added hurriedly, “remember to tell me everything he says, Jeth. Will you do that fer me?”
“I sure will,” he answered soberly. There was a time when he would have teased her, but not that evening. There was no time for lighthearted teasing about Shadrach Yale now that the winter term of school was over.
Inside the house, she helped him pull on two pairs of heavy knitted socks, which helped to fill out the pair of Tom’s old shoes he was wearing, and she buttoned a heavy sheepskin coat around him, tying the collar up around his ears with her own red woolen scarf.
Ellen drew a flat loaf of white bread from the ashes of the fireplace and wrapped it in a clean cloth.
“This will keep yore hands warm fer a part of the way, at least. It ain’t much of a gift to carry, but maybe the two of you will relish a little change from corn bread....”
He was patient. He knew that after a while they would let him go. There might be another adjustment of his collar, another gift for Shad, more admonitions about his “comp’ny manners,” but, finally, they would let him go. And they did—finally. He had to have his coat unbuttoned at the last minute and Tom’s letter pinned securely inside his shirt, but after that there seemed to be no other reason for detaining him—nothing to do but stand at the window watching as he plunged out into the cold late-afternoon for his visit.
The deep ruts in the road were frozen and glazed with ice; the wind had a clean sweep across the prairies, a sweep that sometimes seemed about to carry Jethro before it. Tears froze on his cheeks, and the cold pounded against his forehead as he trudged along, weighted by the heavy, oversized shoes and the many layers of clothing. It was bitter, but not beyond the ordinary; suffering at the mercy of the elements was accepted by Jethro as being quite as natural as the hunger for green vegetables and fresh fruit that was always with him during the winter. When one found comfort, he was grateful, but he was never such a fool as to expect a great deal of it. The hardships one endured had a purpose; his mother had been careful to make him aware of that.
The schoolhouse with the teacher’s log room adjoining it stood almost a mile from the Creighton cabin. It had been customary in years past for the schoolmaster to room and board with first one family and then another throughout the district, but young Yale had protested against the lack of privacy, and Matthew Creighton had been sympathetic.
“A man has the right to the dignity of his own fireside after a day’s work,” he said, and he had allowed his sons and Shadrach to cut down trees from his own land for the annex.
Shadrach Yale put down an armful of wood when he saw his guest approaching and came out to the road to meet him.
“You look half frozen, Jeth,” he said, and taking the boy’s hand ran with him up to the log annex. “Come on inside; I’ll have you thawed out in a minute or two.”
Shadrach’s long, narrow room was cheerful and attractive in spite of its roughness. A bright red and gold paisley cloth covered his homemade table and fell in full folds almost to the floor; there were a few braided rugs of warmly colored woolens scattered about, and on the mantel of the fireplace were candlesticks of heavy brass worn to a smooth satin finish. Opposite the fireplace were shelves made of logs split in half and nailed against the wall to hold the books that Shadrach had brought with him from college.
A guitar hung on the wall at the south end of the room, and at that end, too, there was a wide bed made up with several comforters which Ellen had loaned him from her own store of bedding. A cupboard of heavy walnut put together with wooden pegs stood near the fireplace and held dishes, food, and cooking utensils. To Jethro the room seemed perfect, as beautiful as any man had a right to expect.
Shadrach helped him out of the sheepskin coat and put him in the armchair in front of the
“I sure will,” he answered soberly. There was a time when he would have teased her, but not that evening. There was no time for lighthearted teasing about Shadrach Yale now that the winter term of school was over.
Inside the house, she helped him pull on two pairs of heavy knitted socks, which helped to fill out the pair of Tom’s old shoes he was wearing, and she buttoned a heavy sheepskin coat around him, tying the collar up around his ears with her own red woolen scarf.
Ellen drew a flat loaf of white bread from the ashes of the fireplace and wrapped it in a clean cloth.
“This will keep yore hands warm fer a part of the way, at least. It ain’t much of a gift to carry, but maybe the two of you will relish a little change from corn bread....”
He was patient. He knew that after a while they would let him go. There might be another adjustment of his collar, another gift for Shad, more admonitions about his “comp’ny manners,” but, finally, they would let him go. And they did—finally. He had to have his coat unbuttoned at the last minute and Tom’s letter pinned securely inside his shirt, but after that there seemed to be no other reason for detaining him—nothing to do but stand at the window watching as he plunged out into the cold late-afternoon for his visit.
The deep ruts in the road were frozen and glazed with ice; the wind had a clean sweep across the prairies, a sweep that sometimes seemed about to carry Jethro before it. Tears froze on his cheeks, and the cold pounded against his forehead as he trudged along, weighted by the heavy, oversized shoes and the many layers of clothing. It was bitter, but not beyond the ordinary; suffering at the mercy of the elements was accepted by Jethro as being quite as natural as the hunger for green vegetables and fresh fruit that was always with him during the winter. When one found comfort, he was grateful, but he was never such a fool as to expect a great deal of it. The hardships one endured had a purpose; his mother had been careful to make him aware of that.
The schoolhouse with the teacher’s log room adjoining it stood almost a mile from the Creighton cabin. It had been customary in years past for the schoolmaster to room and board with first one family and then another throughout the district, but young Yale had protested against the lack of privacy, and Matthew Creighton had been sympathetic.
“A man has the right to the dignity of his own fireside after a day’s work,” he said, and he had allowed his sons and Shadrach to cut down trees from his own land for the annex.
Shadrach Yale put down an armful of wood when he saw his guest approaching and came out to the road to meet him.
“You look half frozen, Jeth,” he said, and taking the boy’s hand ran with him up to the log annex. “Come on inside; I’ll have you thawed out in a minute or two.”
Shadrach’s long, narrow room was cheerful and attractive in spite of its roughness. A bright red and gold paisley cloth covered his homemade table and fell in full folds almost to the floor; there were a few braided rugs of warmly colored woolens scattered about, and on the mantel of the fireplace were candlesticks of heavy brass worn to a smooth satin finish. Opposite the fireplace were shelves made of logs split in half and nailed against the wall to hold the books that Shadrach had brought with him from college.
A guitar hung on the wall at the south end of the room, and at that end, too, there was a wide bed made up with several comforters which Ellen had loaned him from her own store of bedding. A cupboard of heavy walnut put together with wooden pegs stood near the fireplace and held dishes, food, and cooking utensils. To Jethro the room seemed perfect, as beautiful as any man had a right to expect.
Shadrach helped him out of the sheepskin coat and put him in the armchair in front of the
Similar Books
