A union of farmers to market their own crops was being formed in many localities. Abbie took two shares of stock in the Cedartown Elevator. “It’s the beginning of something pretty big, I believe,” she told Mack.

In the fall, Henry Lutz died. And over in the house with the cupola and the wooden rosettes and the fancy grill-work, Sarah Lutz clung to Abbie constantly, so there was one more duty at hand for her. After her father’s death, Emma came into the possession of a large amount of land. Selling here, buying there with good business judgment, and aided by the upward swing of prices, Mack, who was now assistant cashier of the bank, placed the Mackenzie Deal family on the best of financial footing.

One more year went by with John proving his ownership of the title “Judge Deal” in the land of the dog-team, and then he came back. In that characteristic way of suddenly doing something with no preliminary talk, he opened a law office in Cedartown. To Abbie, it seemed unbelievable and far too good to be true, that the wanderer of the family should settle down closer to her than any of the others.

Margaret was painting many canvases every year now. Pencil and drawing-book with her, she often came out home to wander for hours in the vicinity, sketching the cottonwoods or the maples or a rolling bit of pasture land. “When the day comes, Mother,” she would say, “that I can get the light that lies over the prairie at evening, to suit me, I believe I’ll be satisfied.”

Isabelle, in Chicago for three years, was forging ahead in her career, singing at some of the select musical affairs. Abbie’s natural garment of modesty showed large perforations in it, when it came to anything concerning her children’s accomplishments. More than once she hitched up the old white mare and drove into the Headlight office to proffer some item about one of her offspring’s achievements.

“The Deals all seem to do things,” Abbie heard a visitor to the community say to Oscar Lutz once. The two men were sitting on a bench under her kitchen window, before one of the many neighborhood suppers. Abbie, paring potatoes, could hear every word of Oscar’s reply.

“The children do. Will, himself, was a good man but not much of a manager. Was always planning some wild scheme for the whole community. You can’t get anywhere if you spread your plans all out over the whole country. At all the school meetings he talked about the day when the country school would be graded like the town. Talked about the day when the roads would be fixed. Had some fool plan about hauling little stones from the quarry at Louisville . . . loads of little stones and gravel and running a roller over ’em. Heard him say once right after a long drought that Nebraska was the best state in the Union . . . had the best soil . . . that the day would come that the climate conditions would change and it would be the most productive of them all. Talked about trees . . . trees . . . trees. Was as loony as old J. Sterling Morton himself about setting out timber. Would go after saplings and cuttings and help haul ’em in for the careless ones if they’d set ’em out. No, he wasn’t lazy . . . lord, no. . . . Just plannin’ fer the whole kit ’n’ bilin’ of ’em instead of himself. Carried the whole precinct on his shoulders. Didn’t leave Abbie anything very much besides this one half-section, but the five children and the good name o’ Deal.”