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Having plenty of time to think matters over, he had come to the conclusion "that the old woman needed a play spell. I ain’t likely to be no richer next year than I am this one; if I wait till I’m able to send her she won’t never go. I calc’late I c’n git enough out o’ them shoats to send her. I’d kind a ‘lotted on eat’n’ them pigs done up mto sassengers, but if the ol’ woman goes East, Tukey an’ me’ll kind a haff to pull through without ’em. We’ll. have a turkey f’r Thanksgivin’, an’ a chicken once ‘n a while. Lord! But we’ll miss the gravy on the flapjacks. Amen!" (He smacked his lips over the thought of the lost dainty. ) "But let ‘er rip! We can stand it. Then there is my buffalo overcoat. I’d kind a calc’lated on havin’ a buffalo–but that’s gone up the spout along with them sassengers. "

These heroic sacrifices having been determined upon, he put them into effect at once.

This he was able to do, for his corn rows ran alongside the road leading to Cedarville, and his neighbors were passing almost all hours of the day.

It would have softened Jane Ripley’s heart could she have seen his bent and stiffened form amid the corn rows, the cold wind piercing to the bone through his threadbare and insufficient clothing. The rising wind sent the snow rattling among the moaning stalks at intervals. The cold made his poor dim eyes water, and he had to stop now and then to swing his arms about his chest to warm them. His voice was hoarse with shouting at the shivering team.

That night, as Mrs. Ripley was clearing the dishes away, she got to thinking about the departure of the next day, and she began to soften. She gave way to a few tears when little Tewksbury Gilchrist, her grandson, came up and stood beside her.

"Gran’ma, you ain’t goin’ to stay away always, are yeh?"

"Why, course not, Tukey. What made y’ think that?"

"Well, y’ ain’t told us nawfliln’ ‘tall about it. An’ yeb kind o’ look ‘sif yeh was mad. "

"Well, Lain’t mad; I’m jest a-thinkin’, Tukey. Y’see, I come away from them hills when I was a little glrl a’most; before I married y’r grandad. And I ain’t never been back.’Most all my folks is there, souny, an’ we’ve been s’ poor all these years I couldn’t seem t’ never get started. Now, when I’m ‘most ready t’ go, I feel kind a queer–‘sif I’d cry. "

And cry she did, while little Tewksbury stood patting her trembling hands. Hearing Ripley’s step on the porch, she rose hastily and, drying her eyes, plunged at the work again. Ripley came in with a big armful of wood, which he rolled into the woodbox with a thundering crash. Then he pulled off his mittens, slapped them together to knock off the ice and snow, and laid them side by side under the stove. He then removed cap, coat, blouse, and boots, which last he laid upon the woodbox, the soles turned toward the stovepipe.

As he sat down without speaking, he opened the front doors of the stove and held the palms of his stiffened hands to the blaze. The light brought out a thoughtful look on his large, uncouth, yet kindly visage. Life had laid hard lines on his brown skin, but it had not entirely soured a naturally kind and simple nature. It had made him penurious and dull and iron-muscled; had stifled all the slender flowers of his nature; yet there was warm soil somewhere hid in his heart.