CHAPTER XIV

On Saturday the Squire asked John to ride with him.  As they mounted, Billy came with the mail.  Penhallow glanced at the letters and put them in his pocket.

As the horses walked away, John said, “I was in Westways yesterday, uncle, to get my hair cut.  I heard that Pole has had chicken-pox, uncle.”

“Funny that, for a butcher!” said the Squire.  They chatted of the small village news.  “They have quit discussing politics, Uncle Jim.”

“Yes, every four years we settle down to the enjoyment of the belief that now everything will go right, or if we are of those who lost the fight, then there is the comfort of thinking things could not be worse, and that the other fellows are responsible.”

“Uncle Jim, at Westways people talked about the election as if it were a horse-race, and didn’t interest anybody when it was over.”

“Yes, yes; but there are for the average American many things to think about, and he doesn’t bother himself about who is to be President or why, until, as McGregor says, events come along and kick him and say, ’Get up and think, or do something.’”

“When I talked to Mr. Rivers lately, he seemed very blue about the country.  He seems to believe that everything is going wrong.”

“Oh, Rivers!” exclaimed Penhallow, “what a great, noble soul!  But, John, a half hour of talk with him about our national affairs leaves me tangled in a net of despair, and I hate it.  You have a letter, I see.”

“Yes, it is from Leila, sir.”

“Let’s hear it,” said Penhallow.

John was inclined, he could hardly have told why, to consider this letter when alone, but now there was nothing possible except to do as he was bid.

“Read it.  I want to hear it, John.”

As they walked their horses along the road, John read: 

“DEAR JOHN”:  I did not expect to write to you again until you wrote to me, but I have been perplexed to know what was best to do.  I wanted—­oh, so much—­to consult Uncle Jim, or some older person than you, and so I ask you to send this to Uncle Jim if he is absent, or let him see it if he is at home.  He is moving about and we do not know how to address him.”—­

“That’s a big preface—­go on.”

“I did not see Josiah again until yesterday morning.  Aunt Ann has been insisting that my hair needs singeing at the ends to make it grow. [It is too long now for comfort.]”—­

“That’s in brackets, Uncle Jim—­the hair, I mean.”

“Yes—­what next?”

“Well, John, when Aunt Ann keeps on and on in her gently obstinate, I mean resolute, way, it is best to give up and make believe a little that you agree with her.  My hair was to be singed—­I gave up.”—­

“Oh, Leila!” exclaimed Penhallow, rocking in the saddle with laughter, while John looked up smiling.  “Go on.”