It was a Wednesday evening and
the farm hands were not in the habit of going into town until Saturday, but
he was dressed in his Sunday clothes and had shaved and oiled his hair. On
the occasion of a wedding or a funeral the laborers put oil in their hair.
It was indicative of something very important about to happen. Clara looked
at him, and in spite of the feeling of repugnance that swept over her, her
eyes glistened. Ever since the affair in the barn she had managed to avoid
meeting him but she was not afraid. He had in fact taught her something.
There was a power within her with which she could conquer men. The touch
of her father's shrewdness, that was a part of her nature, had come to her
rescue. She wanted to laugh at the silly pretensions of the man, to make a
fool of him. Her cheeks flushed with pride in her mastery of the situation.
John May walked almost to the house and then turned along the path that
led to the road. He made a gesture with his hand and by chance Tom
Butterworth, who had been looking off across the open country toward
Bidwell, turned and saw both the movement and the leering confident smile
on the farm hand's face. He arose and followed John May into the road,
astonishment and anger fighting for possession of him. The two men stood
talking for three minutes in the road before the house and then returned.
The farm hand went to the barn and then came back along the path to the
road carrying under his arm a grain bag containing his work clothes.
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