“Yes.”
“They’re just buried like dead dogs!”
“I’ll git somethin’.”
“What’s the use, anyhow? If you were any good of a man, there’d be a decent white stone like them Lyndsays has set.”
“Oh, I’ll find somethin’, Susie! I’ll think about it.” He was anxious to get through with it all, and somewhere deep in his mind was moved by her want.
“It ain’t no use thinking,” she said, “when you’ve got no money.” And so, at last, she went away once more to the wretchedness they called home, leaving him to complete his task.
It was now dusk. He sat down on a log, and wiped his brow with his sleeve. There was a little tobacco left in his pouch. He lit a pipe, and sat awhile in dull rumination, like some slow ox, recalling her words. At last he took the pipe out of his mouth, and stood up, as one set on the clear track of an idea. A difficulty occurred to him.
“I’ll do it. No one won’t know. There don’t nobody come here.” A moment later a new obstacle arose is his mind, and he resumed his pipe and his seat.
“That’ll do,” he said. “I’ll get Dory to help. She won’t think for to suspect none.” And so, much cheered by the prospect of pleasing his wife, he went away to the cow-shed.
His had been a poor, loveless life. An orphan boy, he had never possessed ability or power to win affection or respect for anything except his muscles. Yet a canine capacity to love without question was in him, and the tall, gaunt woman who alone had put out a hand of apparent trust to him had all of his simple attachment.