wouldn't a-batted an eye. The stock has gone to seed, that's what
it has."
"No, it hasn't," Saxon defended. "The stock is all right. We're
just as able as our folks ever were, and we're healthier on top
of it. We've been brought up different, that's all. We've lived
in cities all our lives. We know the city sounds and thugs, but
we don't know the country ones. Our training has been unnatural,
that's the whole thing in a nutshell. Now we're going in for
natural training. Give us a little time, and we'll sleep as sound
out of doors as ever your father or mine did."
"But not on sand," Billy groaned.
"We won't try. That's one thing, for good and all, we've learned
the very first time. And now hush up and go to sleep."
Their fears had vanished, but the sand, receiving now their
undivided attention, multiplied its unyieldingness. Billy dozed
off first, and roosters were crowing somewhere in the distance
when Saxon's eyes closed. But they could not escape the sand, and
their sleep was fitful.
At the first gray of dawn, Billy crawled out and built a roaring
fire. Saxon drew up to it shiveringly. They were hollow-eyed and
weary. Saxon began to laugh. Billy joined sulkily, then
brightened up as his eyes chanced upon the coffee pot, which he
immediately put on to boil.
CHAPTER III
It is forty miles from Oakland to San Jose, and Saxon and Billy
accomplished it in three easy days. No more obliging and angrily
garrulous linemen were encountered, and few were the
opportunities for conversation with chance wayfarers. Numbers of
tramps, carrying rolls of blankets, were met, traveling both
north and south on the county road; and from talks with them
Saxon quickly learned that they knew little or nothing about
farming. They were mostly old men, feeble or besotted, and all
they knew was work--where jobs might be good, where jobs had been
good; but the places they mentioned were always a long way off.
One thing she did glean from them, and that was that the district
she and Billy were passing through was "small-farmer" country in
which labor was rarely hired, and that when it was it generally
was Portuguese.
The farmers themselves were unfriendly. They drove by Billy and
Saxon, often with empty wagons, but never invited them to ride.
When chance offered and Saxon did ask questions, they looked her
over curiously, or suspiciously, and gave ambiguous and
facetious answers.
"They ain't Americans, damn them," Billy fretted. "Why, in the
old days everybody was friendly to everybody."
But Saxon remembered her last talk with her brother.
"It's the spirit of the times, Billy. The spirit has changed.
Besides, these people are too near. Wait till we get farther away
from the cities, then we'll find them more friendly."
"A measly lot these ones are," he sneered.
"Maybe they've a right to be," she laughed. "For all you know,
more than one of the scabs you've slugged were sons of theirs."
"If I could only hope so," Billy said fervently. "But I don't
care if I owned ten thousand acres, any man hikin' with his
blankets might be just as good a man as me, an' maybe better, for
all I'd know. I'd give 'm the benefit of the doubt, anyway."
Billy asked for work, at first, indiscriminately, later, only at
the larger farms. The unvarying reply was that there was no work.
A few said there would be plowing after the first rains. Here and
there, in a small way, dry plowing was going on. But in the main
the farmers were waiting.
"But do you know how to plow?" Saxon asked Billy.
"No; but I guess it ain't much of a trick to turn. Besides, next
man I see plowing I'm goin' to get a lesson from."
In the mid-afternoon of the second day his opportunity came. He
climbed on top of the fence of a small field and watched an old
man plow round and round it.
"Aw, shucks, just as easy as easy," Billy commented scornfully.
"If an old codger like that can handle one plow, I can handle
two."
"Go on and try it," Saxon urged.
"What's the good?"
"Cold feet," she jeered, but with a smiling face. "All you have
to do is ask him. All he can do is say no. And what if he does?
You faced the Chicago Terror twenty rounds without flinching."
"Aw, but it's different," he demurred, then dropped to the ground
inside the fence. "Two to one the old geezer turns me down."
"No, he won't. Just tell him you want to learn, and ask him if
he'll let you drive around a few times. Tell him it won't cost
him anything."
"Huh! If he gets chesty I'll take his blamed plow away from
him."
From the top of the fence, but too far away to hear, Saxon
watched the colloquy. After several minutes, the lines were
transferred to Billy's neck, the handles to his hands. Then the
team started, and the old man, delivering a rapid fire of
instructions, walked alongside of Billy. When a few turns had
been made, the farmer crossed the plowed strip to Saxon, and
joined her on the rail.
"He's plowed before, a little mite, ain't he?"
Saxon shook her head.
"Never in his life. But he knows how to drive horses."
"He showed he wasn't all greenhorn, an' he learns pretty quick."
Here the farmer chuckled and cut himself a chew from a plug of
tobacco. "I reckon he won't tire me out a-settin' here."
The unplowed area grew smaller and smaller, but Billy evinced no
intention of quitting, and his audience on the fence was deep in
conversation. Saxon's questions flew fast and furious, and she
was not long in concluding that the old man bore a striking
resemblance to the description the lineman had given of his
father.
Billy persisted till the field was finished, and the old man
invited him and Saxon to stop for the night. There was a disused
outbuilding where they would find a small cook stove, he said,
and also he would give them fresh milk. Further, if Saxon wanted
to test HER desire for farming, she could try her hand on the
cow.
The milking lesson did not prove as successful as Billy's
plowing; but when he had mocked sufficiently, Saxon challenged
him to try, and he failed as grievously as she. Saxon had eyes
and questions for everything, and it did not take her long to
realize that she was looking upon the other side of the farming
shield. Farm and farmer were old-fashioned. There was no
intensive cultivation. There was too much land too little farmed.
Everything was slipshod. House and barn and outbuildings were
fast falling into ruin. The front yard was weed-grown. There was
no vegetable garden. The small orchard was old, sickly, and
neglected. The trees were twisted, spindling, and overgrown with
a gray moss. The sons and daughters were away in the cities,
Saxon found out. One daughter had married a doctor, the other was
a teacher in the state normal school; one son was a locomotive
engineer,
the second was an architect, and the third was a police
court reporter in San Francisco. On occasion, the father said,
they helped out the old folks.
"What do you think?" Saxon asked Billy as he smoked his
after-supper cigarette.
His shoulders went up in a comprehensive shrug.
"Huh! That's easy. The old geezer's like his orchard--covered
with moss. It's plain as the nose on your face, after San
Leandro, that he don't know the first thing. An' them horses.
It'd be a charity to him, an' a savin' of money for him, to take
'em out an' shoot 'em both. You bet you don't see the Porchugeeze
with horses like them. An' it ain't a case of bein' proud, or
puttin' on side, to have good horses. It's brass tacks an'
business. It pays. That's the game. Old horses eat more in young
ones to keep in condition an' they can't do the same amount of
work. But you bet it costs just as much to shoe them. An' his is
scrub on top of it. Every minute he has them horses he's losin'
money. You oughta see the way they work an' figure horses in the
city."
They slept soundly, and, after an early breakfast, prepared to
start.
"I'd like to give you a couple of days' work," the old man
regretted, at parting, "but I can't see it. The ranch just about
keeps me and the old woman, now that the children are gone. An'
then it don't always. Seems times have been bad for a long spell
now. Ain't never been the same since Grover Cleveland."
Early in the afternoon, on the outskirts of San Jose, Saxon
called a halt.
"I'm going right in there and talk," she declared, "unless they
set the dogs on me. That's the prettiest place yet, isn't it?"
Billy, who was always visioning hills and spacious ranges for his
horses, mumbled unenthusiastic assent.
"And the vegetables! Look at them! And the flowers growing along
the borders! That beats tomato plants in wrapping paper."
"Don't see the sense of it," Billy objected. "Where's the money
might be growin' on?"
"And that's what I'm going to find out." She pointed to a woman,
stooped to the ground and working with a trowel; in front of the
tiny bungalow. "I don't know what she's like, but at the worst
she can only be mean. See! She's looking at us now. Drop your
load alongside of mine, and come on in."
Billy slung the blankets from his shoulder to the ground, but
elected to wait. As Saxon went up the narrow, flower-bordered
walk, she noted two men at work among the vegetables--one an old
Chinese, the other old and of some dark-eyed foreign breed. Here
were neatness, efficiency, and intensive cultivation with a
vengeance--even her untrained eye could see that. The woman stood
up and turned from her flowers, and Saxon saw that she was
middle-aged, slender, and simply but nicely dressed. She wore
glasses, and Saxon's reading of her face was that it was kind but
nervous looking.
"I don't want anything to-day," she said, before Saxon could
speak, administering the rebuff with a pleasant smile.
Saxon groaned inwardly over the black-covered telescope basket.
Evidently the woman had seen her put it down.
"We're not peddling," she explained quickly.
"Oh, I am sorry for the mistake."
This time the woman's smile was even pleasanter, and she waited
for Saxon to state her errand.
Nothing loath, Saxon took it at a plunge.
"We're looking for land. We want to be farmers, you know, and
before we get the land we want to find out what kind of land we
want. And seeing your pretty place has just filled me up with
questions. You see, we don't know anything about farming. We've
lived in the city all our life, and now we've given it up and are
going to live in the country and be happy."
She paused. The woman's face seemed to grow quizzical, though the
pleasantness did not abate.
"But how do you know you will be happy in the country?" she
asked.
"I don't know. All I do know is that poor people can't be happy
in the city where they have labor troubles all the time. If they
can't be happy in the country, then there's no happiness
anywhere, and that doesn't seem fair, does it?"
"It is sound reasoning, my dear, as far as it goes. But you must
remember that there are many poor people in the country and many
unhappy people."
"You look neither poor nor unhappy," Saxon challenged.
"You ARE a dear."
Saxon saw the pleased flush in the other's face, which lingered
as she went on.
"But still, I may be peculiarly qualified to live and succeed in
the country. As you say yourself, you've spent your life in the
city. You don't know the first thing about the country. It might
even break your heart."
Saxon's mind went back to the terrible months in the Pine street
cottage.
"I know already that the city will break my heart. Maybe the
country will, too, but just the same it's my only chance, don't
you see. It's that or nothing. Besides, our folks before us
were all of the country. It seems the more natural way. And
better, here I am, which proves that 'way down inside I must want
the country, must, as you call it, be peculiarly qualified for
the country, or else I wouldn't be here."
The other nodded approval, and looked at her with growing
interest.
"That young man--" she began.
"Is my husband. He was a teamster until the big strike came. My
name is Roberts, Saxon Roberts, and my husband is William
Roberts."
"And I am Mrs. Mortimer," the other said, with a bow of
acknowledgment. "I am a widow. And now, if you will ask your
husband in, I shall try to answer some of your many questions.
Tell him to put the bundles inside the gate. . . . And now what
are all the questions you are filled with?"
"Oh, all kinds. How does it pay? How did you manage it all? How
much did the land cost? Did you build that beautiful house? How
much do you pay the men? How did you learn all the different
kinds of things, and which grew best and which paid best? What is
the best way to sell them? How do you sell them?" Saxon paused
and laughed. "Oh, I haven't begun yet. Why do you have flowers on
the borders everywhere? I looked over the Portuguese farms around
Mrs. Mortimer held up her hand. "Let me answer the last first.
It is the key to almost everything."
But Billy arrived, and the explanation was deferred until after
his introduction.
"The flowers caught your eyes, didn't they, my dear?" Mrs.
Mortimer resumed. "And brought you in through my gate and right
up to me. And that's the very reason they were planted with the
vegetables--to catch eyes. You can't imagine how many eyes they
have caught, nor how many owners of eyes they have lured inside
my gate. This is a good road, and is a very popul
ar short country
drive for townsfolk. Oh, no; I've never had any luck with
automobiles. They can't see anything for dust. But I began when
nearly everybody still used carriages. The townswomen would drive
by. My flowers, and then my place, would catch their eyes. They
would tell their drivers to stop. And--well, somehow, I managed
to be in the front within speaking distance. Usually I succeeded
in inviting them in to see my flowers . . . and vegetables, of
course. Everything was sweet, clean, pretty. It all appealed.
And--" Mrs. Mortimer shrugged her shoulders. "It is well known
that the stomach sees through the eyes. The thought of vegetables
growing among flowers pleased their fancy. They wanted my
vegetables. They must have them. And they did, at double the
market price, which they were only too glad to pay. You see, I
became the fashion, or a fad, in a small way. Nobody lost. The
vegetables were certainly good, as good as any on the market and
often fresher. And, besides, my customers killed two birds with
one stone; for they were pleased with themselves for
philanthropic reasons. Not only did they obtain the finest and
freshest possible vegetables, but at the same time they were
happy with the knowledge that they were helping a deserving
widow-woman. Yes, and it gave a certain tone to their
establishments to be able to say they bought Mrs. Mortimer's
vegetables. But that's too big a side to go into. In short, my
little place became a show place--anywhere to go, for a drive or
anything, you know, when time has to be killed. And it became
noised about who I was, and who my husband had been, what I had
been. Some of the townsladies I had known personally in the old
days. They actually worked for my success. And then, too, I used
to serve tea. My patrons became my guests for the time being. I
still serve it, when they drive out to show me off to their
friends. So you see, the flowers are one of the ways I
succeeded."
Saxon was glowing with appreciation, but Mrs. Mortimer, glancing
at Billy, noted not entire approval. His blue eyes were clouded.
"Well, out with it," she encouraged. "What are you thinking?"
To Saxon's surprise, he answered directly, and to her double
surprise, his criticism was of a nature which had never entered
her head.
"It's just a trick," Billy expounded. "That's what I was gettin'
at--"
"But a paying trick," Mrs. Mortimer interrupted, her eyes dancing
and vivacious behind the glasses.
"Yes, and no," Billy said stubbornly, speaking in his slow,
deliberate fashion. "If every farmer was to mix flowers an'
vegetables, then every farmer would get double the market price,
an' then there wouldn't be any double market price. Everything'd
be as it was before."
"You are opposing a theory to a fact," Mrs. Mortimer stated. "The
fact is that all the farmers do not do it. The fact is that I do
receive double the price. You can't get away from that."
Billy was unconvinced, though unable to reply.
"Just the same," he muttered, with a slow shake of the head, "I
don't get the hang of it. There's something wrong so far as we're
concerned--my wife an' me, I mean. Maybe I'll get hold of it
after a while."
"And in the meantime, we'll look around," Mrs. Mortimer invited.
"I want to show you everything, and tell you how I make it go.
Afterward, we'll sit down, and I'll tell you about the beginning.
You see--" she bent her gaze on Saxon--"I want you thoroughly to
understand that you can succeed in the country if you go about it
right. I didn't know a thing about it when I began, and I didn't
have a fine big man like yours. I was all alone. But I'll tell
you about that."
For the next hour, among vegetables, berry-bushes and fruit
trees, Saxon stored her brain with a huge mass of information to