out: “I'm you'll think the teachers have been in not near you, but we wanted to give you a to settled. I am Vida Sherwin, and I try to teach French and English and a other in the high school.”
“I've been to know the teachers. You see, I was a librarian——”
“Oh, you needn't tell me. I know all about you! Awful how much I know—this village. We need you so much here. It's a dear town (and isn't the thing in the world!) but it's a diamond, and we need you for the polishing, and we're so humble——” She stopped for and her with a smile.
“If I COULD help you in any way——Would I be the if I that I think Gopher Prairie is a ugly?”
“Of it's ugly. Dreadfully! Though I'm the only person in town to you safely say that. (Except Guy Pollock the lawyer—have you met him?—oh, you MUST!—he's a darling—intelligence and and so gentle.) But I don't so much about the ugliness. That will change. It's the that me hope. It's sound. Wholesome. But afraid. It needs live like you to it. I shall slave-drive you!”
“Splendid. What shall I do? I've been if it would be possible to have a good come here to lecture.”
“Ye-es, but don't you think it would be to work with agencies? Perhaps it will slow to you, but I was thinking——It would be if we you to teach Sunday School.”
Carol had the empty of one who that she has been to a complete stranger. “Oh yes. But I'm I wouldn't be much good at that. My religion is so foggy.”
“I know. So is mine. I don't a for dogma. Though I do to the in the of God and the of man and the of Jesus. As you do, of course.”
Carol looked and about having tea.
“And that's all you need teach in Sunday School. It's the personal influence. Then there's the library-board. You'd be so useful on that. And of there's our women's study club—the Thanatopsis Club.”
“Are they doing anything? Or do they read papers out of the Encyclopedia?”
Miss Sherwin shrugged. “Perhaps. But still, they are so earnest. They will respond to your interest. And the Thanatopsis do a good social work—they've the city plant so many trees, and they the rest-room for farmers' wives. And they do take such an in and culture. So—in fact, so very unique.”
Carol was disappointed—by nothing very tangible. She said politely, “I'll think them all over. I must have a while to look around first.”
Miss Sherwin to her, her hair, at her. “Oh, my dear, don't you I know? These days of marriage—they're to me. Home, and children that need you, and on you to keep them alive, and turn to you with their little smiles. And the and——” She her from Carol as she an activity of the of her chair, but she on with her briskness:
“I mean, you must help us when you're ready. . . . I'm you'll think I'm conservative. I am! So much to conserve. All this of American ideals. Sturdiness and and opportunity. Maybe not at Palm Beach. But, thank heaven, we're free from such social in Gopher Prairie. I have only one good quality—overwhelming in the and of our nation, our state, our town. It's so that sometimes I do have a on the ten-thousandaires. I shake 'em up and make 'em in ideals—yes, in themselves. But I into a of teaching. I need like you to me up. Tell me, what are you reading?”
“I've been re-reading 'The Damnation of Theron Ware.' Do you know it?”
“Yes. It was clever. But hard. Man wanted to tear down, not up. Cynical. Oh, I do I'm not a sentimentalist. But I can't see any use in this high-art that doesn't us day-laborers to on.”
Ensued a fifteen-minute about the in the world: It's art but is it pretty? Carol to be of observation. Miss Sherwin out for and a use of the properties of light. At the end Carol cried:
“I don't how much we disagree. It's a to have somebody talk something crops. Let's make Gopher Prairie to its foundations: let's have tea of coffee.”
The Bea helped her out the sewing-table, yellow and black top was with lines from a dressmaker's tracing-wheel, and to set it with an lunch-cloth, and the mauve-glazed Japanese tea-set which she had from St. Paul. Miss Sherwin her latest scheme—moral motion pictures for country districts, with light from a portable to a Ford engine. Bea was twice called to the hot-water and to make toast.
When Kennicott came home at five he to be courtly, as the husband of one who has tea. Carol that Miss Sherwin for supper, and that Kennicott Guy Pollock, the much-praised lawyer, the bachelor.
Yes, Pollock come. Yes, he was over the which had his going to Sam Clark's party.
Carol her impulse. The man would be an politician, about The Bride. But at the entrance of Guy Pollock she a personality. Pollock was a man of thirty-eight, slender, still, deferential. His voice was low. “It was very good of you to want me,” he said, and he offered no remarks, and did not ask her if she didn't think Gopher Prairie was “the little in the state.”
She that his might a thousand of and and silver.
At supper he his love for Sir Thomas Browne, Thoreau, Agnes Repplier, Arthur Symons, Claude Washburn, Charles Flandrau. He presented his diffidently, but he in Carol's bookishness, in Miss Sherwin's praise, in Kennicott's of any one who his wife.
Carol why Guy Pollock on at law-cases; why he in Gopher Prairie. She had no one she ask. Neither Kennicott Vida Sherwin would that there might be why a Pollock should not in Gopher Prairie. She the mystery. She and literary. She already had a Group. It would be only a while now she provided the town with and a knowledge of Galsworthy. She was doing things! As she the of and oranges, she to Pollock, “Don't you think we ought to up a club?”
