And once again John French said to his mother: “There’s an end of him, and I’d precious like to know what was Tim’s place in the world, and what his mission?”
And the rector said to the Squire, after the funeral, “Well, at last poor Slouch has found the hole in which he must stick. I have wondered, and do wonder still, what he was sent here for.”
A year passed, and to the surprise of most people, John French married Sela Luppencott.
“It’s a wonderful lift in life for her,” said some.
“But it is such a come down for him,” said others.
What John French said of it was this. He said it to his mother: “Do you mind what I asked some time agone about that Tim Slouch; whatever could have been his work and mission in the world? It often puzzled me. But I have found it out. He was the making of Sela. His very helplessness made her industrious, his thriftlessness made her saving, his dreadfully trying ways made her patient and enduring, his imprudence made her foreseeing. I do believe the work and mission of that fellow was just this—to make for me the very model and perfection of a farmer’s wife, and then to break his neck.”
“Aye,” said Mrs. French; “and the way he shifted about till he’d settled down close by us. ’Twere all ordained, I believe.”
“Upon my word,” said the rector one day to the Squire, “the proper thing to do, Tim has done at last: to break his neck and leave his widow to John French.”