CHAPTER VII--RANDY OUTWITS JASON MEADE

The day after the picnic was a busy one for Mrs. Weston, and Randy, eager to be helpful, was really a fine assistant. She washed all the dishes, allowing little Prue to wipe the spoons, knives, and forks because they would not break if dropped, then she thoroughly cleansed the milk cans and put them just outside the door to dry in the bright sunlight.

"Now, mother, what do you suppose I'm going to do next?" said Randy.

"I don't know," said her mother, "but ye have worked this morning like all possessed."

"Well," said Randy, "I'm just going to bring in towels and aprons from the line and sprinkle and iron them, so's you can sit down awhile after dinner."

Mrs. Weston looked at the bright, flushed face a moment, then said: "I do declare, Randy, you're a real help. There ain't a better daughter in this town, if I do say it."

"Oh, mother," said Randy, "I'd 'most work my fingers off just to hear you say that. I help you because I love you, though somehow I never 'til now could say it."

Mrs. Weston wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron, then, turning to Randy, she kissed her, saying: "Why, Randy, it does me good to hear you say it, and, child, ye must know I'm all bound up in you and Prue. We busy folks sometimes forget to show how much we really feel."

"I mean," said Randy, "to make you and father happy, always; sometimes I forget to help, but always I mean to."

"I know ye do," said her mother.

Randy moved about the kitchen with a subtle sense of exhilaration. Her mother had always been kind and good, but to have her speak of her affection and say a word of approval for her helpfulness, what more could be needed to make a young girl happy? thought Randy.

She sang little snatches of melody while she cleared the dinner table, and grasped the first leisure moment to steal out under the apple tree, thence toward the brook to the old stone wall. A large stone had toppled from the wall, and Randy sat down upon it to rest. She had intended to make a little call upon Miss Dayton, to talk over the events of the picnic, and to hear what her new friend had to tell her; for Helen had hinted that she had another good time planned, and she promised to tell Randy all about it when next they met.

Tall alders grew luxuriantly almost the entire length of the wall, which served as a fence for one side of the pasture; and Randy, a bit tired with the forenoon's work, easily fell into one of her day-dreams, when she was aroused by hearing voices behind the alders. There seemed to be two voices, and Randy heard them mention her father's name. She was an honest girl who, under ordinary circumstances, would have scorned to listen; but something in the tone of the speaker's voice seemed distinctly unfriendly when he spoke of her father, and Randy seemed, against her will, riveted to the spot and obliged to listen. She must have taken her place on the big stone when the conversation was well under way, but the sound of her own footsteps, while unheard by the earnest talkers, had prevented her from hearing their voices. She was invisible to them as they were to her, separated as they were by the alders.

"Now, I've tried and tried 'til I'm tired er tryin' to sell Mr. Weston that piece er medder land er mine, 'n' it would a been sold long ago if I hadn't been bound to swap land instead er taking cash."

"Yes, but I don't see the great pint er not takin' cash ef he's fool enough to pay it," said the second voice.

"I don't s'pose ye do, 'til I tell ye. Ye haven't been here fer years, 'n' only come yisterday, an' ef you was anybody under the sun but my own brother, I wouldn't tell ye now."

How Randy's heart beat! Surely, it was right to listen now. If any one meant to do her father harm, she must know it and warn him. Nearer to the wall she crept, with a stealth which she was unaware she possessed, and she tried to hush her breathing which came quick and hard.

"Just listen to this, Jim. My wife's just got back from a visit to her folks, I forgit the name of the town, 'though it's on my tongue's end this minute, and while she was there she heard say that they're goin' to run a railroad through this part of the town, next summer, jest a sort er branch road from the one that goes through the centre, and my wife never let on that she was much interested; but she asked 'nough questions, kinder keerful like, and she found that ef they _do_ build the road, and she says the folks down that way say they do really mean to, it'll be straight across that little bit er rocky field, back er Weston's barn. Now, I argy that Weston's got money _'nough_, and I mean ter keep at him 'til he agrees ter swap that 'ere little pesky, rocky field er his'n fer my piece er medder land. The more I urge him the less he seems ter want ter swap, an' I even offered to throw in a good young steer to boot, an' all the satisfaction I could git out er him was, 'Wal', I dunno what makes yer so anxious fer that little piece er land er mine.'

"He don't know nothin' 'bout the railroad yet, but there's no knowin' how soon he will. My wife's naggin' me to make him swap, but I'd like to see her try to hurry Weston when he don't intend to hurry; but I tell ye now, ef that 'ere road _does_ run through his field, I mean ter own it _fust_, an' I'm goin' up ter night ter talk him inter it."

Randy now realized that the speaker's voice was no other than Jason Meade's. She was but fifteen, but she knew that if her father yielded to his neighbor's urging, it would in some way mean loss to him. All thought of her call upon Helen vanished, and in its place lay a great fear that she might be seen before she could get away from her hiding place and rush home.

She was a bit cramped with her crouching pose behind the wall. Slowly she arose to her feet, glided along upon the grass, lest her footsteps should be heard, and, once in the grove, she sprang across the brook, dashed through the fields, up the path, and into the kitchen door, where she dropped upon a chair and tried to speak.

"Why, Randy Weston! whatever ails ye? Ye look 's if ye'd seen a ghost. Why, father," as the girl did not speak, "jest come look at Randy. She's been runnin' 'til she's clean tuckered out, 'n' can't seem to speak."

Mr. Weston came hastening in from the well with a pail of water, which he set down when he saw Randy.

"Why, Randy, child, what--"

"Oh, father,--the little rocky field behind the barn,--don't sell it, don't swap it; the railroad's going through it; and oh, father, that's why Jason Meade wants to make you swap it. It's going to be worth lots and lots of money; he can't _make_ you swap it, can he, father?" and in her anxiety she sprang up and put her hands upon her father's shoulders.

"There, there, Randy, you've done your father a good turn this time, sure enough, ef it's true. Sit down and tell me where ye heard all this."

So Randy, having regained her breath, told her anxious listeners the tale, beginning with her intended call upon Miss Dayton; how she strolled through the grove and across the brook, and sat down to rest upon the big stone by the wall, with the great alders behind her; how she had, at first sound of the voices, tried not to listen, and, on hearing an unfriendly voice mention her father's name, she had, although afraid of detection, crept close to the wall, to hear if the men really meant to harm him.

Then she had told all that she had heard, word for word, finishing with, "And, father, he _can't_ make you swap, can he? he seemed so determined."

Then Mr. Weston did a very unusual thing. Putting his arm around Randy, he drew her down upon his knee, where she had not sat since she was a little girl like Prue, and as he looked at her, with just a suspicion of moisture in his kind, blue eyes, he said, "Mother, we've got a girl to be proud of."

"And to be thankful for," said Mrs. Weston.

"Amen!" said Randy's father, and he added, "Always be as brave and quick to do what's right, Randy, as you have been to-day, even forgetting your own pleasure, and I will trust you anywhere."

Here little Prue, who had been awed into silence by the earnestness of the conversation, found her tongue once more, and piped in with, "Why, pa, my big sister Randy's been good again. How can she be always good?"

They all laughed, and Randy, catching little Prue and giving her a tight hug, said: "I know who's got the best little sister in all the world. I have, just as sure as your name is Prudence."

"I like you to love me lots, Randy dear, but don't you call me anything but Prue. 'Prudence' makes me think of Aunt Prudence, and she looked all so," and here Prue drew down her wee mouth, and puckered up her fair little forehead and brows into such a scowling imitation of Aunt Prudence, that even her father, who did not at all approve, could not help smiling at the dimpled copy of that lady's unpleasant face.

Soon Mrs. Weston had tea ready, and the family had but just finished the evening meal when a loud tap at the door announced some neighbor's arrival. Mr. Weston looked at his wife, with a twinkle in his eye, as he arose to answer the knock.

"Well, well, Jason, come in, come in!" Thus Mr. Weston welcomed his crafty neighbor.

"How are ye, Square Weston? I thought I'd jist drop in an' see if you'd made up yer mind about that piece er land er mine."

"Well, yes, I hev," said Mr. Weston, looking his neighbor squarely in the face; "I told ye, a month ago, I'd give ye two hundred dollars in cash fer that big medder of yourn."

"I know it, I know you did; but the thing is, I've took a reel fancy to that little rocky pasture er yourn, and I feel 's if I'd lots rather have it, little as it is, than the cash, 'f you'll believe me."

Jason Meade sat back in his chair with the bland air of a man who had done a good deed in praising his neighbor's property.

Mrs. Weston came out of the closet where she had been placing the dishes and stood by her husband's chair, anxiously awaiting his answer. She knew his generous nature, but she believed that this time he would be firm.

Randy, who after tea had taken the fairy book to the table to read, now leaned forward with parted lips.

Slowly Mr. Weston turned toward his neighbor, and a faint smile played about his lips as he said, "I'll tell ye, Jason, I jist thought that while it ain't so very val'able now, I've 'bout decided to keep it, for when the railroad comes clean through it, I'm thinkin' I'll be reel pleased to think it's my property."

Jason Meade's mouth opened to its widest extent, and to say that he was amazed, astonished, or surprised, would be expressing it very mildly indeed. He cleared his throat and blinked once or twice, then, as no suitable remark seemed to suggest itself he arose, and pushing back his chair, he said "he'd reely have to go as he'd got an arrant to do at Mrs. Gray's." He sheepishly made his way toward the door, and mumbling something about the weather, he dejectedly stalked out with the air of a disappointed man.

"Why, father," said Randy, "he didn't even ask you how you knew about the railroad."

Mr. Weston laughed as he said: "I guess he didn't care how I knew. That I knew at all was what worried him."