a
grace, with all his heart:

"Abide, O Lord, in this house; and be present at the breaking of bread,
in love and in kindness. Amen."

During the meal, Aaron Bade asked Mr. Jeminy many questions, to
discover what the old man hoped to do. "I suppose," he said, "you've
come a good distance."

"Yes," said Mr. Jeminy gravely, "I have come a good distance."

Aaron Bade gave his wife a look which said plainly, "There, you see,
mother."

"Where is your home, old man?" asked Mrs. Bade kindly.

"I have no home," said Mr. Jeminy.

Aaron Bade cleared his throat. "Are you bound anywhere in particular?"
he asked.

"No," said Mr. Jeminy.

"Then," said Aaron Bade, "we'd admire to have you stay with us, if it's
agreeable to you."

Mr. Jeminy looked about him at the homely kitchen, with its brown
crockery set away neatly on the shelves. "If I stay with you," he
said, "I should like to work in the fields, and help with the sowing
and the harvesting."

"So you may," said Aaron Bade.

Mr. Jeminy looked at Margaret. "And you, madam?" he asked. "Would you
care for the company of a garrulous old man at evening in your kitchen?"

Margaret blushed with pleasure. "Yes," she said.

"Very well," said Mr. Jeminy; "I will stay."

In this fashion Mr. Jeminy settled down at Bade's Farm, as farm hand to
Aaron Bade. At the end of a week he felt that he had nothing to
regret. He was active and spry, and believed himself to be useful. In
fact, he could not remember when he had been so happy. High on his
hill, he heard October's skyey gales go by above his head, and in the
noonday drowse, watched, from the shade of a tree, the crows fly out
across the valley, with creaking wings and harsh, discordant cries. In
the early morning, he came tip-toeing down the stairs; from the open
doorway he marked day rise above the east in bands of yellow light, and
saw the foggy clouds of dawn slip quietly away, rising from the
valleys, drifting across the hills; in the afternoon he labored in the
fields, and at night, his tired body filled his mind with comfortable
thoughts.

On his way to lunch, he stopped at the woodpile to get an armful of
kindling for Mrs. Bade. The sober way she looked at him as he came in,
hid from all but herself the almost voluptuous pleasure it gave her
merely to be waited on, a pleasure she was more than half afraid to
enjoy, for fear at jealous heaven might take it away, and leave her
with all her work to do,