Three Chances

I.

PATIENCE JOT was hanging out the clothes in the side yard and singing, “ ‘ Guide me, O, Thou great Jehovah, Pilgrim through this barren land.’ ” The scent of the lilacs by the fence came to her, fresh and sweet, and fallen cherry blossoms flecked the grass under her feet. Overhead masses of white clouds drifted by.

“ I am weak, but Thou art mighty. Hold me with Thy powerful hand.” She lifted a big sheet from the basket and tossed it across the line, straightening it on each side with swift, decisive touch. “ Bread of heaven, Bread of heaven ” — The song came thoughtfully. She was examining the hem of the sheet, rubbing it between her big hands to remove the suggestion of a shadow along the edge. “ Feed me t-i-i-l-l I wa-a-n-t no more.” She finished triumphantly, dropping the sheet and bending again to the basket.

The words floated in at the window of the little house across the yard. Old Mrs. Joy, sitting bolt upright against the pillows, looked out with a half smile on her pinched-up, querulous face. Her sloping shoulders bent a little forward, and her thin fingers, knotted at the joints, rested impatiently on the patchwork quilt. She had been the village tailoress. It was ten years since she had given up tailoring and taken to her bed to die of consumption.

Patience did the village tailoring now. On Mondays she washed. Tuesdays she went out tailoring. Wednesdays she ironed. Thursdays and Fridays she went out tailoring again. And Saturdays she baked. To-day was Monday. “ Open Thou the crystal fountain ” —

A young man, passing along outside the fence, stopped and hesitated. “ Whence the healing streams do flow — Goodmorning, Ethan,” The fresh, joyous face emerged from behind the clothes.

The young man smiled. He pushed his hat farther back on his head. “ Morning, Patience.”

“ How ’s your mother ? ” She was coming toward the fence with long, easy steps.

“ Tolabul. How’s yourn ? ”

“ Pretty good. She did n’t rest very well last night.”

They waited in silence.

“ Getting your wash out ? ” He nodded affably toward the flapping lines.

“ I ’m ’most done.” A shyness had settled on the big figure. “ Can’t you stop, Ethan ? ” She glanced toward the gate.

His glance followed indifferently. “ Guess not. I’m goin’ an erran’ for mother. The old gray hen’s a-settin’. I’m goin’ down to Pride’s for eggs.”

“ Oh ! ” The girl’s face had shadowed a little.

The young man regarded the white clouds. He had clear, pink cheeks, and his hair curled closely. His big mouth had something of the look of conceit, touched with a kind of boyish sweetness.

“ Say — Patience ” —

She glanced at him slowly.

He had looked down from the clouds. “ I’ve been thinking about something quite awhile.”

Her face lighted. “ Have you ? ”

He nodded. His eyes followed an oriole in its flaming, dipping flight across the yard to the elm tree over the front door. “ I’m kind o’ ’fraid mother won’t like it,” he said slowly.

She was looking at him thoughtfully. “ Maybe not.” She gave a little sigh. Her eyes rested on the oriole swinging on the long branch of the elm. Its halfbuilt nest was close by.

“ She’d ought to be willing,” he said more stoutly. “ I’m twenty-four.”

“ Yes.” The word was scarcely breathed. She had raised her eyes to his face and was regarding him.

He returned the look absently, the smile on his full lips deepening. “I’m thinkin’ about sayin’ it to-day,” he said tentatively.

She flushed and looked away. Her big face had a softened touch. It was not unlike that of a finely bred horse, with its long lines and the look of gentle intelligence. The gray eyes were clear wells of light. They turned toward him steadily. “ I would,” she said.

“I reckon I will,” he responded. He half turned away. “ Well, I must be goin’.”

She stared at him. Her lips had parted, incredulous. “ Can’t you stop ? ” she faltered.

He smiled amiably. “ Guess not. Esther ’ll be washin’ too. I might lose my chance if I stopped.” He spoke with boyish condescension. His hands grasped the top of two pickets and pulled at them in half embarrassment.

She was looking intently at the swaying clothes, a baffled question in her face.

“ She’s a nice girl,” remarked Ethan, loath to drop the subject.

She nodded sharply. The color had left her face.

“ If mother don’t like Esther Pride, there ain’t anybody she will like,” he continued, with a swift pull at the pickets.

She was looking away.

“ Don’t you think so, Patience ? ”

“ Yes — I — think — so.” The words came slowly.

He smiled complacently. “ I knew you would. You know mother’s well as I do. She won’t like anybody comin’ in and upsettin’ her so — and upsettin’ her ways.” He scowled at the pickets.

“No.”

“ An’ Esther’s got ways of her own.” He lifted his face. It wore a proud, boyish smile. “Say, Patience, couldn’t you kind o’ talk to mother ? ”

“ About what?” She was not looking at him.

“ ’Bout Esther — you know ” —

“ Yes?”

“ How handsome she is and ” — He broke off sharply, looking at the half smile on her lips. “ No, that won’t do,” he said hastily. He paused, a perplexed look in his face. It gave way to light. “ Tell her something yourself, Patience. You always say good things to her.” He spoke with relief.

“ Very well,” she said gently. She was turning back to the clothes.

“ Good-by, Patience.”

“ Good-by, Ethan.”

He walked down the road, his head erect, whistling with careless ease.

She lifted the empty basket and turned toward the house. In the soft gloom of the woodshed she paused, looking about her vaguely. The gray wells were tilled to the brim. They stared at the side of the shed. The sob that rose to her lips was changed, with a shake of the big figure, to a quick, harsh breath. She bent over the tub, swirling the water swiftly under her hand and dipping it into the pail by the bench.

A querulous voice reached the shed: “ Patience! Patience ! ”

She lifted her head, a fine light glowing in her eyes. “ Yes, mother ! Coming, mother! ” she called cheerily.

She hastened across the sitting room to the big bedroom. The old face was turned impatiently to the door, “ Wa’n’t that Ethan ? ” she demanded sharply.

The girl came across and changed the pillows. “ Yes, mother.” The flushed face was hidden.

“ I thought so.” The shrunken chest breathed complacently. “ What 'd he hev to say ? ”

“ Nothing.”

Her mother peered at her sharply. “ What ’d he come for ? ”

“ He was just going by.” The voice was careless.

“ Umph ! ” She drew the little threecornered shawl more closely about her shoulders. “ Ain’t you ’most done ? ” she asked, with a tired look.

“ I was just emptying the tubs when you called,” replied the girl. “ I ’ll finish ’em, and then I 'll bring the potatoes in here to peel.”

“ It’s tumble lonesome,” said her mother rigidly. “ ’T aint ’s if I could sew or do anything to take up my mind.” She glanced down at the knotted fingers.

“ No, mother. It’s real hard. Everybody knows it’s hard,” responded Patience soothingly. “ I ’ll be right back.”

She went swiftly from the room. Presently her voice ascended from the cool cellar, as she bent over the potato barrel, “ Let the fiery, cloudy pillar lead me all my journey through.”

The mother’s sharp eyes softened. They looked up as Patience stood in the door, the pan of potatoes in her hand.

“ Take your chair and set right there by the window where you can see what’s going on and tell me ’bout it,” she said.

II.

“ That you, Patience ? ” The voice had a note of hopeful fretfulness.

The girl crossed the sitting room and hung her hat on the nail behind the door before she turned toward the bedroom. Her face had a tired look, but the eyes were serene. They smiled at the twisted old face turned toward her.

“ How you feeling, mother ? ” she asked gently, coming to the bed.

The old eyes brushed the question aside. “ What ’d you talk about ? ” she demanded.

The girl stood, with an absent look, rearranging the things on the little stand at the head of the bed. “ I don’t know,” she said slowly.

Her mother, who had sunk back on the pillows with an air of expectancy, bristled anew.

“ You must ’a’ talked about something! ”she said sharply. “You could n’t ’a’ set dumb all day.”

Patience smiled vaguely. “No,” she admitted, “ there was a good deal o’ talk, — one kind and another. You lie still, mother, I’ll think of it, — a little at a time.”

The old lady was leaning forward, as if to extract some scrap of news by sheer intensity. She clicked in her throat, softly and inarticulately. “ What’d you sew P ” she asked suggestively.

“ I begun a coat for Deacon Toll.”

“ New ? ” The question was flung in swiftly.

Patience nodded. “ Kind of a mohair, for summer. Gray,” she added.

Her mother waited and simmered.

“ And I cut a pair of pants for Johnnie, out of an old pair of the deacon’s.”

“ Black ? ”

“ No-o, — sort of slate-blue.”

The old face gleamed with recognition. “ Ain’t them pants wore out yet? He must ’a’ had ’em ten — twelve — fifteen years ” — She nodded triumphantly. “ It ’ll be fifteen, come next fall, he got that cloth. He got it down to Taunton, and I made ’em up along in the winter, — the winter you was five. You was wearing that red plaid of mine made over. You use’ to go out with me some then. You went to Deacon Tolles’ twothree days along that time. Don’t you remember, Patience ? ”

“ I don’t seem to remember,” replied Patience slowly. She had gathered up the cup and plates with the remnants of dinner on them, and stood ready to go. “I ’ll get supper right off, mother. You must be hungry,” she said.

The old eyes followed her from the room. They did not leave the doorway until she reappeared in it, bearing the old-fashioned tray, with its teapot and cups and plates for two, and a dish of steaming hash in the middle. She placed the tray on the stand and drew up her chair beside it, looking over the tray a little absently and anxiously, as if she might have forgotten something.

“ It’s all there, Patience,” said the old lady. “ Now you can tell ’bout things.” She sipped swiftly at the hot tea.

Patience smiled. “ The deacon’s got a new horse,” she said.

Her mother grasped the morsel and chewed it eagerly. When it was disposed of, down to the last shred of buying and selling and keep, Patience produced another bit of news, and the supper flowed placidly on. When it was finished, she carried away the tray and washed the dishes, and sprinkled the clothes for the next day’s ironing, moving deftly about the kitchen. But the old woman, listening from the bedroom, her mind browsing happily on the scraps of news, caught no snatches of song.

She looked up, a little curiously, when the quiet face reappeared. “ You sure you told me all the news the’ was, Patience ? ”

The girl crossed to the window and sat down in the low chair. Her face was turned away from the light. The scent of wet lilacs by the fence came to her. “ I did n’t tell you ’bout Esther Pride, did I ? ” she asked slowly, as if in doubt.

Her mother sat upright. “ You did n’t say a word,” she said quickly.

“ They say she’s going to be married.”

“ Who to ? ” The words flew at her.

“ To Ethan Judson.”

The old lady sank back, with a little pant. “ Well! ” she said sharply.

Patience made no response.

“I don’t believe it,” said her mother. She was sitting upright again.

“I guess it’s so,” said Patience. She spoke wearily, but without interest. “ Esther’s mother told Mis’ Stebbins yesterday, and her husband told the deacon when he was coming by last night, and he told Mis’ Toll, and she told me.” She dwelt slowly on each detail before she added the next one.

Her mother eyed her sharply. “ His mother ’ll cut up dretful,” she said, with decision.

Patience shook her head, smiling. “ She don’t seem to mind it,” she said.

“ How do you know ? ”

“ I stopped there a minute, coming by.”

“ You never told me ! ” ejaculated her mother.

“ I had n’t got to it,” responded Patience. “ I’d been telling you about the deacon’s. She seemed to think she’d like her pretty well,” added Patience tentatively.

“ Well,” sniffed her mother, “ she won’t. What ’d she say about it ? ” she asked curiously.

Patience hesitated. “ We talked about what a good housekeeper Esther is, and about her new bonnet, and about what a good hand she is in sickness. I guess she’s going to like her first rate,” she reiterated slowly.

Her mother looked at her. " Was Ethan there ? ” she asked.

A faint flush came into the girl’s face ; but it remained a serene blur against the twilight. “ He was down to Esther’s,” she said.

Old Mrs. Joy sniffed again. “ Well, I can tell ’em one thing. When Mis’ Judson and Esther Pride pull together, they ’ll both be a good deal older than they be now, or one of ’em ’ll be dead.” She drew the three-cornered shawl virtuously around her shoulders. “ Git a light, Patience : we ’ll read a chapter and have prayers and go to bed,” she said gently. “ It’s time you was restin’.”

III.

“ I do’ know what to call him,” said Ethan lugubriously. He sat on the lower step, chewing a bit of woodbine in his front teeth. “ Mother wanted him called ‘ ’Lisha,’ after father, and Esther was possessed to have him called ‘ John,’ after her father, and I do’ know what to call him.” He spit out the bit of woodbine and straightened himself, looking appealingly at Patience.

She sat just inside the porch, rocking back and forth in her low chair. She was crocheting a piece of edging. She counted the stitches in a new scallop before she looked up.

Old Mrs. Joy had proved a true prophet. Esther Pride and Mis’ Judson had not got on well together. When, after a year of futile bickering and jealousy, a son was born to the young people, old Mis’ Judson had seized the opportunity to clean the house from garret to cellar and rearrange things in their old places without let or hindrance. It was the middle of March. The wind wailed fiercely at open windows and doors. But she worked in feverish haste, and chuckled grimly as each carpet and chest of drawers and bedstead was reinstalled in its wonted spot. Not till every chair was in place did she succumb to the pain that griped at her chest and go to bed.

The attack was swift and sure. The fever ran high. In less than a week old Mis’ Judson had passed where bureaus and chairs and bedquilts rack no more. The fever crept across the hall. The young mother, with the baby at her breast, fought defiantly and bravely till the last fluttering breath; and her spirit too slipped over the border into the unknown.

“ I do’ know what to call him,” repeated Ethan helplessly. He leaned over and broke off a new bit of woodbine from the latticework above them.

Patience looked up from the scallop, smiling gently. “ What do you want to call him ? ” she asked.

“ I do’ know,” responded Ethan, without light. “ I like ‘ ’Lisha ’ and I like ‘ John.’ But I can’t call him both on ’em.” He sighed heavily.

“ Why not ? ”

He paused, with open mouth, and pushed his hat farther back on a troubled brow. “ They don’ do it, ever,” he said dubiously.

“ You could.”

“ Ye-s-s.” He chewed meditatively on the woodbine. “ It’s terrible hard to say, — John ’Lisha ! ” His thick tongue coiled laboriously at the word.

“ ’Lisha John,” said Patience smoothly.

He stared at her admiringly. “ ’Lisha John, — ’Lisha John, — ’Lisha John,” he repeated fondly and proudly. “ I ’ll do it! It’s a nice name. ’Lisha was father’s name. You don’t suppose Esther ’d mind having her father second, do you ? ” he asked, with a sudden return of anxiety.

“ She would n’t mind,” said Patience kindly. “ It’s just because it sounds better. She would want him to have a nice-sounding name.”

“ Yes. She always wanted things nice-sounding,” admitted Ethan. He gave a sigh of relief. “ ’Lisha John,” he said softly.

They sat silent.

“ He’s terrible cunning,” said Ethan, with a proud smile.

She looked up with quick, responsive eyes. “ He’s getting to be a big boy.”

He nodded. “Six months last Tuesday.”

“ He ought to be put into short dresses,” said Patience thoughtfully.

He looked at her helplessly. “ Mis’ Fearing did n’t say so.”

“ No. She’s too busy. I don’t suppose she’s thought about it. She’s old, too,” she added gently. “They always used to keep ’em in long dresses through the first winter, but they don’t do it any more.” The gray eyes looking down at him were wells of wisdom and of light.

He gazed into them trustfully.

“ She ’ll have to do it,” she said decisively.

He sat chewing in silence. “ I don’t suppose he ’ll have pants for quite a spell,” he said wistfully.

She smiled faintly over her work. “ No, not for quite a spell,” she responded. “ Tell Mis’ Fearing I’ve got some patterns I ’ll bring over in the morning.” She began to roll the length of edging smoothly about the spool in her hand.

He stood up, one hand against the lattice, and looked down at her gratefully. “You’re real good, Patience. I do’ know how we’d get along without you,” he said slowly. The full lips wore a softened look.

She glanced up swiftly and down again at the edging in her hand. “ It’s no more ’n I ’d do for any of the neighbors, Ethan,” she answered gently.

IV.

Two weeks later Ethan appeared at the kitchen door with ’Lisha John balanced proudly on his arm. It was Saturday, and Patience was baking. She stood at the table rolling out pie crust. As the shadow fell in the doorway she looked up quickly. A light came into her eyes. She dropped the rolling-pin and came toward them, brushing the flour from her hands. “ Ain’t he sweet ! ” she said, holding out the hands swiftly.

’Lisha John responded by a fat gurgle and a jumping of tiny hands and feet toward her.

Patience took him on her arm, smoothing down the little dress from its pink gathers and looking at him fondly. “ Come and show him to mother,” she said swiftly.

Ethan nodded. “ I thought you’d want to,” he said complacently. He followed with heavier, lumbering tread across the sitting room.

Old Mrs. Joy looked up inquiringly. She reached out to the stand for her glasses, and put them on her thin nose. She barely nodded to Ethan, standing elated in the doorway. Her glance was on the crowing, pink child.

“ Sakes alive ! ” she laughed tremulously. “ Has he got to that ? ”

Patience had placed him on the foot of the bed, where he stood cooing and balancing, with swift, cautious lurches toward the footboard. Ethan, from the doorway, grinned proudly, and Patience, at the side of the bed, reached out a careful hand.

The old lady leaned forward, chirruping and smiling. She held out knotted, coaxing hands.

’Lisha John regarded them gravely. He began the perilous journey, tilting from side to side, and emitting ponderous, gurgling coos as the fat legs swayed and wabbled beneath him. His blue eyes were fixed on the gleaming, nodding glasses that lured him on. With a final gurgle and rush, he grasped them in one flying hand and plumped on the pillow in blissful content.

Three admiring faces were bent upon him. Then old Mrs. Joy fell to coughing at his cleverness, and Ethan and ’Lisha John were banished from the room.

’Lisha John came the next day and the next.

Ethan fell into the habit of running in with him for a few minutes, and while ’Lisha John and old Mrs. Joy played in the adjoining room, Ethan and Patience, in the sitting room or kitchen, discussed the crops and the sermon and the neighbors and new dresses for ’Lisha John.

When spring came, ’Lisha John came alone. The fat, pink legs were often seen scurrying along the pickets by the garden fence, and the round face, in its little pink s unbonnet, appeared, triumphant, at a crack in the gate, left conveniently open. Ethan was busy, ploughing, sowing, and weeding, and ’Lisha John was in safe hands. The spring swelled and put forth and grew and burst into full summer.

It was a soft, fragrant June evening when Patience, with the sleepy child on her arm, started to carry him home. He had been with them all day, and at supper time had refused to be dismissed. She had given him his supper in the high chair, by her mother’s bed; and now that supper was over and the dishes washed, she was carrying him home in the twilight.

Halfway down the road Ethan met them, coming for the child. His boyish face grinned reproachfully. “ Been running away again, hev ye ? ” he said, trying to speak sternly.

’Lisha John smiled sleepily and nestled against Patience’s neck.

“ Give him to me,” said Ethan, holding out his hands.

The child twittered fretfully and pushed him off.

“ I ’ll carry him a little ways,” said Patience.

“ He’s too heavy.”

“ I’m not tired,” she responded softly.

They walked on in the fragrant darkness.

“ He thinks a good deal of you folks.” Ethan glanced at the sleeping child.

She nodded. “ I don’t know what mother’d do without him. He amuses her.”

Ethan looked up swiftly. “ Say — Patience — how ’d you like to keep him all the time ? ”

“ What ? ” she faltered.

He hesitated a moment. “ I was thinking maybe you and your mother might keep him for me. I don’t suppose you’d want to,” he added hastily. “ But I thought I’d just mention it.”

The color had flamed up in the darkness. “ What do you mean ? ” she asked. Her voice was very low.

He cleared his throat. “ ’Tishy don’t want him,” he said apologetically.

“ ’Tishy ! ” The white lips remained half open.

He nodded. “ Letitia Day. She’d have me to-morrow if it wa’n’t for ’Lisha John. She says she can’t be bothered with him underfoot.”

Patience made no reply. Her eyes were looking forward into the darkness. She stopped abruptly and held out the child to him. “ You take him, Ethan,” she said gently. “ I must go back to mother.”

He took the child on his arm, looking at her inquiringly. “ You would n’t want to, would you, Patience ? ” he asked humbly.

“ I don’t know ” — The white lips moved slowly. “ I ’ll ask mother.”

He lingered a little. “ I don’t suppose ’Tishy ’d take very good care of him, anyway ? ” he suggested.

“No.” The voice was serene. “She’s ’most too young and flighty to know about children.” Her eyes rested on the nimbus of hair, on the sleeping face.

He stirred uneasily. “ I know it, — ’Tishy ’s terrible good company,” he added helplessly, “ and she don’t have ways.”

Her eyes softened. “ I ’ll ask mother,” she said. “ If she agrees to it, we ’ll take him for you.” She had turned away.

He reached out a swift hand toward her. “ You ’re real good, Patience,” he said gratefully.

“ Good-night, Ethan.” She was walking away from him in the darkness.

V.

’Lisha John was ten years old. He had a snub nose and freckles, and warts on his hands. His feet were several sizes too large, and his shoes were a size too large for his feet. His Sunday shoes were two sizes too large. They dangled from thin legs in the pew beside Patience, and knocked against the hoard behind when the legs wriggled. ’Lisha John held a hymn book in his hands, behind which he made faces at Willie Norton, in the opposite pew, when Patience was not looking. When she turned her gentle eyes toward him, he sat up straight and looked piously at the minister.

The only trouble with this arrangement was that Patience could see ’Lisha John when she was not looking at him as well as when she was, and that she saw the face for Willie as plainly as the minister’s and her own besides. Patience was much troubled in her conscience because she was n’t shocked enough at ’Lisha John’s conduct. She knew that Deacon Meek ins, across the aisle, fixed a severe eye on him, and that old Mr. and Mrs. Day, in the pew behind, were looking askance at her slackness in bringing up Ethan’s boy. But her heart sang softly in spite of its conscience. She loved ’Lisha John. She had watched him live through a great deal of wickedness.

When he came to her, nine years ago, she had started out with the intention of breaking him of all his faults and making him a model child. ’Lisha John started out at the same time with the firm intention of having his own way. The paths converged. Their first contest had been waged over his thumb, which was round and plump and succulent. ’Lisha John doted on it. He would sit by the hour, lolling it in his mouth, gurgling and cooing and bubbling. Patience regarded the habit as unseemly in a big boy, two years old. ’Lisha John was sternly admonished. He listened gravely, looked at the half-dried thumb, at Patience, at the thumb again, and returned it placidly to his mouth. Spankings produced wails, but no manifest reform. Pepper applied to the small thumb, and aloes, and ipecac, only added to its delicacy. Through protest and chastisement and scorn ’Lisha John sucked calmly on. Patience, at last, worn out, gave up the contest. ’Lisha John sat before her, unrebuked, his thumb in mouth and bliss on his round face. He enjoyed his supremacy for two days. On the third he removed the thumb, looked at it deliberately, wiped it dry on the pink dress, and abandoned it forever.

Patience had pondered helplessly on this phenomenon. How much had the spankings to do with it, and how much, secret prayer ? How much the aloes and ipecac, and how much ’Lisha John ? She gradually arrived at the conviction that Providence and ’Lisha John, between them, were bringing him up. All that she could do was to love him ; and she loved him very hard. ’Lisha John in return worshiped her. He told her whenever he did wrong — after it was done ; and — on the sly — he did the things he thought she would like. There was a compact between them that he might sit on her lap until he was so big that his feet touched the floor. The feet grew so fast that the evil day drew very near; but by holding them up cautiously he still claimed his right. Every night, before he went to bed, they had a conference, in which he initiated her into the wickedness of the neighborhood, and related, with gusto, his own share in it. There were many fathers and mothers in the congregation who knew less of the doings of their children than Patience Joy.

The wickedness of the neighborhood had not clouded her face. On the contrary, it had grown young and fresh. A little dimple played at the left corner of the serene mouth, and a swift pink flush came and went under the clear skin. The wisps of hair that escaped from prim braids curled in her neck, and two shining stars were reflected in the gray wells.

Patience Joy was getting good looks, the neighbors said.

No one thought of giving ’Lisha John the credit. The general opinion was that “ Patience would be all wore out taking care of him.”

It had been a matter for gossip that ’Lisha John had not been returned to his father when Letitia died. She had lived two years as Mrs. Ethan Judson, and had then quietly joined Esther and his mother in the churchyard. Whether Ethan had found her as good company as he had anticipated no one knew. There was a general sense in the neighborhood that she led him a life of it. But when she died this was ignored. People only remembered what good company she was, and drew down their mouths a little, and said that “ Ethan Judson was dretful unfortunate with his wives.” Then they forgot all about it, and fell to wondering why ’Lisha John was not sent back home, now that old Mis’ Fearing was there.

They did not know that ’Lisha John was not sent back for the simple reason that he refused to be sent, — or, rather, that he refused to stay sent. Bolts and bars and ropes and spankings were of no avail when opposed to 'Lisha John’s determination to live with Patience.

No one would have guessed, to see him, this Sunday morning, sitting meekly in the pew beside her, swinging his feet, that he was a remarkable child. He looked like any other snub-nosed, freckled boy of ten. Only Patience knew how remarkable he was. Perhaps Ethan was vaguely aware of it, as he looked over from the singers’ seat. But Ethan knew ’Lisha John only from the outside.

After a few futile attempts to govern him at a distance, he too had given over the care of the child to Providence. He had fallen into the habit of dropping in to Patience’s every day or two to talk over the bringing up of his son. On these occasions ’Lisha John had other business, and Ethan visited with Patience alone.

The neighbors had predicted that “Ethan Judson would be married again in less ’n a year,” and at least three marriageable women had retrimmed their bonnets. But Ethan had shown no eye for ribbons. He had plodded along under old Mis’ Fearing’s cooking, eating tough pie crust and munching heavy doughnuts with apparent relish. The fare seemed to agree with him. The lines of his face had grown strong, and the full lips had settled firmly together. A little of the sweetness had been lost, perhaps, and some of the conceit. The big frame had filled out and the sinews had hardened. He was a big man. At the last town meeting he had been elected town clerk.

He looked over from the singers’ seat to the place where Patience and ’Lisha John sat together. There was a thoughtful look on his face.

When the service was over and the benediction had been pronounced, he joined her in the porch, and they walked on together in silence. ’Lisha John and Willie Norton squeaked stiffly ahead of them, with side looks at the horse sheds.

Ethan stole a glance at her. She was looking at ’Lisha John. There was a sweet smile on her lips. When he spoke, it was to ask her where she wanted the butter beans planted this year ; and when he left her at her gate, he said that he was coming over in the morning to plant the garden. She nodded brightly and passed in, waiting a moment for ’Lisha John and Willie. They had loitered behind.

VI.

“ I don’t know, Ethan.” Patience looked reflectively at the pan of seeds in her hand. “We might plant the peas along here, and set the beans a little further back by the fence there. Mother could see them better that way.” She glanced toward the window.

Ethan’s glance followed hers. “ All right,” he said cheerfully. He struck his hoe into the soft earth.

Patience bent over to place the pan on the ground. He straightened himself quickly. “ Where you going ? ” he asked.

“ I’ve got to get ’Lisha John ready for school.”

He looked at her doubtfully; then across the black soil of the garden. “You better come back when you get him off. I don’t believe I understand just exactly where you want the tomatters and cucumbers.”

“ Yes, I ’ll come.” She disappeared into the house, and Ethan resumed his hoe. Now and then he stopped and pushed back his hat and leaned on his hoe, staring at nothing.

When she returned, he had planted the two rows of beans by the fence.

She looked at them contentedly. “ They ’ll grow real nice there,” she said.

“ Seems kind of a waste to plant ’em,” said Ethan hesitatingly.

She stared at him.

“ I’ve got enough planted up to my house for both of us.”

“ Ye-e-s-s. It’s a good ways to go,” she replied.

“ I did n’t mean you to go for ’em,” he said hastily.

She looked at him in slow inquiry.

“ I could bring ’em down to you. I’m down ’most every day.”

“ It’s easier to have our own,” she responded quietly.

His face clouded a little. He hoed in silence. “ I did n’t mean just that, either,” he said at last, resting his hoe on the ground and looking at her.

“ Did n’t you ? ” She was smiling.

“ ’Lisha John ’s getting to be a big boy.”

Her face lighted. “ Is n’t he ! ” she exclaimed delightedly.

“ I do’ know but I ought to have him to home.” He glanced at her casually.

The color had left her face. “ He won’t go,” she said laughingly. The color had come back.

He smiled. “ That’s so. He don’t like Mis’ Fearing’s cooking,” he added.

“ I shouldn’t think he would,” said Patience.

“ I don’t like it, either,” said Ethan.

She glanced at him swiftly.

“ If ’Lisha John don’t come home, I do’ know but I ’ll have to come down here.” His eyes twinkled. They were on her face.

“ I don’t b’lieve there ’s room enough,” she responded softly. She was looking at the lilac bush by the fence.

“ There’s plenty of room up to my house.” He had dropped his hoe and stepped close to her. “ I ’vebeen a fool, Patience,” he said humbly. He was trying to see her face.

An oriole flashed across to the elm tree. There had been a nest built in the elm tree every spring for twelve years.

“ I don’t know as you have, Ethan,” she said slowly.

“ Yes, I have. Always was a fool! Look at me, Patience.”

She turned her eyes slowly toward him. They were full of tears.

“ Will you come over to my house, Patience ? I ’ll be real good to you.”

She glanced toward the open window. “ I could n’t leave her.”

“ You don’t need to. She ’ll like it better up to my house. There’s more passing.” He was watching her face. “ If you don’t come, I shall take ’Lisha John anyway,” he said sternly.

Her lips smiled. “ I guess I ’ll have to,” she said softly. “I could n’t bear to give up ’Lisha John.”

Jennette Lee.