ing it. He was a stranger to her.

Always before the memories which clung about every corner of the dark old
house had helped her, but now she was forced to face a crisis which none
of her people had known. It was not one of the hardships of life which
were to be accepted, and the hot rebellion of her girlhood burned in her
aching old heart. She thought resentfully of the doctor's blind and stony
lack of understanding. His last ironic sentence came to her mind and she
flamed at the recollection. Yes, it did take the whole valley to hold her,
the valley which was as much a part of her as her eyes which beheld it.
There were moments when she stood under the hazy autumn sky, so acutely
conscious of every line and color of the great wall of mountains
surrounding her that she grew in very fact to be an indivisible portion of
the whole--felt herself as actually rooted to that soil and as permanent
under that sky as the great elm before the door.

She made no more outcries against fate to her husband, partly because of
the anguish which came upon his gentle old face at the sight of her
suffering, and partly because she felt herself to have no tangible reason
for rebellion. During the last years they had gone drearily around and
around the circle which they felt closing so inexorably upon them, and
there was no longer any use to wear themselves out in futile discussions
of impossible plans. They had both been trained to regard reasonableness
as one of the cardinal virtues, and to the mild nature of the old man it
was a natural one, so they tried conscientiously to force themselves not
only to act, but to feel, "like sensible folks," as they put it bravely to
themselves.

"Other folks have gone to live with their children, and not near such good
sons as Hiram either, and they didn't make such a fuss about it," said Mr.
Prentiss one evening, out of a long silence, as they sat in front of the
hearth. He looked at his wife, hoping for a cheerful response, but her
lips were set in a quivering line of pain, and the flickering light showed
her fair broad face glistening with tears. "Oh, _mother_!" he cried, in a
helpless misery of sympathy. "Oh, mother, don't! I can't stand it! If I
could only do it for you! But we _can't_ stay, you know."

The other nodded dumbly, although after a moment she said, "Every day I
live all my life over again, and my mother's, and all my folks. It has
never seemed as though they really died as long as w