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<h3>Chapter XVI</h3> Before the winter was over Michael was able to put in the bath-room and had bought a plow and a number of necessary farm implements, and secured the services of a man who lived near Old Orchard to do some early plowing and planting. He was able also to buy seeds and fertilizer, enough at least to start his experiment; and toward spring, he took advantage of a holiday, and with Sam and a carpenter went down to the farm and patched up the old house to keep out the rain. After that a few cots, some boxes for chairs and tables, some cheap comfortables for cool nights, some dishes and cooking utensils from the ten-cent store, and the place would be ready for his alley-colony when he should dare to bring them down. A canvas cot and a wadded comfortable would be luxury to any of them. The only question was, would they be contented out of the city? Michael had read many articles about the feasibility of taking the poor of the cities into the country, and he knew that experience had shown they were in most cases miserable to get back again. He believed in his heart that this might be different if the conditions were made right. In the first place they must have an environment full of new interest to supply the place of the city’s rush, and then they must have some great object which they would be eager to attain. He felt, too, that they should be prepared beforehand for their new life. To this end he had been for six months spending two or three hours a week with five or six young fellows Sam had tolled in. He had brought the agricultural papers to the room, and made much of the illustrations. The boys as a rule could not read, so he read to them, or rather translated into their own slang-ful English. He told them what wonders had been attained by farming in the right way. As these fellows had little notion about farming in any way, or little knowledge of farm products save as they came to them through the markets in their very worst forms, it became necessary to bring cabbages and apples, and various other fruits and vegetables for their inspection. One night he brought three or four gnarled, little green-skinned, sour, speckled apples, poorly flavored. He called attention to them very carefully, and then because an apple was a treat, however poor it might be, he asked them to notice the flavor as they ate. Then he produced three or four magnificent specimens of apple-hood, crimson and yellow, with polished skin and delicious flavor, and set them in a row on the table beside some more of the little specked apples. They looked like a sunset beside a ditch. The young men drew around the beautiful apples admiringly, feeling of their shiny streaks as if they half thought them painted, and listening to the story of their development from the little sour ugly specimens they had just been eating. When it came to the cutting up of the perfect apples every man of them took an intelligent pleasure in the delicious fruit. Other nights, with the help of Will and Hester, Michael gave demonstrations of potatoes, and other vegetables, with regular lessons on how to get the best results with these particular products. Hester managed in some skilful manner to serve a very tasty refreshment from roasted potatoes, cooked just right, at the same time showing the difference in the quality between the soggy potatoes full of dry rot, and those that were grown under the right conditions. Occasionally a cup of coffee or some delicate sandwiches helped out on a demonstration, of lettuce or celery or cold cabbage in the form of slaw, and the light refreshments served with the agricultural lessons became a most attractive feature of Michael’s evenings. More and more young fellows dropped in to listen to the lesson and enjoy the plentiful “eats” as they called them. When they reached the lessons on peas and beans the split pea soup and good rich bean soup were ably appreciated. Not that all took the lessons with equal eagerness, but Michael began to feel toward spring that his original five with Sam as their leader would do comparatively intelligent work on the farm, the story of which had been gradually told them from night to night, until they were quite eager to know if they might be included in those who were to be pioneers in the work. Will French faithfully reported the condition of the work, and more and more friends and clients of the office would stop at Michael’s desk and chat with him for a moment about the work, and always leave something with him to help it along. Michael’s eyes shone and his heart beat high with hopes in these days. But there was still a further work for him to do before his crude apprentices should be ready to be sent down into the wilds of nature. So Michael began one evening to tell them of the beauty and the wonder of the world. One night he used a cocoon as illustration and for three evenings they all came with bated breath and watched the strange little insignificant roll, almost doubting Michael’s veracity, yet full of curiosity, until one night it burst its bonds and floated up into the white ceiling, its pale green, gorgeously marked wings working a spell upon their hearts, that no years could ever make them quite forget. It was the miracle of life and they had never seen it nor heard of it before. Another night he brought a singing bird in a cage, and pictures of other birds who were naturally wild. He began to teach them the ways of the birds they would see in New Jersey, how to tell their songs apart, where to look for their nests; all the queer little wonderful things that a bird lover knows, and that Michael because of his long habits of roaming about the woods knew by heart. The little bird in its cage stayed in the yellow and white room, and strange to say thrived, becoming a joy and a wonder to all visitors, and a marvel to those who lived in the court because of its continuous volume of brilliant song, bursting from a heart that seemed to be too full of happiness and must bubble over into music. The “kids” and even the older fellows felt a proprietorship in it, and liked to come and stand beneath the cage and call to it as it answered “peep” and peeked between the gilded bars to watch them. One night, with the help of Will French who had some wealthy friends, Michael borrowed a large picture of a sunset, and spoke to them about the sunlight and its effects on growing things, and the wonder of its departure for the night. By this time they would listen in awed silence to anything Michael said, though the picture was perhaps one too many for most of them. Sam, however, heard with approval, and afterwards went up reverently and laid his finger on the crimson and the purple and the gold of the picture. Sam knew, and understood, for he had seen the real thing. Then he turned to the others and said: “Say, fellers, it’s aw-right. You wait till yer see one. Fine ez silk, an’ twicet as nateral.” One big dark fellow who had lately taken to coming to the gatherings, turned scornfully away, and replied: “Aw shucks! I don’t see nodding in it!” but loyalty to Michael prevented others who might have secretly favored this view from expressing it, and the big dark fellow found himself in the minority. And so the work went on. Spring was coming, and with it the end of Jim’s “term,” and the beginning of Michael’s experiment on the farm. Meantime Michael was working hard at his law, and studying half the night when he came back from the alley work. If he had not had an iron constitution, and thirteen years behind him of healthy out-door life, with plenty of sleep and exercise and good food, he could not have stood it. As it was, the hard work was good for him, for it kept him from brooding over himself, and his own hopeless love of the little girl who was far across the water. Some weeks after Christmas there had come a brief note from Starr, his name written in her hand, the address in her father’s. Dear Michael, I am just almost sure that I am indebted to you for the lovely little sprig of holly that reached me on Christmas. I have tried and tried to think who the sender might be, for you see I didn’t know the writing, or rather printing. But today it fell down from over the picture where I had fastened, it on the wall, and I noticed what I had not seen before, ‘A Happy Christmas’ in the very tiny little letters of the message cut or scratched on the under side of the stem; and the letters reminded me of you and the charming little surprises you used to send me long ago from Florida when I was a little girl. Then all at once I was sure it was you who sent the holly, and I am sitting right down to write and thank you for it. You see I was very lonesome and homesick that Christmas morning, for most of the girls in the school had gone home for Christmas, and mamma, who had been intending to come and take me away to Paris for the holidays, had written that she was not well and couldn’t come after all, so I knew I would have to be here all through the gay times by myself. I was feeling quite doleful even with the presents that mamma sent me, until I opened the little box and saw the dear little bright holly berries; that cheered me up and made me think of home. I kept it on my desk all day so that the bright berries would make me feel Christmassy, and just before dinner that night what do you think happened? Why, my dear daddy came to surprise me, and we took the loveliest trip together, to Venice and Florence and Rome. It was beautiful! I wish you could have been along and seen everything. I know you would have enjoyed it. I must not take the time to write about it because I ought to be studying. This is a very pleasant place and a good school but I would rather be at home, and I shall be glad when I am done and allowed to come back to my own country. Thanking you ever so much for the pretty little Christmas reminder, for you see I am sure you sent it, and wishing you a belated Happy New Year, I am Your friend, STARR DELEVAN ENDICOTT. Michael read and re-read the letter, treasured the thoughts and visions it brought him, pondered the question of whether he might answer it, and decided that he had no right. Then he put it away with his own heartache, plunging into his work with redoubled energy, and taking an antidote of so many pages of Blackstone when his thoughts lingered on forbidden subjects. So the winter fled away and spring came stealing on apace. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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