He dropped his face into his hands for a moment, groaning in spirit—for the wound in his heart was deep as well as that to his pride.
"It does seem as if there warn't nothin' left in this world worth livin' fur!" he sighed. "But then I'm not the feller to give up and die! I'll fight it out an' get over it yet."
He picked up the letter and thrust it into his bosom, straightened himself, went down into the smithy, and fell to work at his anvil, dealing vigorous blows as if thus he would drive away the demon of despair.
He ate little at dinner, and conscious that Rhoda Jane's sharp eyes were upon him, scarcely lifted his from his plate.
He hurried back to his work. She followed him the next minute.
"So she's give you the mitten?"
"Who told you so?" he asked defiantly, standing before her with arms folded and head erect, but reddening to his very hair.
"Humph! I ain't blind, and anybody could see it with half an eye. Well, never you mind! you're a sight too good fur her, the—"
"Don't you call her no names now! I ain't agoin' to have it. It's me that isn't fit to hold a candle to the like o' her, and had ought to had sense enough to know it.
"Well, I didn't boast like Ransquattle; that's one small bit o' comfort as things has turned out," he concluded moodily, picking up his hammer.