Bles had viewed his dykes with apprehension for the black pool scowled about them. He dared not think what a long heavy rain might do to the wonderful island of cotton which now stood fully five feet high, with flowers and squares and budding bolls. It might not rain, but the safest thing would be to work at those dykes, so he started for spade and hoe. He heard Miss Smith calling, however.
‚ÄúBles‚ÅÝ‚Äîhitch up!‚Äù
He was vexed.
‚ÄúAre you‚ÅÝ‚Äîin a hurry, Miss Smith?‚Äù he asked.
“Yes, I am,” she replied, with unmistakable positiveness.
He started off, and hesitated.
“Miss Smith, would Jim do to drive?”
“No,” sharply. “I want you particularly.” At another time she might have observed his anxiety, but today she was agitated. She knew she was taking a critical step.
Slowly Bles hitched up. After all it might not rain, he argued as they jogged toward town. In silence they rode on. Bles kept looking at the skies. The south was getting darker and darker. It might rain. It might rain only an hour or so, but, suppose it should rain a day‚ÅÝ‚Äîtwo days‚ÅÝ‚Äîa week?
Miss Smith was looking at her own skies and despite the promised sunrise they loomed darkly. * Five thousand was needed for the land and at least another thousand for repairs. * Two thousand