"Oh, they's enough here, and willing enough," said Mrs. Bates.
"Slipped off to get away from them. It was the quietest and the
peacefullest out there, Kate. I'd most liked to stay all day, but
it's getting on to dinner time, and I'm short of potatoes."
"Never mind the potatoes," said Kate. "Let the folks serve
themselves if they are hungry."
She went to the side of the smoke house, picked up a bench turned
up there, and carrying it to the shady side of a widely spreading
privet bush, she placed it where it would be best screened from
both house and barn. Then setting the potatoes in the shade, she
went to her mother, put her arm around her, and drew her to the
seat. She took her handkerchief and wiped her face, smoothed back
her straggled hair, and pulling out a pin, fastened the coil
better.
"Now rest a bit," she said, "and then tell me why you are glad to
see me, and exactly what you'd like me to do here. Mind, I've
been away seven years, and Adam told me not a word, except that
Father was gone."
"Humph! All missed the mark again," commented Mrs. Bates dryly.
"They all said he'd gone to fill you up, and get you on his side."
"Mother, what is the trouble?" asked Kate. "Take your time and
tell me what has happened, and what YOU want, not what Adam
wants."
Mrs. Bates relaxed her body a trifle, but gripped her hands
tightly together in her lap.
"Well, it was quick work," she said. "It all came yesterday
afternoon just like being hit by lightning. Pa hadn't failed a
particle that any one could see. Ate a big dinner of ham an'
boiled dumplings, an' him an' Hiram was in the west field. It was
scorchin' hot an' first Hiram saw, Pa was down. Sam Langley was
passin' an' helped get him in, an' took our horse an' ran for
Robert. He was in the country but Sam brought another doctor real
quick, an' he seemed to fetch Pa out of it in good shape, so we
thought he'd be all right, mebby by morning, though the doctor
said he'd have to hole up a day or two. He went away, promisin'
to send Robert back, and Hiram went home to feed. I set by Pa
fanning him an' putting cloths on his head. All at once he began
to chill.
"We thought it was only the way a-body was with sunstroke, and
past pilin' on blankets, we didn't pay much attention. He SAID he
was all right, so I went to milk. Before I left I gave him a
drink, an' he asked me to feel in his pants pocket an' get the key
an' hand him the deed box, till he'd see if everything was right.
Said he guessed he'd had a close call. You know how he was. I
got him the box and went to do the evening work. I hurried fast
as I could. Coming back, clear acrost the yard I smelt burning
wool, an' I dropped the milk an' ran. I dunno no more about just
what happened 'an you do. The house was full of smoke. Pa was on
the floor, most to the sitting-room door, his head and hair and
hands awfully burned, his shirt burned off, laying face down, and
clear gone. The minute I seen the way he laid, I knew he was
gone. The bed was pourin' smoke and one little blaze about six
inches high was shootin' up to the top. I got that out, and then
I saw most of the fire was smothered between the blankets where
he'd thrown them back to get out of the bed. I dunno why he
fooled with the lamp. It always stood on the little table in his
reach, but it was light enough to read fine print. All I can
figure is that the light was going out of his EYES, an' he thought
IT WAS GETTIN' DARK, so he tried to light the lamp to see the
deeds. He was fingerin' them when I left, but he didn't say he
couldn't see them. The lamp was just on the bare edge of the
table, the wick way up an' blackened, the chimney smashed on the
floor, the bed afire."