"
Everything on the ranch, animal, vegetable, and mineral, was "paid
for." Uncle Jap was the last man to hurt anybody's feelings, but the
"paid for" rankled on occasion, for some of his visitors stood
perilously near the edge of bankruptcy, and, as a rule, had not paid
for either the land they occupied, or the cattle they branded, or the
clothes they wore. To understand this story you must grasp the fact
that Uncle Jap lived with credit and not on it.
His wife, also of New England parentage, had a righteous horror of
debt bred in her bone. Uncle Jap adored her. If he set an extravagant
value upon his other possessions, what price above rubies did he place
upon the meek, silent, angular woman, who had been his partner,
companion, and friend for more than a quarter of a century. Sun and
wind had burnt her face, also, to the exact tint of her husband's. Her
name was Lily.
"And, doggone it, she looks like a lily," Uncle Jap would say, in
moments of expansion. "Tall an' slim, yas, an' with a little droop of
her head. I'd ought ter be grateful to God fer givin' me sech a flower
outer heaven--an' I am, I am.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172