It was like a touch to keep the machinery going, and he responded:—
"You see, I hadn't asked her to set the day. It was kind of understood between us. An' then Clayton Rand come along an' begun to shine up to her, spendin' money like water, an' her mother was bewitched by it. So she orders Alida to throw me over an' take up with t'other man. I don't know 's Alida's to blame."
"Do you s'pose they're engaged?" asked Dorcas, for the hundredth time.
He was silent for a moment, brooding. Then he answered, as he always did:—
"That's more'n I can make out. But if they are, I'll break it. Give me time enough, an' I'll do it when they're walkin' into the meetin'-house, if I don't afore."
Dorcas felt old and tired. All her buoyant life seemed to settle to a level where she must foster the youth of others and starve her own.
"Well," she said gently, "you've done pretty well this year, sellin' house-lots an' all."
"I've done well this year an' I'm goin' to keep on," said Newell, in that dogged way he had. Often it heartened her, but never when it touched upon his weary chase. Then it seemed to her like some rushing force that should be used to turn a mill, wandering away into poor meadows, to be dried and lost. But he was ending as he always did: "Clayton Rand won't marry so long 's his mother's alive, no matter how much money he's got. An' while Alida's waitin' for him, I'll lay up what I can, an' I bet you I get her yet."
"You goin' to pick peas in the mornin'?" asked Dorcas.
She had heard the clock striking, and it counseled her to remember how early their days began.