“Well，now，goodnight。I’mgoingforalittlestroll。“Hisbrainwastooactivetosleep。Hekissedhismothergoodnightandwentoutintotheroad，hishatinhishand，thecool，moistwindonhishair。
Itwasverydark，thestarsbeingpartlyhiddenbyathinvapor。Oneachsidethehillsrose，everylinefamiliarasthefaceofanoldfriend。Awhippoorwillcalledoccasionallyfromthehillside，andthespasmodicjangleofabellnowandthentoldofsomecow’sbattlewiththemosquitoes。
Ashewalked，hepondereduponthetragedyhehadrediscoveredinthesepeople’slives。Outhereundertheinexorablespacesofthesky，adeepdistasteofhisownlifetookpossessionofhim。Hefeltlikegivingitallup。Hethoughtoftheinfinitetragedyoftheseliveswhichtheworldlovestocall“peacefulandpastoral。“HIS
mindwentoutintheaimtohelpthem。Whatcouldhedotomakelifebetterworthliving？Nothing。Theymustliveanddiepracticallyashesawthemtonight。
Andyetheknewthiswasamood，andthatinafewhourstheloveandthehabitoflifewouldcomebackuponhimanduponthem；
thathewouldgobacktothecityinafewdays；thatthesepeoplewouldliveonandmakethebestofit。
“I’llmakethebestofit，“hesaidatlast，andhisthoughtcamebacktohismotherandGrant。
IV
Thenextdaywasarainyday；notashower，butasteadyrain-anunusualthinginmidsummerintheWest。Acold，dismaldayinthefireless，colorlessfarmhouses。ItcametoHowardinthatpeculiarreactionwhichsurelycomesduringavisitofthischaracter，whenthoughtisaweariness，whenthevisitorlongsforhisownfamiliarwallsandpicturesandbooks，andlongstomeethisfriends，feelingatthesametimethetragedyoflifewhichmakesfriendsnearerandmorecongenialthanbloodrelations。
Howardatehisbreakfastalone，saveBabyandLaura，itsmother，goingabouttheroom。Babyandmotheralikeinsistedonfeedinghimtodeath。Alreadydyspepticpangsweresettingin。
“Nowain’ttheresomethingmoreIcan-“
“Goodheavens!No!“hecriedindismay。“I’mlikelytodieofdyspepsianow。Thishoneyandmilk，andthesedelicioushotbiscuits-“
“I’mafraiditain’tmuchlikethebreakfastsyouhaveinthecity。“
“Well，no，itain’t，“heconfessed。“Butthisisthekindamanneedswhenhelivesintheopenair。“
Shesatdownoppositehim，withherelbowsonthetable，herchininherpalm，hereyesfullofshadows。
“I’dliketogotoacityonce。Ineversawatownbigger’nLumberville。I’veneverseenaplay，butI’vereadof’eminthemagazines。Itmustbewonderful；theysaytheyhavewharvesandrealshipscominguptothewharf，andpeoplegettingoffandon。
Howdotheydoit？“
“Oh，that’stoolongastorytotell。It’salotofmachineryandpaintandcanvas。IfItoldyouhowitwasdone，youwouldn’tenjoyitsowellwhenyoucomeonandseeit。“
“DoyoueverexpecttoseemeinNewYork？“
“Why，yes。Whynot？IexpectGranttocomeOnandbringyouallsomeday，especiallyTonikinshere。Tonikins，youhear，sir？I
expectyoutocomeonyou’forbirfday，sure。“Hetriedthustostopthewoman’sgloomyconfidence。
’Ihatefarmlife，“shewentonwithabitterinflection。“It’snothingbutfret，fretandworkthewholetime，nevergoinganyplace，neverseeinganybodybutalotofneighborsjustasbigfoolsasyouare。Ispendmytimefightingfliesandwashingdishesandchurning。I’msickofitall。“
Howardwassilent。Whatcouldhesaytosuchanindictment？Theceilingswarmedwithflieswhichthecoldrainhaddriventoseekthewarmthofthekitchen。Thegrayrainwasfallingwithadrearysoundoutside，anddownthekitchenstovepipeanoccasionaldropfellonthestovewithahissing，angrysound。
Theyoungwifewentonwithadeepernote：
“IlivedinLumbervilletwoyears，goingtoschool，andIknowalittlesomethingofwhatcitylifeis。IfIwasaman，IbetIwouldn’twearmylifeoutonafarm，asGrantdoes。I’dgetawayandI’ddosomething。Iwouldn’tcarewhat，butI’dgetaway。“
TherewasacertainvolcanicenergybackofallthewomansaidthatmadeHowardfeelshe’dmaketheattempt。Shedidn’tknowthatthestrugglefora。placetostandonthisplanetwaseatingtheheartandsouloutofmenandwomeninthecity，justasinthecountry。Buthecouldsaynothing。Ifbehadsaidinconventionalphrase，sittingthereinhissoftclothing，“Wemustmakethebestofitall，“thewomancouldjustlyhavethrownthedishclothinhisface。Hecouldsaynothing。
“Iwasafoolforevermarrying，“shewenton，whilethebabypushedachairacrosstheroom。“Imadeadecentlivingteaching，I
wasfreetocomeandgo，mymoneywasmyown。NowI’mfledrightdowntoachurnoradishpan，Ineverhaveacentofmyown。
He’sgrowlin’roundhalfthetime，andthere’snochanceofhiseverbeingdifferent。“
Shestoppedwithabittersobinherthroat。Sheforgotshewastalkingtoherhusband’sbrother。Shewasconsciousonlyofhissympathy。
Asifagreatblackcloudhadsettleddownuponhim，Howardfeltitall-thehorror，hopelessness，immanenttragedyofitall。Thegloryofnature，thebountyandsplendorofthesky，onlymadeitthemorebenumbing。HethoughtofasentenceMilletoncewrote：
Iseeverywelltheaureoleofthedandelions，andthesunalso，fardowntherebehindthehills，flinginghisgloryupontheclouds。Butnotalonethat-Iseeintheplainsthesmokeofthetiredhorsesattheplough，or，onastony-heartedspotofground，aback-brokenmantryingtoraisehimselfuprightforamomenttobreathe。
Thetragedyissurroundedbyglories-thatisnoinventionofmine。
Howardaroseabruptlyandwentbacktohislittlebedroom，wherehewalkedupanddownthefloortillhewascalmenoughtowrite，andthenhesatdownandpoureditalloutto“DearestMargaret，“
andhisfirstsentencewasthis：
“IfitwerenotforyoujusttoletyouknowthemoodI’min-ifitwerenotforyou，andIhadtheworldinmyhands，I’dcrushitlikeapuffball；evilsopredominates，sufferingissouniversalandpersistent，happinesssofleetingandsoinfrequent。“
Hewroteonfortwohours，andbythetimehehadsealedanddirectedseverallettershefeltcalmer，butstillterriblydepressed。
Therainwasstillfalling，sweepingdownfromthehalf-seenhills，wreathingthewoodedpeakswithagraygarmentofmistandfillingthevalleywithawhitishcloud。
Itfellaroundthehousedrearily。Itrandownintothetubsplacedtocatchit，drippedfromthemossypump，anddrummedontheupturnedmilkpails，anduponthebrownandyellowbeehivesunderthemapletrees。Thechickensseemeddepressed，buttheirrepressiblebluejayscreamedamiditall，withthesameinsolentspirit，hisplumageuntarnishedbythewet。Thebarnyardshowedahorriblemixtureofmudandmire，throughwhichHowardcaughtglimpsesofthemen，slumpingtoandfrowithoutmoreadditionalprotectionthanaraggedcoatandashapelessfelthat。
Inthesittingroomwherehismothersatsewingtherewasnotanornament，savetheetchinghehadbrought。Theclockstoodonasmallshell，itsdialsomuchdefacedthatonecouldnottellthetimeofday；andwhenitstruck，itwaswithnoticeablydisproportionatedeliberation，asifitwishedtocorrectanymistakeintowhichthefamilymighthavefallenbyreasonofitsillegibledial。
ThepaperonthewallsshowedthefirstconcessionofthePuritanstotheSpiritofBeauty，andwasmadeupofaheterogeneousmixtureofflowersofunheard-ofshapesandcolors，arrangedinfourdifferentwaysalongthewall。Therewerenobooks，nomusic，andonlyafewnewspapersinsight-abare，blank，cold，drab-
coloredshelterfromtherain，notahome。Nothingcozy，nothingheartwarming；agrimandhorribleshed。
“Whataretheydoing？Itcan’tbethey’reatworksuchadayasthis，“Howardsaid，standingatthewindow。
“Theyfindplentytodo，evenonrainydays，“answeredhismother。
“Grantalwayshassomejobtosetthemenat。It’stheonlywaytolive。“
“I’llgooutandseethem。“Heturnedsuddenly。“Mother，whyshouldGranttreatmeso？HaveIdeservedit？“
Mrs。McLanesighedinpathetichopelessness。“Idon’tknow，Howard。I’mworriedaboutGrant。Hegetsmorean’moredownheartedan’gloomyeveryday。Seem’sifhe’dgocrazy。Hedon’tcarehowhelooksanymore，won’tdressuponSunday。Daysan’dayshe’llgoaroun’notsayin’aword。Iwasinhopesyoucouldhelphim，Howard。“
“Mycomingseemstohavehadanoppositeeffect。Hehasn’tspokenawordtome，exceptwhenhehadto，sinceIcame。
Mother，whatdoyousaytogoinghomewithmetoNewYork？“
“Oh，Icouldn’tdothat!“shecriedinterror。“Icouldn’tliveinabigcity-never!“
“Therespeaksthetrulyruralmind，“smiledHowardathismother，whowaslookingupathimthroughherglasseswithapatheticforlornnesswhichsoberedhimagain。“Why，Mother，youcouldliveinOrange，NewJersey，oroutinConnecticut，andbejustaslonesomeasyouarehere。Youwouldn’tneedtoliveinthecity。I
couldseeyoutheneverydayortwo。“
“Well，Icouldn’tleaveGrantan’thebaby，anyway，“shereplied，notrealizinghowonecouldliveinNewJerseyanddobusinessdailyinNewYork。
“Well，then，howwouldyouliketogobackintotheoldhouse？“hesaid，facingher。
Thepatienthandsfelltothelap，thedimeyesfixedinsearchingglanceonhisface。Therewasawistfulcryinthevoice。
“Oh，Howard!Doyoumean-“
UpTheCoulee93
Hecameandsatdownbyher，andputhisarmaboutherandhuggedherhard。“Imean，youdear，good，patient，work-wear~oldMother，I’mgoingtobuybacktheoldfarmandputyouinit。“
Therewasnorefugeforhernowexceptintears，andsheputupherthin，tremblingoldhandsabouthisneckandcriedinthateasy，placid，restfulwayagehas。
Howardcouldnotspeak。Histhroatachedwithremorseandpity。
Hesawhisforgetfulnessofthemalloncemorewithoutrelief-theblackthingitwas!
“There，there，Mother，don’tcry!“hesaid，tornwithanguishbyhertears。Measuredbyman’stearlessness，herweepingseemedterribletohim。“Ididn’trealizehowthingsweregoinghere。Itwasallmyfault-or，atleast，mostofit。Grant’sletterdidn’treachme。Ithoughtyouwerestillontheoldfarm。Butnomatter；it’sallovernow。
Come，don’tcryanymore，Motherdear。I’mgoingtotakecareofyounow。“
Ithadbeenyearssincethepoor，lonelywomanhadfeltsuchwarmthoflove。Hersonshadbeenlikeherhusband，charyofexpressingtheiraffection；andlikemostPuritanfamilies，therewaslittleofcaressingamongthem。Sittingtherewiththerainontheroofanddrivingthroughthetrees，theyplannedgettingbackintotheoldhouse。Howard’splanseemedtoherfullofsplendorandaudacity。Shebegantounderstandhispowerandwealthnow，asheputitintoconcreteformbeforeher。
“IwishIcouldeatThanksgivingdinnertherewithyou，“hesaidatlast，“butitcan’tbethoughtof。However，I’llhaveyouallintherebeforeIgohome。I’mgoingoutnowandtellGrant。Nowdon’tworryanymore；I’mgoingtofixitallupwithhim，sure。“Hegaveherapartinghug。
Lauraadvisedhimnottoattempttogettothebarn；butashepersistedingoing，shehuntedupanoldrubbercoatforhim。
“You’llmiredownandspoilyourshoes，“shesaid，glancingathisneatcalfgaiters。
“Darnthedifference!“helaughedinhisoldway。“Besides，I’vegotrubbers。“
“Bettergoroundbythefence，“sheadvisedashesteppedoutintothepouringrain。