“Would you have me analyze those colors that we see? I might make shift to do it. Would this soft light be more beautiful to you”—
“Oh, no, no,” she cried. “Let it be. See, the sun is almost down. Stand beside me, Adam.”
So I stood, and she clasped my fingers close in hers, and we faced the west, for we would bid the old sun good-night. And as we stood thus, came Old Goodwin, silently, and stood at her other side. And she took his hand in hers, too, one hand to each, and we looked at the sun, and his rim rested on the hill. And there stood a tree, great and tall like a spire, that showed black against his disk. So we watched him sink, and as the last thin line vanished behind the hill, we saluted, all three. Then Eve breathed a deep sigh.
“Such a lovely day, Adam,” she said, “ended in beauty! If all the days could be like this!”
I remembered me of a day, not two months back, that had been a driving drizzle of rain, and of a certain figure that had stood beneath a tree, and the water dripped from the rim of her wide felt hat, and shone upon her long coat. And that day, with all its wetness, had seemed as good a day as this, for she had smiled to see me coming along the shore, my face as black as the clouds, and not expecting to find her; and she had smiled again to see my face change at the sight of her, and to see that I could not speak for the joy of it. But I had looked at her until she flushed red.
“Truly,” said I, “beauty is from within, Eve, and each day is but what we make it.”
Then Eve and I sat us down upon the bank where we were wont to sit, and Old Goodwin gave me a quiet smile for greeting. He was a quiet man, peaceable and peace-loving, and I marveled, often, that he should be Goodwin the Rich. But so it was. And his automobiles flashed past my front gate, as they had done before, covering my hedge with dust and enveloping my house in nauseous smells; also as they had done before. But I like automobiles better than I did. I even ride in them sometimes, with Eve, on the back seat; and Old Goodwin rides on the front seat, and drives as though the Devil were after him; which I think he is not, for Old Goodwin is a lovable man, and a good man I believe, as men go. So I sit in the back seat, with Eve, and hold my clothes on,—my hat I long ago learned to leave at home,—and I bump here and there, and now and then I shout a tender word to Eve, and I think my thoughts; and when we turn a corner—on two wheels—I thank goodness that there are high sides to hold me in.
But Old Goodwin had gone to a tree that was at hand, and from some recess had pulled some rubber boots. They were old boots, battered and dingy with much wading through mud. And after the boots came a hat, as old and battered as they, and a coat. And he put them all on, deliberately, and stood. And, standing, he looked more like some old fisherman than like Goodwin the Rich, which was, no doubt, why he wore them. My neighbors would be but too happy if they were to see Old Goodwin—and know him—digging in my clam beds, and their tongues are ever ready at inventing tales. Those neighbors of mine are a grief to Eve, and an incitement to anger, which, as every one knows, heats the blood and causes vapors in the brain. Eve does not like vapors. So I was at some pains to get those boots.
And Old Goodwin, after further searching in the tree, drew forth a clam hoe and a basket; and being thus equipped, he hied him to the flats, which were, by now, almost bare, and he began to dig. Now that is a luxury which the rich may seldom have, that they should dig for clams. Old Goodwin enjoyed it mightily, splashing here and there in his boots, and digging as the fancy seized him; which was as like to be where the clams were not as where they were. But he cared not at all, and drew long breaths for very joy of living; and the clams that he found he put within his basket. And with his boots, as he waded here and there, he stirred long lines of color that went rippling in waves of yellow or red or a tender blue until they died at our feet. For the west was all a brilliant, dazzling yellow, with one long cloud that showed indigo above, but a bright crimson below. And behind us were other long clouds, and they were crimson, too. But the sky between was a tender blue. And I gazed long.
“Adam,” cried Eve at last, “how can you be content to sit there?”