Nobody was ever solemn long when the Master of the House was present, and John Gayther's countenance immediately was lighted up by a smile. "I could not think of telling you a solemn story," he said, "and this one is about a peculiar character I knew. His name was Abner Batterfield, and he was a farmer. One day he was forty-five years old. He was also tired. Having finished hoeing his last row of corn, he sat down on a bench at his front door, took off his wide and dilapidated straw hat, and wiped his brow. Presently his wife came out. She was a little more than forty-five years old, and of phenomenal physical and mental endurance. She had lived seventeen years with Abner, and her natural vigor was not impaired.
"'Supper's ready,' said she.
"Her husband heaved a sigh, and stretched out his weary legs in unison.
"'Supper,' he repeated; 'it's allus eat, and work, and sleep!'
"'Perhaps you'd like to leave out the eatin',' said Mrs. Batterfield; 'that would save lots.'
"Her husband ignored this remark. His farm was small, but it was too big for him. He had no family except himself and wife, but the support of that family taxed his energies. There was a certain monotony connected with coming out short at the end of the year which was wearisome to his soul.
"'Mrs. B.,' said he, 'I've made up my mind to start over again.'
"'Goin' back to the corn-field?' she asked. 'You'd better have your supper first.'
"'No,' said he; 'it's different. I've been thinkin' about it all day, and I'm goin' to begin life over ag'in.'
"'At your age it would be more fit fer you to consider the proper endin' of it,' said she.