He shook his head.
"I thought mebbe you'd carry one round."
"Mother never had any real good picture," said Eben meditatively. "I dunno 's she ever set for a photograph. She had an ambrotype taken when she was young, with kinder full sleeves an' her hair brought down over her ears. No, mother never had a picture that was any comfort to me."
Then Lydia dared her first approach.
"Ain't you got any photographs here with you, any of your other folks? I'd like to know how they look."
He shook his head.
"No. They're all to home. You'll find 'em in the album on the centre-table. Gee! I hope the house won't be all full o' dust. I never thought, when I set out, I should bring the quality back with me."
But she could not answer by a lifted eyelash the veiled fondness of his tone. All his emotion had this way of taking little by-paths, as if he skirted courtship without often finding the courage to enter boldly in. It was delightful to her, but at this moment she could not even listen. She was too busy with her own familiar quest. Now she spoke timidly, yet with a hidden purpose.
"I think pictures of folks are a good deal of a comfort, don't you—after death?"
Eben made no answer for a moment. He still gazed reflectively outward, but whether it was into the future or his hidden past she could not tell.