Jasper County Democrat, Volume 10, Number 1, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 April 1907 — Wainwright’s Experiment. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Wainwright’s Experiment.

By Constance D'Arcy Mackay.

It was noon. The July sun blazed down over the hayfields and flickered across the group of men who lolled beneath the trees enjoying their first rest after a morning of toll. Wainwright sat a little apart from the others and mopped his forehead. The muscles of his arms and shoulders ached from unaccustomed labor. Yet as he looked at the close cut fleld bls feeling was one of pleasure. Two months before as assistant professor of political economy In an eastern college he had longed to put certain problems to the test, to learn from actual experience those things which other men were content to take from the text books. So while his brother professors spent their vacations in Europe or at the seashore Wainwright tramped the highways of New England, knapsack on bnck and notebook In hand. Routine and conventionality were forgotten. And so much Is man a part of hls mode of living that after his first two weeks on the road not one of Wainwright’s old confreres would have recognized him. His clothes had lost their hall marks of good tailoring and become frayed and dusty. Hls

shoes were out at heel, his hat almost rimless and his face tanned to a deep bronze. But Wainwright was young and vigorous and had a keen relish for adventure. He liked the freedom of the highway, the quest of picking up odd jobs at the scattered farmhouses along the route, the deep sleep of the travel weary in dim, sweet scented haylpfts or, oftener still, in the open, with the stars shimmering through the branches of the trees. It was the harvest season. There was work in plenty, and in time Wainwright quitted his hand to mouth vagabondage for the sobering occupation of harvester on the Rolfe farm, where he was to receive a dollar a day and bed and board. The first morning’s labor had proved more exhansting than be had anticipated, but Wainwright kept on doggedly, though each hour added fresh blisters to hls hands and. made the scythe seem heavier to wield. The midday rest brought an ecstasy of relief. “Ulis.” thought Wainwright as he stretched himself In the shade—“this is worth a dozen hotel verandas!” The rustle of leaves, the talk of the men near by and the drone of insects through the warm air all blended Into a confused murmur. An unconquerable drowsiness stole over him.

“Won’t you have some dinner?” said a voice beside him, and Wainwright, opening bis eyes, looked up at a girl who might have been Priscilla, so demure was her blue dress and white kerchief. She wore a frilled sunbonnet, and Wainwright wished that he might see the face it bld, but hls desire remained ungratified, for after serving him the girl turned her attention to the next man and from that went Impartially down the line. The men fell to at once. Wainwright alone stared after the sunbonneted figure that tripped across the field and took the orchard path leading to the Rolfe farm.

That night as be took his seat among the harvesters that clattered around the Rolfes* supper table he saw with quickening Interest that the girl of the noon hour was flitting about the kitchen, passing huge platters of bread and stone jugs of foaming milk. Wainwright had leisure to observe that she had brown eyes and wavy brown hair coiled low upon her neck. When supper was over the other farm hands strolled off toward the barn. Wainwright lingered. "Your daughter must be a great help to you,” he ventured. “My daughter!” laughed Farmer Rolfe. “Why, she ain’t my daughter! She’s the hired girl, though I will say,” he added, "that If ever I’d had a daughter I’d ha* liked one like Mary Carter. She’s as quick and handy as she can be, and my wife thinks a heap o’ her. Took to her from the first when the girl come from over by Coopersville way lookin’ for work, She’s so slim and slight you wouldn’tthink she could do much. But, land, she’s a hustler!” Indeed, so absorbed was Mary in her work that Wain-

wright only taw her at mealtimes. Even then she merely stopped for a pleasant word or nod. But one Bunday night when Wainwright tat alone on the back porch strumming at a guitar a white dress glimmered In the doorway, and presently Mary came out and sat down. “Please don’t stop!’’ she cried as Wainwright smothered the last chord of a college glee. “I’m very fond of music!”

“What else are ybu fond of, I wonder?’ thought Wainwright, and he deftly led her on to speak of herself. She was fond of reading, she confessed, and knew many of the poets by heart;. Her taste In literature was as simple as It was fine, and the more she spoke the more Wainwright wondered, for she seemed utterly content with her present occupation. “Any work that is done well is' beautiful,” she declared earnestly, and, though her allusions to herself were delicately reticent Wainwright found it easy to picture her primitive life, primitive and yet not humdrum. Her love of nature and beauty forbade that "What a wonderful country it Is,” mused Wainwright, “where even the rustics have ideas of their own and a vivid way of expressing them.” Mary’s personality was the most challenging and illuminating one that he had discovered. so far, and descriptions of her covered several pages of his notebook. In the days that followed he found that if he helped Mary with the supper dishes the longer they would have to sit on the porch in the cool of the evening. So while she splashed the suds he polished plates and cups and quoted his favorite authors. Afterward they would stroll together down the orchard path, watching the first stars and listening to the eerie notes of the whinpoorwill, a pleasant state of affairs destined to end abruptly, for Wainwright returned from the fields one evening to find Mrs. Rolfe alone In the kitchen. Mary was gone.

“Had a letter from one of her folks,” said the fanner, “and she went right off. Wouldn’t take a cent of her pay .’cause she left so sudden.” Wainwright looked blank. “Didn’t she leave any address?” ho queried. “Said she’d write,” answered Rolfe laconically. “But wasn’t there any message?" persisted Wainwright. “Not a word,” said Farmer Rolfe cheerfully. Mrs. Rolfe had some of her famous biscuits for supper, but Wainwright had lost his He stood on the back porch in the afterglow, and everything seemed strangely deserted. Mary had gone, and something of the joy of living had gone with her. Existence seemed suddenly very tame and dull to the young professor. He was conscious of emotions not classified in hls notebook. “I must have overworked,” he said listlessly to himself as he sat on the Leffingwells’ veranda a week later. It was sundown. A breeze swept up from the Hudson, and a tall glass of lemonade tinkled pleasantly In Wainwright’s hand. Mrs. Leffingwell, of whose house party he was a guest, sat near him in a wicker chair and chatted Irrepressibly. “We’ve had an inkling of your exploits,” she said, “and will expect a full account of them. Tonight there’s a girl coming to dine who’s awfully fond of that sort of thing. She spent the summer working on a farm where she met the most extraordinary young harvester that— There she Is now!” Mary, in a white lace dress, was coming slowly across the lawn. “You didn’t leave me any message,” said Wainwright reproachfully the moment after their hostess had left them alone together, “but I have one for you. I wonder If you will care to hear it?’ “You might try and see,” suggested Mary demurely. When dinner was at Its gayest, Mrs. Leffingwell turned to Wainwright. “Do you. think,” she said, “that your experiment was a success?” Wainwright’s eyes met Mary’s In n comprehending flash. “The greatest I’ve ever had,” he answered, smiling.

“PLEASE DON’T STOP!” SHE ORIED.