n. In short, he was spoken of by his neighbors as "a
hard-working cuss, and tollably well fixed."

No grace had come or ever _could_ come into his life. Back of him were
generations of men like himself, whose main' business had been to work
hard, live miserably, and beget children to take their places after
they died. He was a product.

His courtship had been delayed so long on account of poverty that it
brought little of humanizing emotion into his life. He never
mentioned it now, or if he did, it was only to sneer obscenely at it.
He had long since ceased to kiss his wife or even speak kindly to her.
There was no longer any sanctity to life or love. He chewed tobacco
and toiled on from year to year without any very clearly defined idea
of the future.

He was tall, dark, and strong, in a flat-chested, slouching sort of
way, and had grown neglectful of even decency in his dress. He wore
the American farmer's customary outfit of rough brown pants, hickory
shirt, and greasy white hat. It differed from his neighbors, mainly in
being a little dirtier and more ragged. His grimy hands were broad and
strong as the clutch of a bear, and he "was a turrible feller to turn
off work," as Council said. "I druther have Sim Burns work for me one
day than some men three. He's a linger." He worked with unusual speed
this morning, and ended by milking all the cows himself as a sort of
savage penance for his misdeeds the previous evening, muttering in
self-defence:--

"Seems 's if ever' cussid thing piles on to me at once. That corn, the
road-tax, and hayin' comin' on, and now _she_ gits her back up--"

When he went back to the well he sloshed himself thoroughly in the
horse-trough and went to the house. He found breakfast ready but his
wife was not in sight. The older children were clamoring around the
uninviting breakfast table, spread with cheap plates and with boiled
potatoes and fried salt pork as the principal dish.

"Where's y'r ma?" he asked, with a threatening note in his voice, as
he sat down by the table.

"She's in the bedroom."

He rose and pushed open the door. The mother sat with the babe in her
lap, looking out of the window down across the superb field of
timothy, moving like a lake. She did not look round. She only grew
rigid. Her thin neck throbbed with the pulsing of blood to her head.

"What's got into you, _now_?" he said brutally; "don't be a fool. Come
out and eat breakfast with me, an' take care o' y'r