Some of these things came out in the speeches following the repast – and some other things, too. It was probably not quite fair for B. B. Hamm to incorporate in his wishes for the welfare and prosperity and so forth of Jim and Jennie that stale one about the troubles of life, but he wanted to see Jennie blush – which as a matter of fact he did; but she failed to grow quite so fiery red as did Jim. But B. B. was a good fellow, and a Trojan in his work for the cause, and the schoolmaster and superintendent of schools forgave him. A remark may be a little broad, and still clean, and B. B. made a clean speech mainly devoted to the increased value of that farm he at one memorable time was going to sell before Jim’s fool notions could be carried out.
Colonel Woodruff made most of the above points which I have niched from him. He had begun as a reformer late in life, he said, but he would leave it to them if he hadn’t worked at the trade steadily after enlistment. He had become a follower of Jim Irwin, because Jim’s reform was like dragging the road in front of your own farm – it was reform right at home, and not at the county seat, or Des Moines, or Washington. He had followed Jim Irwin as he had followed Lincoln, and Grant, and Blaine, and McKinley – because Jim Irwin stood for more upward growth for the average American citizen than the colonel could see any prospect of getting from any other choice. And he was proud to live in a country like this, saved and promoted by the great men he had followed, and in a neighborhood served and promoted, if not quite saved, by Jim Irwin. And he was not so sure about its not being saved. Every man and nation had to be saved anew every so often, and the colonel believed that Jim Irwin’s new kind of rural school is just as necessary to the salvation of this country as Lincoln’s new kind of recognition of human rights was half a century ago. “I am about to close my speech,” said the colonel, “and the small service I have been able to give to this nation. I went through the war, neighbors – and am proud of it; but I’ve done more good in the peaceful service of the last three years than I did in four of fighting and campaigning. That’s the way I feel about what we’ve done in Consolidated District Number One.” (Vociferous and long-continued applause.)
“Oh, Colonel!” The voice of Angie Talcott rose from away back near the kitchen. “Can Jennie keep on bein’ county superintendent, now she’s married?”
A great guffaw of laughter reduced poor Angie to tears; and Jennie had to go over and comfort her. It was all right for her to ask that, and they ought not to laugh at Angie, so there! Now, you’re all right, and let’s talk about the new schoolhouse, and so forth. Jennie brought the smiles back to Angle’s face, just in time to hear Jim tell the people amid louder cheers that he had been asked to go into the rural-school extension work in two states, and had been offered a fine salary in either place, but that he wasn’t even considering these offers. And about that time, the children began to get sleepy and cross and naughty, and the women set in motion the agencies which moved the crowd homeward.
Before a bright wood fire – which they really didn’t need, but how else was Jim’s mother to show off the little fireplace? – sat Jim and Jennie. They had been together for a week now – this being their home-coming – and had only begun to get really happy.
“Isn’t it fine to have the fireplace?” said Jennie.
“Yes, but we can’t really afford to burn a fire in it – in Iowa,” said Jim. “Fuel’s too everlastingly scarce. If we use it much, the fagots and deadwood on our ‘glebe-land’ won’t last long.”
“If you should take that Oklahoma position,” said Jennie, “we could afford to have open wood fires all the time.”
“It’s warmer in Oklahoma,” said Jim, “and wood’s more plentiful. Yes” – contemplatively – “we could, dear.”
“It would be nice, wouldn’t it?” said Jennie.
“All right,” said Jim briskly, “get me my writing materials, and we’ll accept. It’s still open.”
Jennie sat looking into the fire oblivious of the suggestion. She was smiling. Jim moved uneasily, and rose.
“Well,” he said, “I believe I can better guess where mother would put those writing materials than you could, after all. I’ll hunt them up.”
As he passed, Jennie took him by the hand and pulled him down on the arm of her chair.
“Jim,” she said, “don’t be mean to me! You know you wouldn’t do such a wicked, wicked thing at this time as to leave the people here.”
“All right,” said Jim, “whatever you say is the law.”
When Jennie spoke again things had taken place which caused her voice to emanate from Jim’s shirt-front.
“Did you hear,” said she, “what Angie Talcott asked?”
“M’h’m,” said Jim.
“Well,” said Jennie, “now that I’m married can I go on being county superintendent?”
There was a long silence.
“Would you like to?” asked Jim.
“Kind of,” said Jennie; “if I knew enough about things to do anything worth while; but I’m afraid that by rising to my full height I shall always just fail to be able to see over anything.”
“You’ve done more for the schools of the county,” said Jim, “in the last year than any other county superintendent has ever done.”
“And we shall need the money so like – so like the dickens,” said Jennie.
“Oh, not so badly,” laughed Jim, “except for the first year. I’ll have this little farm paying as much as some quarter-sections when we get squared about. Why, we can make a living on this school farm, Jennie, – or I’m not fit to be the head of the school.”
There was another silence, during which Jennie took down her hair, and wound it around Jim’s neck.
“It will settle itself soon one of these days anyhow,” said he at last. “There’s enough to do for both of us right here.”
“But they won’t pay me,” she protested.
“They don’t pay the ministers’ wives,” said Jim, “and yet, the ministers with the right sort of wives are always the best paid. I guess you’ll be in the bill, Jennie.”
Jim walked to the open window and looked out over the still landscape. The untidy grounds appealed to him – there would be lessons in their improvement for both the children and the older people. It was all good. Down in the little meadow grew the dreaming trees, their round crowns rising as from a sea not quite to the level of the bungalow, their thrifty leaves glistening in the moonlight. Across the pretty bridge lay the silent little campus with its twentieth-century temple facing its chief priest. It was all good, without and within. He went across the hall to bid his mother good night. She clung to him convulsively, and they had their own five minutes which arranged matters for these two silent natures on the new basis forever. Jennie was in white before the mantel when he returned, smiling at the inscription thereon.
“Why didn’t you put it in Latin?” she inquired. “It would have had so much more distinction.”
“I wanted it to have meaning instead,” said Jim. “And besides, nobody who was at hand was quite sure how to turn the Latin phrase. Are you?”
Jennie leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, and studied it.
“I believe I could,” said she, “without any pony. But after all, I like it better as it is. I like everything, Jim – everything!”
“LET US CEASE THINKING SO MUCH OF AGRICULTURAL EDUCATION, AND DEVOTE OURSELVES TO EDUCATIONAL AGRICULTURE. SO WILL THE NATION BE MADE STRONG.”
THE END