A Daughter of the Land

"Why didn't you think of that before you got married? What was

your rush, anyway? I can't figure it to save my soul," he said.

"George, the school can't go," she cried. "If what you say is

true, and I suspect it is, I must have money to see me through."

"Then set your wits to work and fix things up with your father,"

he said casually.

Kate arose tall and straight, standing unwaveringly as she looked

at him in blazing contempt.

"So?" she said. "This is the kind of man you are? I'm not so

helpless as you think me. I have a refuge. I know where to find

it. You'll teach my school until I'm able to take it myself, if

the Trustee and patrons will allow you, or I'll sever my relations

with you as quickly as I formed them. You have no practice; I

have grave doubts if you can get any; this is our only chance for

the money we must have this winter. Go ask the Trustee to come

here until I can make arrangements with him."

Then she wavered and rolled on the bed again. George stood

looking at her between narrowed eyelids.

"Tactics I use with Mother don't go with you, old girl," he said

to himself. "Thing of fire and tow, stubborn as an ox; won't be

pushed a hair's breadth; old Bates over again -- alike as two

peas. But I'll break you, damn you, I'll break you; only, I WANT

that school. Lots easier than kneading somebody's old stiff

muscles, while the money is sure. Oh, I go after the Trustee, all

right!"

He revived Kate, and telling her to keep quiet, and not excite

herself, he explained that it was a terrible sacrifice to him to

put off opening his office any longer; she must forgive him for

losing self-control when he thought of it; but for her dear sake

he would teach until she was better -- possibly she would be all

right in a few days, and then she could take her work again.

Because she so devoutly hoped it, Kate made that arrangement with

the Trustee. Monday, she lay half starved, yet gagging and ill,

while George went to teach her school. As she contemplated that,

she grew sicker than she had been before. When she suddenly

marshalled all the facts she knew of him, she stoutly refused to

think of what Nancy Ellen had said; when she reviewed his

character and disposition, and thought of him taking charge of the

minds of her pupils, Kate suddenly felt she must not allow that to

happen, she must not! Then came another thought, even more

personal and terrible, a thought so disconcerting she mercifully

lost consciousness again.

She sent for the village doctor, and found no consolation from her

talk with him. She was out of the school; that was settled. No

harpy ever went to its meat with one half the zest Mrs. Holt found

in the situation. With Kate so ill she could not stand on her

feet half the time, so ill she could not reply, with no spirit

left to appeal to George, what more could be asked? Mrs. Holt

could add to every grievance she formerly had, that of a sick

woman in the house for her to wait on. She could even make vile

insinuations to Kate, prostrate and helpless, that she would not

have dared otherwise. She could prepare food that with a touch of

salt or sugar where it was not supposed to be, would have sickened

a well person. One day George came in from school and saw a bowl

of broth sitting on a chair beside Kate's bed.