you think of a
wren--a business-like little wren--a very early wren that is highly
versed in the worm-catching way.

At her next utterance he was startled but game. "Have you had your
lunch?"

"Why, no; I--"

"I've been down here since seven, and I'm starved. Let's go and have a
bite at the little Greek restaurant around the corner. A cup of coffee
and a sandwich, anyway."

Seated at the bare little table, she surveyed him with those
intelligent, understanding, kindly eyes, and he felt the years slip from
him. They were walking down the country road together, and she was
listening quietly and advising him.

She interrogated him, gently. But something of his old masterfulness
came back to him. "No, I want to know about you first. I can't get the
rights of it, you being here on South Water, tradin' and all."

So she told him, briefly. She was in the commission business.
Successful. She bought, too, for such hotels as the Blackstone and the
Congress, and for half a dozen big restaurants. She gave him bare facts,
but he was shrewd enough and sufficiently versed in business to know
that here was a woman of wealth and established commercial position.

"But how does it happen you're keepin' it up, Emma, all this time? Why,
you must be anyway--it ain't that you look it--but--" He floundered,
stopped.

She laughed. "That's all right, Ben. I couldn't fool you on that. And
I'm working because it keeps me happy. I want to work till I die. My
children keep telling me to stop, but I know better than that. I'm not
going to rust out. I want to wear out." Then, at an unspoken question in
his eyes: "He's dead. These twenty years. It was hard at first when the
children were small. But I knew garden stuff if I didn't know anything
else. It came natural to me. That's all."

So then she got his story from him bit by bit. He spoke of the farm and
of Dike, and there was a great pride in his voice. He spoke of Bella,
and the son who had been killed, and of Minnie. And the words came
falteringly. He was trying to hide something, and he was not made for
deception. When he had finished:

"Now, listen, Ben. You go back to your farm."

"I can't. She--I can't."

She leaned forward, earnestly. "You go back to the farm."

He turned up his palms with a little gesture of defeat. "I can't."

"You can't stay here. It's killing you. It's poisoning you. Did you ever
hear of toxins? That means poisons, and you're poisoning yourself.
You'll