The dreary March evening is rapidly passing from murky gloom to obscurity.
Gusts of icy rain and sleet are sweeping full against a man who, though driving,
bows his head so low that he cannot see his horses. The patient beasts, however, plod along
the miry road, unerringly taking their course to the distant stable door.
The highway sometimes passes through a grove on the edge of a forest, andthe trees cre ak
and groan as they writhe in the heavy blasts. In occasional groups of pines there is
sighing and moaning almost human in suggestiveness of trouble. Never had Nature been in
a more dismal mood, never had she been more prodigal of every element of discomfort,
and never had the hero of my story been more cast down in heart and hope than on
this chaotic day which, even to his dull fancy, appeared closing in harmony
with his feelings and fortune. He is going home, yet the thought brings no assurancn
of welcome and comfort. As he cowers upon the seat of his market wagon,
he is to the reader what he is in the fading light--a mere dim outline of a man.
His progress is so slow that there will be plenty of time to relate some facts about
him which will make the scenes and events to follow more intelligible.
James Holcroft is a middle-aged man and the owner of a small, hilly farm.
He had inherited his rugged acres from his father, had always lived upon them,
and the feeling had grown strong with the lapse of time that he could live nowhere
else. Yet he knew that he was, in the vernacular of the region, "
going down-hill." The small savings of years were slowly melting away, and the
depressing feature of this truth was that he did not see how he could help himself.
He was not a sanguine man, but rather one endowed with a hard, practical sense which made it
clear that the down-hill process had only to continue sufficiently long to leave him landless
and penniless. It was all so distinct on this dismal evening that he groaned aloud.
If it comes to that, I don't know what I'll do--crawl away on a night
like this and give up, like enough."
Perhaps he was right. When a man with a nature like his "gives up,"
the end has come. The low, sturdy oaks that grew so abundantly along the road
were types of his character--they could break, but not bend.
He had little suppleness, little power to adapt himself to varied conditions of life.
An event had occurred a year since, which for months, he could only contemplate with
dull wonder and dismay. In his youth he had married the daughter of a small farmer.
Like himself, she had always been accustomed to toil and frugal living.
From childhood she had been impressed with the thought that parting with a dollar was a
serious matter, and to save a dollar one of the good deeds rewarded in this life and the
life to come. She and her husband were in complete harmony on this vital point.
Yet not a miserly trait entered into their humble thrift. It was a necessity entailed by
their meager resources; it was inspired by the wish for an honest independence in their old age.
There was to be no old age for her. She took a heavy cold, and almost before her
husband was aware of her danger, she had left his side. He was more than grief-stricken,
he was appalled. No children had blessed their union, and they had become more and more
to each other in their simple home life. To many it would have seemed a narrow and even
a sordid life. It could not have been the latter, for all their hard work, their petty
economies and plans to increase the hoard in the savings bank were robbed of sordidness by
an honest, quiet affection for each other, by mutual sympathy and a common purpose.
It undoubtedly was a meager life, which grew narrower with time and habit. There had never
been much romance to begin with, but something that often wears better--mutual respect
and affection. From the first, James Holcroft had entertained the sensible hope that she
was just the girl to help him make a living from his hillside farm, and he had not hoped
for or even thought of very much else except the harmony and good comradeship which bless
people who are suited to each other. He had been disappointed in no respect; they had
toiled and gathered like ants; they were confidential partners in the homely business
and details of the farm; nothing was wasted, not even time. The little farmhouse
abounded in comfort, and was a model of neatness and order. If it and its surroundings
were devoid of grace and ornament, they were not missed, for neither of its occupants
had ever been accustomed to such things. The years which passed so uneventfully only
cemented the union and increased the sense of mutual dependence.
They would have been regarded as exceedingly matter-of-fact and undemonstrative,
but they were kind to each other and understood each other. Feeling that they
were slowly yet surely getting ahead, they looked forward to an old age of rest and
a sufficiency for their simple needs. Then, before he could realize the truth, he
was left alone at her wintry grave; neighbors dispersed after the brief service,
and he plodded back to his desolate home.