Digging for Gold 39

Digging for Gold 39

“Thank you. I would like to hear it.”

 

Mrs. Tarbox took from her pocket a letter which she had perused half a

dozen times already, and read as follows:

 

“Well, mother, I have at last reached California. It is a long and

tiresome journey across the plains. I hope, when I go back, I shall be

able to go by steamer to New York. However, I made some pleasant friends

on the way, and I have good courage, though my money is nearly out.”

 

“Humph!” interrupted Seth Tarbox; “just as I expected.”

 

“Grant didn’t take a fortune with him,” said his mother. “How could you

expect he would have much money left when he reached the end of his

journey?”

 

“I didn’t, Mrs. T. That is what I said. Read on.”

 

“I haven’t decided yet what I will do first. I expect sometime to go to

the gold fields, but I may get a position first and earn some money to

buy my outfit. I am well and strong, and I am sure I can make a living

some way.”

 

“Mark my words,” said Sophia Bartlett, “the time will come when your son

will wish he had never left the farm.”

 

“I don’t feel sure of that,” said Mrs. Tarbox. “Grant is a manly boy,

and he can work in California just as well as here, and will be paid

better than here.”

 

“Do you mean to say that I didn’t pay the boy enough for his work, Mrs.

T.?”

 

“I will express no opinion on that subject. California is a new country,

where labor is naturally more highly compensated than here.”

 

“I am glad I am not in Grant’s place,” said Rodney.

 

“So am I,” added his mother; “but you always had good judgment, Rodney.”

 

“I hope so. When I am a man I may go to California, just to see the

country, but I prefer to stay at home now.”

 

“He has an old head on young shoulders,” said his mother complacently.

 

“It’s my birthday to-morrow, grandpa,” observed Rodney significantly.

 

“Is it?” asked Seth Tarbox. “How old are you?”

 

“Sixteen.”

 

“Well, well, I didn’t know you were getting on so fast. There’s a

quarter for a birthday present.”

 

Rodney accepted the coin, but turned up his nose at his grandfather’s

niggardliness, and expressed himself freely on the subject to his mother

on the way home.

 

“What a mean old skinflint grandfather is!” he exclaimed. “Twenty-five

cents, and he a rich man!”

 

“Hush, Rodney, don’t let any one hear you speak in that way!”

 

“But he is mean! you can’t deny it!”

 

“He is close,” said Mrs. Bartlett cautiously. “Most farmers are, I

believe; but just wait patiently, and the money which he has saved by

his economy will come to us. You must seem grateful, or he may take a

notion to leave his property to Mrs. Tarbox and Grant.”

 

“Oh, I’ll be careful, ma, never fear! I hope Grant Colburn won’t get a

cent.”

 

“I don’t think he will. In fact, I feel sure of it.”

 

“Do you think Mrs. Tarbox will get much?”

 

“Not if I can prevent it!” said his mother, closing her lips firmly.

 

“I expect she only married the old man for his money.”

 

“I suppose she wanted a home for herself and Grant.”

 

“Will the law give her anything?”

 

“Yes; but I’ve thought of a way to get over that.”

 

“What is it, ma?”

 

“If I can induce your grandfather to make a deed of gift to me of his

property before he dies, on condition of my supporting him the rest of

his life, that will evade the law.”

 

“That will be a good idea. I shouldn’t wonder if Grant and his mother

had to go to the poorhouse at last. He’d come down off his high horse

then.”

 

“I hope not. Mrs. Tarbox can get employment as a housekeeper probably,

and Grant ought to be able to support himself. Of course they must look

out for themselves.”

 

Not long afterward, unfortunately for Mrs. Tarbox, her husband lost

fifty dollars. He had sold a horse to a man in a neighboring town for an

excessive price, and fifty dollars remained due on the purchase money.

This the purchaser refused to pay, and as his property was all in his

wife’s name, Seth Tarbox was unable to collect it, although, as may be

imagined, he moved heaven and earth to accomplish it.

 

This made him feel very poor, and he determined to make it up by

retrenchment in his personal expenses. Had the economy fallen upon

himself he might have been justified, but as it occurred to him that by

dismissing the woman who helped his wife on washing day he could save

seventy-five cents a week, he was mean enough to make this proposal.

 

Mrs. Tarbox could hardly believe him in earnest, for she saw only too

clearly at what he was aiming.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXXVII.

MRS. BARTLETT’S LITTLE SCHEME.

 

 

“Do you mean that I am to get along without Nancy, Mr. Tarbox?” Mrs.

Tarbox said quickly.

 

“I’ve met with losses, Mrs. T.,” replied Seth, “and I don’t feel as if I

could afford to pay out seventy-five cents every Monday for work that

might as well be done in the family.”

 

“Does that mean that you expect me to do it, Mr. Tarbox?”

 

“Ahem!” said Tarbox, a little embarrassed. “It’s your duty to help bear

my burden.”

 

“I think I do that. I am sure that I work beyond my strength.”

 

“We all have to work. Don’t I work in the fields, Mrs. Tarbox?”

 

“You choose to do it. You are able to lead an easier life.”

 

“Who says I am?”

 

“Everybody in the village knows that you are well to do, and have a

large sum in the savings-bank.”

 

Seth Tarbox frowned.

 

“If I have got a little money ahead,” he said, “I don’t mean to squander

it in extravagant living.”

 

“I don’t think you are in any danger of it,” remarked Mrs. Tarbox dryly.

 

Mr. Tarbox left the house, and made it in his way to call at the home of

Nancy Stokes and give her notice that her services would not be needed

on the coming Monday.

 

Nancy opened her eyes in surprise.

 

“Why, Mr. Tarbox,” she said, “I’ve been goin’ to your house for ten

years. Have you got any other woman in my place?”

 

“No, Miss Stokes; but I’ve been thinkin’ that I can’t afford to pay

seventy-five cents a week for washin’.”

 

“Why, you haven’t failed, have you, Mr. Tarbox?”

 

“No; but I’ve met with losses,” answered Seth vaguely.

 

“They must be big losses if you can’t afford the little money you’ve

paid me.”

 

“You may call it little, Nancy, but seventy-five cents a week amounts in

a year to thirty-nine dollars.”

 

“It’ll take more‘n one thirty-nine dollars to break you, Mr. Tarbox.”

 

“You seem to know a good deal about my affairs, Nancy. I’m the best

judge of that.”

 

“Who’s goin’ to do the washin’, then?”

 

“Mrs. Tarbox will do it.”

 

“The whole of it?”

 

“Yes; my first wife used to do it.”

 

“And died of broken health at forty.”

 

Seth Tarbox did not relish the plain speaking of Miss Stokes, and

turning on his heel, walked away.

 

Nancy made it a point to call at the farm during the day.

 

“I hear, Mrs. Tarbox,” she said, “that you are going to do all the

washing hereafter.”

 

“Who told you?” asked Mrs. Tarbox quickly.

 

“Mr. Tarbox.”

 

“He is mistaken,” said Mrs. Tarbox calmly. “I shall do nothing of the

kind.”

 

“He expects it.”

 

“I can’t help that.”

 

“Good for you, Mrs. Tarbox. Don’t let him impose upon you. He’s too mean

to live.”

 

The next Monday Seth Tarbox went out to his farm work in a complacent

frame of mind. His wife had said nothing of the washing, and he

concluded that when she found Nancy absent, she would turn to and do the

whole herself. But when he returned to dinner he looked in vain for the

clothes line.

 

“You’re late about your washin’, Mrs. T.,” he said, as he entered the kitchen.