“Hester, this thing’s a-killin’ me!” he blurted out at last. “Here I’m seventy-eight years old--an’ I hain’t got money enough ter buy my wife a pair of shoes!”
“But the farm, Jeremiah--”
“I tell ye the farm ain’t mine,” cut in Jeremiah savagely. “Look a-here, Hester, how do you s’pose it feels to a man who’s paid his own way since he was a boy, bought a farm with his own money an’ run it, brought up his boys an’ edyercated ’em--how do ye s’pose it feels fur that man ter go ter his own son an’ say: ’Please, sir, can’t I have a nickel ter buy me a pair o’ shoestrings?’ How do ye s’pose it feels? I tell ye, Hester, I can’t stand it--I jest can’t! I’m goin’ ter work.”
“Jere-mi-ah!”
“Well, I am,” repeated the old man doggedly. “You’re goin’ ter have some shoes, an’ I’m goin’ ter earn ’em. See if I don’t!” And he squared his shoulders, and straightened his bent back as if already he felt the weight of a welcome burden.
Spring came, and with it long sunny days and the smell of green things growing. Jeremiah began to be absent day after day from the farmhouse. The few tasks that he performed each morning were soon finished, and after that he disappeared, not to return until night. William wondered a little, but said nothing. Other and more important matters filled his mind.
Only Hester noticed that the old man’s step grew more languid and his eye more dull; and only Hester knew that at night he was sometimes too tired to sleep--that he could not “seem ter hit the bed,” as he expressed it.
It was at about this time that Hester began to make frequent visits to the half-dozen farmhouses in the settlement about them. She began to be wonderfully busy these days, too, knitting socks and mittens, or piecing up quilts. Sarah Ellen asked her sometimes what she was doing, but Hester’s answers were always so cheery and bright that Sarah Ellen did not realize that the point was always evaded and the subject changed.
It was in May that the inevitable happened. William came home one day to find an excited, weeping wife who hurried him into the seclusion of their own room.
“William, William,” she moaned, “what shall we do? It’s father and mother; they’ve--oh, William, how can I tell you!” and she covered her face with her hands.