CAROL'S was in her walks with the baby. Hugh wanted to know what the box-elder tree said, and what the Ford said, and what the big cloud said, and she told him, with a that she was not in the least making up stories, but the of things. They had an for the hitching-post in of the mill. It was a post, and agreeable; the leg of it the sunlight, while its neck, by hitching-straps, one's fingers. Carol had been to the earth as a of color and great satisfying masses; she had in people and in ideas about having ideas; but Hugh's questions her to the of sparrows, robins, jays, yellowhammers; she her in the of swallows, and added to it a about their and family squabbles.
She her of boredom. She said to Hugh, “We're two old the world,” and he her, “Roamin' round—roamin' round.”
The high adventure, the place to which they joyously, was the house of Miles and Bea and Olaf Bjornstam.
Kennicott of the Bjornstams. He protested, “What do you want to talk to that for?” He that a “Swede girl” was low company for the son of Dr. Will Kennicott. She did not explain. She did not it herself; did not know that in the Bjornstams she her friends, her club, her and her of cynicism. For a time the of Juanita Haydock and the Jolly Seventeen had been a from the of Aunt Bessie, but the had not continued. The her nervous. They talked so loud, always so loud. They a room with cackle; their and they nine times over. Unconsciously, she had the Jolly Seventeen, Guy Pollock, Vida, and every one save Mrs. Dr. Westlake and the friends she did not know as friends—the Bjornstams.
To Hugh, the Red Swede was the most and powerful person in the world. With he after while Miles the cows, his one pig—an animal of and instincts—or a chicken. And to Hugh, Olaf was lord among men, less than the old monarch, King Miles, but more of the relations and of things, of small sticks, playing-cards, and hoops.
Carol saw, though she did not admit, that Olaf was not only more than her own dark child, but more gracious. Olaf was a Norse chieftain: straight, sunny-haired, large-limbed, to his subjects. Hugh was a vulgarian; a man. It was Hugh that and said “Let's play”; Olaf that opened and “All right,” in gentleness. If Hugh him—and Hugh did him—Olaf was but shocked. In he toward the house, while Hugh his and the of favor.
The two friends played with an which Miles had out of a starch-box and four red spools; together they into a mouse-hole, with though without results.
Bea, the and Bea, gave and to children, and if Carol a cup of coffee and a of knackebrod, she was desolated.
Miles had done well with his dairy. He had six cows, two hundred chickens, a separator, a Ford truck. In the he had a two-room to his shack. That was to Hugh a carnival. Uncle Miles did the most spectacular, things: ran up the ladder; on the ridge-pole, a and something about “To arms, my citizens”; than Aunt Bessie iron handkerchiefs; and a two-by-six with Hugh on one end and Olaf on the other. Uncle Miles's most was to make not on paper but right on a new board, with the pencil in the world. There was a thing seeing!
The tools! In his office Father had in their and shapes, but they were sharp, they were something called sterized, and they were not for boys to touch. In it was a good to “I must not touch,” when you looked at the on the in Father's office. But Uncle Miles, who was a person to Father, let you all his the saws. There was a with a head; there was a metal thing like a big L; there was a magic instrument, very precious, out of red and gold, with a which a drop—no, it wasn't a drop, it was a nothing, which in the water, but the nothing LOOKED like a drop, and it ran in a way up and the tube, no how you the magic instrument. And there were nails, very different and clever—big spikes, middle-sized ones which were not very interesting, and shingle-nails much than the fussed-up in the yellow book.
II
While he had on the Miles had talked to Carol. He now that so long as he in Gopher Prairie he would a pariah. Bea's Lutheran friends were as much by his as the merchants by his radicalism. “And I can't to keep my mouth shut. I think I'm being a baa-lamb, and not any than 'c-a-t cat,' but when have gone, I re'lize I've been on their religious corns. Oh, the in, and that Danish shoemaker, and one from Elder's factory, and a Svenskas, but you know Bea: big good-hearted like her wants a of around—likes to over 'em—never satisfied unless she herself out making coffee for somebody.
“Once she me and me to the Methodist Church. I goes in, as Widow Bogart, and still and a while the is us with his on evolution. But afterwards, when the old were at the door and calling 'em 'Brother' and 'Sister,' they let me sail right by with a clinch. They I'm the town badman. Always will be, I guess. It'll have to be Olaf who goes on. 'And sometimes——Blamed if I don't like out and saying, 'I've been conservative. Nothing to it. Now I'm going to start something in these one-horse lumber-camps west of town.' But Bea's got me hypnotized. Lord, Mrs. Kennicott, do you re'lize what a jolly, square, woman she is? And I love Olaf——Oh well, I won't go and on you.
“Course I've had of up and going West. Maybe if they didn't know it beforehand, they wouldn't out I'd been of trying to think for myself. But—oh, I've hard, and up this dairy business, and I to start all over again, and move Bea and the kid into another one-room shack. That's how they us! Encourage us to be and own our own houses, and then, by golly, they've got us; they know we won't by lez—what is it? majesty?—I they know we won't be around that if we had a co-operative bank, we along without Stowbody. Well——As long as I can and play with Bea, and tell to Olaf about his daddy's in the woods, and how he a and Paul Bunyan, why, I don't mind being a bum. It's just for them that I mind. Say! Say! Don't a word to Bea, but when I this done, I'm going to her a phonograph!”
He did.
While she was with the her work-hungry found—washing, ironing, mending, baking, dusting, preserving, a chicken, painting the sink; which, she was Miles's full partner, were and creative—Bea to the records with like that of in a warm stable. The gave her a with a above. The original one-room was now a living-room, with the phonograph, a leather-upholstered golden-oak rocker, and a picture of Governor John Johnson.
In late July Carol to the Bjornstams' of a to her opinion of Beavers and Calibrees and Joralemons. She Olaf abed, from a fever, and Bea and but trying to keep up her work. She Miles and worried:
“They don't look at all well. What's the matter?”
“Their are out of whack. I wanted to call in Doc Kennicott, but Bea thinks the doesn't like us—she thinks maybe he's you come here. But I'm worried.”
“I'm going to call the doctor at once.”
She over Olaf. His were stupid, he moaned, he his forehead.
“Have they been something that's been for them?” she to Miles.
“Might be water. I'll tell you: We used to our water at Oscar Eklund's place, over across the street, but Oscar at me, and I was a not to a well of my own. One time he said, 'Sure, you are great on up other folks' money—and water!' I if he it up there'd be a fuss, and I ain't safe to have around, once a starts; I'm likely to myself and let with a in the snoot. I offered to pay Oscar but he refused—he'd have the to kid me. So I water at Mrs. Fageros's, in the there, and I don't it's good. Figuring to my own well this fall.”
One word was Carol's while she listened. She to Kennicott's office. He her out; nodded, said, “Be right over.”
He Bea and Olaf. He his head. “Yes. Looks to me like typhoid.”
“Golly, I've in lumber-camps,” Miles, all the out of him. “Have they got it very bad?”
“Oh, we'll take good of them,” said Kennicott, and for the time in their he on Miles and his shoulder.
“Won't you need a nurse?” Carol.
“Why——” To Miles, Kennicott hinted, “Couldn't you Bea's cousin, Tina?”
“She's at the old folks', in the country.”
“Then let me do it!” Carol insisted. “They need some one to cook for them, and isn't it good to give them baths, in typhoid?”
“Yes. All right.” Kennicott was automatic; he was the official, the physician. “I it would be hard to a nurse here in town just now. Mrs. Stiver is with an case, and that town nurse of yours is off on vacation, ain't she? All right, Bjornstam can spell you at night.”
All week, from eight each till midnight, Carol them, them, sheets, took temperatures. Miles to let her cook. Terrified, pallid, noiseless in feet, he did the work and the sweeping, his big red hands careful. Kennicott came in three times a day, and in the sick-room, to Miles.
Carol how great was her love for her friends. It her through; it her arm and to them. What her was the of Bea and Olaf into invalids, after taking food, for the of sleep at night.
During the second week Olaf's powerful were flabby. Spots of a pink came out on his and back. His sank. He looked frightened. His was and revolting. His voice to a murmur, and racking.
Bea had on her too long at the beginning. The moment Kennicott had ordered her to she had to collapse. One early she them by screaming, in an pain, and an hour she was in a delirium. Till Carol was with her, and not all of Bea's through the of half-delirious pain was so to Carol as the way in which Miles into the room from the top of the narrow stairs. Carol slept three hours next morning, and ran back. Bea was but she nothing save, “Olaf—ve have such a good time——”
At ten, while Carol was preparing an ice-bag in the kitchen, Miles answered a knock. At the door she saw Vida Sherwin, Maud Dyer, and Mrs. Zitterel, wife of the Baptist pastor. They were grapes, and women's-magazines, with high-colored pictures and fiction.
“We just your wife was sick. We've come to see if there isn't something we can do,” Vida.
Miles looked at the three women. “You're too late. You can't do nothing now. Bea's always of that you would come see her. She wanted to have a and be friends. She used to waiting for somebody to knock. I've her here, waiting. Now——Oh, you ain't God-damning.” He the door.
All day Carol Olaf's oozing. He was emaciated. His were clear lines, his skin was clammy, his was but rapid. It beat—beat—beat in a drum-roll of death. Late that he sobbed, and died.
Bea did not know it. She was delirious. Next morning, when she went, she did not know that Olaf would no longer his on the door-step, no longer his of the cattle-yard; that Miles's son would not go East to college.
Miles, Carol, Kennicott were silent. They the together, their veiled.
“Go home now and sleep. You're tired. I can't pay you for what you done,” Miles to Carol.
“Yes. But I'll be here tomorrow. Go with you to the funeral,” she said laboriously.
When the time for the came, Carol was in bed, collapsed. She that neighbors would go. They had not told her that word of Miles's to Vida had spread through town, a fury.
It was only by that, on her in bed, she through the window and saw the of Bea and Olaf. There was no music, no carriages. There was only Miles Bjornstam, in his black wedding-suit, walking alone, down, the that the of his wife and baby.
An hour after, Hugh came into her room crying, and when she said as as she could, “What is it, dear?” he besought, “Mummy, I want to go play with Olaf.”
That Juanita Haydock in to Carol. She said, “Too about this Bea that was your girl. But I don't waste any on that man of hers. Everybody says he too much, and his family awful, and that's how they got sick.”