"How long will it take?" he said sullenly.
"I haven't an idea. I'd have to go the Hartley and examine the
records and be sure that there was no flaw in the deeds to the
land; but the first thing is to get a surveyor and know for sure
if you have a water-power that will work and not infringe on your
neighbours. A thing like this can't be done in a few minutes'
persuasive conversation. It will take weeks."
It really seemed as if it would take months. Kate went to Walden
that afternoon, set the children playing in the ravine while she
sketched it, made the best estimate she could of its fall, and
approved the curve on the opposite bank which George thought could
be cleared for a building site and lumber yard. Then she added a
location for a dam and a bridge site, and went home to figure and
think. The further she went in these processes the more hopeless
the project seemed. She soon learned that there must be an engine
with a boiler to run the saw. The dam could be used only to make
a pond to furnish the water needed; but at that it would be
cheaper than to dig a cistern or well. She would not even suggest
to Aunt Ollie to sell any of the home forty. The sale of the
remainder at the most hopeful price she dared estimate would not
bring half the money needed, and it would come in long-time
payments. Lumber, bricks, machinery, could not be had on time of
any length, while wages were cash every Saturday night.
"It simply can't be done," said Kate, and stopped thinking about
it, so far as George knew.
He was at once plunged into morose moping; he became sullen and
indifferent about the work, ugly with Kate and the children, until
she was driven almost frantic, and projects nearly as vague as
some of George's began to float through her head.
One Saturday morning Kate had risen early and finished cleaning up
her house, baking, and scrubbing porches. She had taken a bath to
freshen and cool herself and was standing before her dresser,
tucking the last pins in her hair, when she heard a heavy step on
the porch and a loud knock on the screen door. She stood at an
angle where she could peep; she looked as she reached for her
dress. What she saw carried her to the door forgetful of the
dress. Adam, Jr., stood there, white and shaken, steadying
himself against the casing.
"Adam!" cried Kate. "Is Mother --?"
He shook his head.
"Father --?" she panted.
He nodded, seeming unable to speak. Kate's eyes darkened and
widened. She gave Adam another glance and opened the door. "Come
in," she said. "When did it happen? How did he get hurt?"