ck his tears, and hailed his wife in a
jovial tone, although his voice threatened to break, and sat himself
down in his old seat by the chimney corner, with his blackthorn stick
between his knees and his hands resting upon it. But Mrs. Fairbrother
made no answer to his greeting, and only glanced from him to Greeba
who tripped softly behind him, and from Greeba to Chalse, who came
shambling in after them, vacantly scratching his uncovered head.
Then, drawing herself up, and holding back her skirts, she said very
coldly, while her wrinkled face twitched--

"And pray what ill wind blows you here?"

"An ill wind indeed, Ruth," Adam answered, "for it is the wind of
adversity. You must have heard of our misfortune since the whole
island knows of it. Well, it is not for me to complain, for God
shapes our ways, and He knows what is best. But I am an old man now,
Ruth, little able to look to myself, still less to another, and----"

While he spoke, Mrs. Fairbrother tapped her foot impatiently, and
then broke in with--

"Cut it short, sir. What do you want?"

Adam lifted his eyes with a stupefied look, and answered very
quietly, "I want to come home, Ruth."

"Home!" cried Mrs. Fairbrother, sharply. "And what home if you
please?"

Adam sat agape for a moment, and then said, speaking as calmly as
before, "What home, Ruth? Why, what home but this?"

"This, indeed! This is not your home," said Mrs. Fairbrother.

"Not my home!" said Adam, slowly, dropping back in his seat like one
who is dumbfounded.

"Not my home! Did you say that this was not my home?" he said,
suddenly bracing up. "Why, woman, I was born here; so was my father
before me, and my father's father before him. Five generations of my
people have lived and died here, and the very roof rafters over your
head must know us."

"Hoity-toity!" cried Mrs. Fairbrother, "and if you had lived here
much longer not a rafter of them all would have been left to shelter
us. No, sir. I've kept the roof on this house, and it is mine."

"It is yours, indeed," said Adam slowly, "for I gave it you."

"You gave it me!" cried Mrs. Fairbrother. "Say I took it as my right
when all that you had was slipping through your fingers like sand, as
everything does that ever touches them."

At that hard word old Adam drew himself up with a great dignity of
bearing, and said--

"There is one thing that has indeed slipped through my fingers like
sand, and that is the fidelity of the woma