as adequate to a
disturbance of the soil. The boy looked up as the gate latch clicked,
and stood surveying Lyman with his feet far apart and his hands in his
pockets. Lyman spoke to him, and bringing a nail out of his pocket he
held it out to the visitor as an offering of his hospitality. Lyman
tossed him a piece of money; he caught it up and with a shout he
disappeared in the shrubbery. The visitor's knock at the door was
attended by a frail, tired woman. She stood with her hand on the door
as if meekly to tell the comer that he had doubtless made a mistake
in the house. He bowed and asked if she were Mrs. Hillit, and when
she had nodded an acknowledgment, with no word, though her thin lips
moved, he informed her that he desired to see her husband. She
preceded him into the sick man's room.

"A gentleman wishes to see you," she said.

The sufferer turned his wasted face toward Lyman and asked him to sit
down. Then followed a few words of explanation.

"I am very glad you came," said Hillit, speaking slowly and with
effort. "We have been getting your paper for some time and it has been
great company for us. The neighbors have been very kind, but when a
man hangs on this way he wears everybody out."

The woman had left the room, and Lyman was relieved to find that she
had not remained to hear her husband's hopeless words. "You ought not
to feel that way," he said.

The consumptive withdrew his wistful gaze from the bar of sunlight
that lay across the window sill, and looked at Lyman. "I am in a
position to say what I think, and that's what I do think," he
answered. "But I do hope it won't be much longer. I see by the paper
that the farmers have been praying for rain. I have been praying for
light, light, light--all the time praying for light. When a passing
cloud hides the sun my heart grows heavier, and when the night comes I
feel the shadow of eternity resting cold upon me."

In reply to this Lyman could say nothing; he simply said: "You haven't
lived here long, I understand."

"Not long. I came from the city to look for a place where I could die
cheap. I lost my place--my brethren lost their place--we were swept
away by the machine. I am a compositor."

"Oh, are you? Then I am more than glad I came."

"And I am more than glad to see you. I have seen you stop at the
fence, and I managed one day to learn your name. You are making a name
for yourself; I have read your work at night and there is sunlight in
it