ぎくしゃくしていた恋

I didn't," I protested hotly; "I never said I knew all about cattle when"——

I stopped, disconcerted turn to the corners of　her mouth. If she had said, in words, that I had convicted myself by my denial, I could have argued the point, but this silent denunciation was distracting. I stared for a moment with uncomprehending hauteur, then strode from the room, trying to make my back view appear like that of a man who might possibly escape being mangled by a train or dying of heart failure until his wife had an opportunity to apologize for her heartless conduct. This device had never failed; it didn't this time. I was reaching for my hat in the hall when Marion called me. I looked back, virtuously impassive, but I could not suppress my joy when I saw in her face, not a sorrowful willingness to forgive me this time, but loving toleration. What mattered forty dollarsecig liquid, or even forty cows, if I might once more be restored to favor?

It was in all sincerity that I assured her that I would profit by my experience, for it did not seem possible that I could ever again meet a cow on terms of mental superiority, and yet, in a few days, time and my elastic temperament had such a mellowing[Pg 129] influence that I lost all sensitiveness on the subject; indeed, after pledging the butcher to secrecy, I found myself telling Andy Taylor with the gusto of an onlooker. And later, when we had, through the good offices of the butcher, found a suitable cow that wasn't dry, I became able to appreciate the humor of the situation with quite an impersonal relish. Our new cow was not a graceful animal, like Ariadne, but she was easy to milk and docile, and, as Marion said, Paul could never be impaled on her horns, for she hadn't any.

I would not willingly have missed the pleasure of owning a cow, nor the satisfaction of being able to milk her, but I did not try to disguise from Marion the fact that it was hard work; indeed, the harder I work, the more I like her to be aware of it. Solicitude is cheering to me, so when, at first, she used to stand beside me and express a fear that I might hurt my back or burst a blood-vessel, I worked enthusiastically; but later, when attending to our cow became a part of the inevitable daily routine, and when I milked in solitude, I got very tired and[Pg 130] thought morbid thoughts about hired men and other farm accessories that were not.

It is odd that the butcher's aggravating habit of leaving our gate open should have resulted in Marion's suggesting that we should hire William Wedder, the one available man exactly suited to our requirements. Also, I afterwards reminded Marion, if it had not been for what she called my negligence in not removing the gate-semaphore when winter set in, William's observant eye would not have detected anything unusual in the appearance of the place. I recalled, too, that I had several times been prevented from taking down the sign-board by the impossibility of finding the hammer and the wrench at the same time; not only that, but when both tools were to hand I had a strange instinct against making use of them for that purpose. Marion smilingly admitted that it was extraordinary; she suggested that perhaps I was influenced by the same instinct that led me to leave the Venetian shutters on the window frames all winter, instead of taking them off in the fall and[Pg 131] putting them on again in the spring. However, I was proud enough of the success of my invention to be content to see the obtrusive request "PLEASE CLOSE THIS GATE" swing uselessly in the wintry winds, while the gate itself stood open, half buried in the snowdrift that formed around it after every storm. If the gate were closed, the request retreated into obscurity behind a post, but when it was opened the board swung across the roadway, so that a person driving in or out would have to duck his head to avoid it. The butcher, for whose especial benefit I had taken all this trouble, regarded the device with gloomy suspicion when I showed him how it worked. Instead of admiring my ingenuity, he insinuated that it would be the means of frightening his horses, so I insisted upon his driving in and out several times until they showed complete unconcern. He appeared depressed by the thought that he could never again pretend that he forgot to close the gate, and although I secretly sympathized with him in his repugnance to taking unnecessary trouble, I was determined to break him off the habit of leaving the gate open.

Thus it happened that William Wedder, tramping along the road with a red bundle swung over his shoulder, against a blustering March wind, spied something that caused him to stop and think, to lay his stick and bundle in the hollow of a snowdrift, smooth out his face to a becoming gravity, and wend his way up to the house.

It was several hours later in the day when I, returning from the city, halted in the same spot and stared in amazement. The semaphore had vanished, the gate, standing open for months, imbedded in several feet of snow and ice, was now closed, a way being neatly cleared for its movement. I opened it and the warning notice shot out over my head, in perfect working order. I walked up to the house, puzzled but gratified, trying to conjecture how and why Marion had prepared this surprise. She opened the door, struggling to conceal her laughter at my countenance　leadership skills.

"How ever did"—I began.

"Hush! Come into the sitting-room, she said mysteriously. "There's a man in the kitchen!"

"A man!" I exclaimed, in agitation. I had warned Marion never to admit a tramp in my absence, and somehow I leaped to the conclusion that she had been imposed upon by a hardened villain. It was a relief to think she was no longer alonehk luxury apartments for rent.

She nodded. "Not an ordinary tramp," she said. "He's the dearest, funniest little old man, with pink cheeks like a baby's, and so clean looking. When he'd had his dinner"——

"You gave him his dinner?"