A Daughter of the Land

"How long will it take?" he said sullenly.

"I haven't an idea. I'd have to go the Hartley and examine the

records and be sure that there was no flaw in the deeds to the

land; but the first thing is to get a surveyor and know for sure

if you have a water-power that will work and not infringe on your

neighbours. A thing like this can't be done in a few minutes'

persuasive conversation. It will take weeks."

It really seemed as if it would take months. Kate went to Walden

that afternoon, set the children playing in the ravine while she

sketched it, made the best estimate she could of its fall, and

approved the curve on the opposite bank which George thought could

be cleared for a building site and lumber yard. Then she added a

location for a dam and a bridge site, and went home to figure and

think. The further she went in these processes the more hopeless

the project seemed. She soon learned that there must be an engine

with a boiler to run the saw. The dam could be used only to make

a pond to furnish the water needed; but at that it would be

cheaper than to dig a cistern or well. She would not even suggest

to Aunt Ollie to sell any of the home forty. The sale of the

remainder at the most hopeful price she dared estimate would not

bring half the money needed, and it would come in long-time

payments. Lumber, bricks, machinery, could not be had on time of

any length, while wages were cash every Saturday night.

"It simply can't be done," said Kate, and stopped thinking about

it, so far as George knew.

He was at once plunged into morose moping; he became sullen and

indifferent about the work, ugly with Kate and the children, until

she was driven almost frantic, and projects nearly as vague as

some of George's began to float through her head.

One Saturday morning Kate had risen early and finished cleaning up

her house, baking, and scrubbing porches. She had taken a bath to

freshen and cool herself and was standing before her dresser,

tucking the last pins in her hair, when she heard a heavy step on

the porch and a loud knock on the screen door. She stood at an

angle where she could peep; she looked as she reached for her

dress. What she saw carried her to the door forgetful of the

dress. Adam, Jr., stood there, white and shaken, steadying

himself against the casing.

"Adam!" cried Kate. "Is Mother --?"

He shook his head.

"Father --?" she panted.

He nodded, seeming unable to speak. Kate's eyes darkened and

widened. She gave Adam another glance and opened the door. "Come

in," she said. "When did it happen? How did he get hurt?"