Now that Chimneys is in such splendid condition.â Enid was about to speak, but the older woman caught her eye, warned her to silence. âYouâd enjoy that, I expect.â
âIt would be a hard pull.â Yet she saw the stir of interest in his eyes. Great Oak would challenge his capacities.
âI expect you like a hard pull, donât you? Is Mr. Fiddler still overseer? I remember he was here when you and Enid were married.â
âYes, heâs a good man.â
âWell then, with him in charge, Chimneys would go on all right.â She would tell Tony, some day, how deftly she had prepared the way for him; it would amuse him to hear how she had played on Trav.
âYes, James Fiddler could handle things,â Trav reflected. Clearly, she had set him thinking, so the fight was half won.
âCould Great Oak be brought back, do you suppose?â
âOh yes, certainly.â On firm ground now, his tone was sure, and quick with interest. âYes, it could be done. Edmund Ruffin found out years ago how to revive worn-out land. Manure did it no good, but he decided that was because the land was sourâââ
âHeavens, I didnât know land could be sourâor sweet either, for that matter. What do you mean?â
âWhy, sour land has too much acid in it. Some of it comes from rotting vegetation; and some plants, the roots throw off acid. Mr. Ruffin decided that lime would counteract acid, and there were plenty of marl bedsâfull of fossils, really limeâon Cogginâs Point, where his farm was; so he dug up a lot of marl and spread it on fields where heâd been getting five or ten bushels of corn or wheat to the acre, and even the first year he doubled his yield.â There was a high admiration in his tone. âI wanted Tony to try it at Great Oak, but he never would.â
Enid made an impatient sound, weary of this conversation; but they ignored her. Mrs. Albion asked, in lively interest: âDo people know about Mr. Ruffinâs way?â
âOh, yes. He used to publish a farmerâs magazine full of advice about using marl and about draining wet lands and about farming with machinery. Then he gave his Cogginâs Point place to his son and bought a worked-out farm up on the Pamunkey. He named it Malbourne and in three years he had it producing again.â Well-launched, he became eloquent. Let him talk; he would persuade himself. âYes,â he concluded. âAll those old fields at Great Oak could be put back to work.â
âThen itâs certainly a pity to let Great Oak go downhill.â But she must not press him too hard. Men hated to be hurried. âIs your mother well?â
âFor her age, yes.â
âToo bad you canât see more of her. Do your brothers and sisters get home more often than you?â
âFaunt does, and Cinda; but she and Brett have been abroad all this last year.â He added, his thoughts still on farming: âClaytonâs managing the Plains. Thatâs their place, down near Camden. Claytonâs their oldest son, and heâs a good farmer. He came up here when he was eighteen and spent the summer, and I took him to see Mr. Ruffin. He wanted to learn all he could.â He reflected, half to himself: âClayton could run Great Oak, but Brett needs him at the Plains. Brettâs more of a business man than a planter.â
âIf Clayton canât do it, perhaps you should go back to Great Oak.
The place needs you, andâyouâd be with your mother. She wonât live many more years.â
He hesitated, shook his head. âI canât imagine leaving here.â Yet there was no finality in his tone. She smiled to herself, contented with the progress she had made; and that night before she slept she wrote to Tony.
I came down for a little visit with Enid, shanât be returning to Richmond. [To reassure him, to make him understand that