"Now, Yahn, last year the township was assessed at $265,000 an' we raised $265 with a school-tax of wan mill on the dollar. This year the new assessment gives $291,400; how much will the same tax raise if cost of collecting is same?"
"Two hundred and ninety-one dollars and forty cents," said Yan, without hesitation—and the three men sat back in their chairs and gasped.
It was the triumph of his life. Even old Boyle beamed in admiration, and Raften glowed, feeling that not a little of it belonged to him.
There was something positively pathetic in the simplicity of the three shrewd men and their abject reverence for the wonderful scholarship of this raw boy, and not less touching was their absolute faith in his infallibility as a mathematician.
Raften grinned at him in a peculiar, almost a weak way. Yan had never seen that expression on his face before, excepting once, and that was as he shook hands with a noted pugilist just after he had won a memorable fight. Yan did not know whether he liked it or not.
On the road home Raften talked with unusual freeness about his plans for his son. (Yan began to realize that the storm had blown over.) He harped on his favourite theme, "eddication." If Yan had only known, that was the one word of comfort that Raften found when he saw his big boy go down: "It's eddication done it. Oh, but he's fine eddicated." Yan never knew until years afterward, when a grown man and he and Raften were talking of the old days, that he had been for some time winning respect from the rough-and-ready farmer, but what finally raised him to glorious eminence was the hip-throw that he served that day on Sam.
Raften was all right, Yan believed, but what of Sam? They had not spoken yet. Yan wished to make up, but it grew harder. Sam had got over his wrath and wanted a chance, but did not know how.
He had just set down his two buckets after feeding the pigs when Minnie came toddling out.
"Sam! Sam! Take Minnie to 'ide," then seeing Yan she added, "Yan, you mate a tair, tate hold Sam's hand."
The queen must be obeyed. Sam and Yan sheepishly grasped hands to make a queen's chair for the little lady. She clutched them both around the neck and brought their heads close together. They both loved the pink-and-white baby between them, and both could talk to her though not to each other. But there is something in touch that begets comprehension. The situation was becoming ludicrous when Sam suddenly burst out laughing, then:
"Say, Yan, let's be friends."
"I—I want—to—be," stammered Yan, with tears standing in his eyes. "I'm awfully sorry. I'll never do it again."
"Oh, shucks! I don't care," said Sam. "It was all that dirty little sneak that made the trouble; but never mind, it's all right. The only thing that worries me is how you sent me flying. I'm bigger an' stronger an' older, I can heft more an' work harder, but you throwed me like a bag o' shavings, I only wish I knowed how you done it."
PART III.
In the Woods
I
Really in the Woods
E seem to waste a powerful lot o' time goin' up an' down to yer camp; why don't ye stay thayer altogether?" said Raften one day, in the colourless style that always worried every one, for they did not know whether it was really meant or was mere sarcasm.
"Suits me. 'Tain't our choice to come home," replied his son.
"We'd like nothing better than to sleep there, too," said Yan.
"Well, why don't ye? That's what I'd do if I was a boy playin' Injun; I'd go right in an' play."
"All right now," drawled Sam (he always drawled in proportion to his emphasis), "that suits us; now we're a-going sure."
"All right, bhoys," said Raften; "but mind ye the pigs an' cattle's to be 'tended to every day."
"Is that what ye call lettin' us camp out—come home to work jest the same?"
"No, no, William," interposed Mrs. Raften; "that's not fair. That's no way to give them a holiday. Either do it or don't. Surely one of the men can do the chores for a month."
"Month—I didn't say nothin' about a month."
"Well, why don't you now?"
"Whoi, a month would land us into harvest," and William had the air of a man at bay, finding them all against him.
"I'll do Yahn's chores for a fortnight if he'll give me that thayer pictur he drawed of the place," now came in Michel's voice from the far end of the table—"except Sunday," he added, remembering a standing engagement, which promised to result in something of vast importance to him.
"Wall, I'll take care o' them Sundays," said Si Lee.
"Yer all agin me," grumbled William with comical perplexity. "But bhoys ought to be bhoys. Ye kin go."
"Whoop!" yelled Sam.
"Hooray!" joined in Yan, with even more interest though with less unrestraint.
"But howld on, I ain't through—"
"I say, Da, we want your gun. We can't go camping without a gun."
"Howld on, now. Give me a chance to finish. Ye can go fur two weeks, but ye got to go; no snakin' home nights to sleep. Ye can't hev no matches an' no gun. I won't hev a lot o' children foolin' wid a didn't-know-it-was-loaded, an' shootin' all the birds and squirrels an' each other, too. Ye kin hev yer bows an' arrows an' ye ain't likely to do no harrum. Ye kin hev all the mate an' bread an' stuff ye want, but ye must cook it yerselves, an' if I see any signs of settin' the Woods afire I'll be down wid the rawhoide an' cut the very livers out o' ye."
The rest of the morning was devoted to preparation, Mrs. Raften taking the leading hand.
"Now, who's to be cook?" she asked.
"Sam"—"Yan"—said the boys in the same breath.
"Hm! You seem in one mind about it. Suppose you take it turn and turn about—Sam first day."
Then followed instructions for making coffee in the morning, boiling potatoes, frying bacon. Bread and butter enough they were to take with them—eggs, too.
"You better come home for milk every day or every other day, at least," remarked the mother.
"We'd ruther steal it from the cows in the pasture," ventured Sam, "seems naturaler to me Injun blood."
"If I ketch ye foolin' round the cows or sp'ilin' them the fur'll fly," growled Raften.
"Well, kin we hook apples and cherries?" and Sam added in explanation; "they're no good to us unless they're hooked."
"Take all the fruit ye want."
"An' potatoes?"
"Yes."
"An' aigs?"
"Well, if ye don't take more'n ye need."
"An' cakes out of the pantry? Indians do that."
"No; howld on now. That is a good place to draw the line. How are ye goin' to get yer stuff down thayer? It's purty heavy. Ye see thayer are yer beds an' pots an' pans, as well as food."
"We'll have to take a wagon to the swamp and then carry them on our backs on the blazed trail," said Sam, and explained "our backs" by pointing to Michel and Si at work in the yard.
"The road goes as far as the creek," suggested Yan; "let's make a raft there an' take the lot in it down to the swimming-pond; that'd be real Injun."
"What'll ye make the raft of?" asked Raften.
"Cedar rails nailed together," answered Sam.
"No nails in mine," objected Yan; "that isn't Injun."
"An' none o' my cedar rails fur that. 'Pears to me it'd be less work an' more Injun to pack the stuff on yer backs an' no risk o' wettin' the beds."
So the raft was given up, and the stuff was duly carted to the creek's side. Raften himself went with it. He was a good deal of a boy at heart and he was much in sympathy with the plan. His remarks showed a mixture of interest, and doubt as to the wisdom of letting himself take so much interest.