"Come and see us," they said.
"I will," he replied cordially. "I'll try and get around to see everybody, and talk over old times, before I go back."
After the wagons had driven out of the yard, Howard turned and put his arm about his mother's neck.
"A little."
"Well, now good night. I'm going for a little stroll."
His brain was too active to sleep. He kissed his mother good-night, and went out into the road, his hat in his hand, the cool moist wind on his hair.
It was very dark, the stars being partly hidden by a thin vapor. On each side the hills rose, every line familiar as the face of an old friend. A whippoorwill called occasionally from the hillside, and the spasmodic jangle of a bell now and then told of some cow's battle with the mosquitoes.
As he walked, he pondered upon the tragedy he had rediscovered in these people's lives. Out here under the inexorable spaces of the sky, a deep distaste of his own life took possession of him. He felt like giving it all up. He thought of the infinite tragedy of these lives which the world loves to call peaceful and pastoral. His mind went out in the aim to help them. What could he do to make life better worth living? Nothing.
They must live and die practically as he saw them to-night.