“Take this big chair, Mr. Webb, and make yourself comfortable. Sit right here on the sofa, Mrs. Webb.”
Almanzo couldn’t believe his ears. Mrs. Webb said:
“You have such a beautiful parlor, I declare it’s almost too fine to sit in.”
Now Almanzo could see where the blacking-brush had hit the wall, and he could not believe his eyes. The wall-paper was pure white and gold. There was no black splotch.
Mother caught sight of him and said:
“Come in, Almanzo.”
Almanzo went in. He sat up straight on a haircloth chair and pushed his toes against the floor to keep from sliding off. Father and Mother were telling all about the visit to Uncle Andrew’s.
There was no black splotch anywhere on the wall.
“Didn’t you worry, leaving the children alone here and you so far away?” Mrs. Webb asked.
“No,” Mother said, proudly. “I knew the children would take care of everything as well as if James and I were home.”
Almanzo minded his manners and did not say a word. Next day, when no one was looking, he stole into the parlor. He looked carefully at the place where the black splotch had been. The wallpaper was patched. The patch had been cut out carefully around the gold scrolls, and the pattern was fitted perfectly and the edges of the patch scraped so thin that he could hardly find them.
He waited until he could speak to Eliza Jane alone, and then he asked:
“Eliza Jane, did you patch the parlor wall-paper for me?”
“Yes,” she said. “I got the scraps of wall-paper that were saved in the attic, and cut out the patch and put it on with flour-paste.”
Almanzo said, gruffly: “I’m sorry I threw that brush at you. Honest, I didn’t mean to, Eliza Jane.”
“I guess I was aggravating,” she said. “But I didn’t mean to be. You’re the only little brother I’ve got.”
Almanzo had never known before how much he liked Eliza Jane. They never, never told about the black splotch on the parlor wall, and Mother never knew.
Chapter 19
Early Harvest
Now it was haying-time. Father brought out the scythes, and Almanzo turned the grindstone with one hand and poured a little stream of water on it with the other hand, while Father held the steel edges delicately against the whirring stone. The water kept the scythes from getting too hot, while the stone ground their edges thin and sharp.
Then Almanzo went through the woods to the little French cabins, and told French Joe and Lazy John to come to work next morning.
As soon as the sun dried the dew on the meadows, Father and Joe and John began cutting the hay. They walked side by side, swinging their scythes into the tall grass, and the plumed timothy fell in great swathes.
Swish! swish! swish! went the scythes, while Almanzo and Pierre and Louis followed behind them, spreading out the heavy swathes with pitchforks so that they would dry evenly in the sunshine. The stubble was soft and cool under their bare feet. Birds flew up before the mowers, now and then a rabbit jumped and bounded away. High up in the air the meadowlarks sang.
The sun grew hotter. The smell of the hay grew stronger and sweeter. Then waves of heat began to come up from the ground. Almanzo’s brown arms burned browner, and sweat trickled on his forehead. The men stopped to put green leaves in the crowns of their hats, and so did the boys. For a little while the leaves were cool on top of their heads.
In the middle of the morning, Mother blew the dinner horn. Almanzo knew what that meant. He stuck his pitchfork in the ground, and went running and skipping down across the meadows to the house. Mother met him on the back porch with the milk-pail, brimming full of cold egg-nog.
The egg-nog was made of milk and cream, with plenty of eggs and sugar. Its foamy top was freckled with spices, and pieces of ice floated in it. The sides of the pail were misty with cold.
Almanzo trudged slowly toward the hayfield with the heavy pail and a dipper. He thought to himself that the pail was too full, he might spill some of the egg-nog. Mother said waste was sinful. He was sure it would be sinful to waste a drop of that egg-nog. He should do something to save it. So he set down the pail, he dipped the dipper full, and he drank. The cold egg-nog slid smoothly down his throat, and it made him cool inside.
When he reached the hayfield, everyone stopped work. They stood in the shade of an oak and pushed back their hats, and passed the dipper from hand to hand till all the egg-nog was gone. Almanzo drank his full share. The breeze seemed cool now, and Lazy John said, wiping the foam from his mustache:
“Ah! That puts heart into a man!”
Now the men whetted their scythes, making the whetstones ring gaily on the steel blades. And they went back to work with a will. Father always maintained that a man could do more work in his twelve hours, if he had a rest and all the egg-nog he could drink, morning and afternoon.