w what it is to run a milk farm."

"I'd b'en glad if 't was so he could be here with us to-night, an' his
wife with him," said the old man, pushing away his cup. The remnants
of the afternoon feast, with which the table was spread, failed to
tempt his appetite. He rose and took his old wooden armchair by the
stove, and clasped his hands before him. The long brown fingers began
to play mechanically upon each other. It was strange how these
trivial, unconscious habits continued in spite of the great change
which had shaken his life to its foundations.

II.

At noon the next day Israel Haydon and his son William came up across
the field together. They had on their every-day clothes, and were
talking about every-day matters as they walked along. Mr. Haydon
himself had always looked somewhat unlike a farmer, even though there
had been no more diligent and successful tiller of the soil in the
town of Atfield. He never had bought himself a rougher suit of clothes
or a coarse hat for haying, but his discarded Sunday best in various
states of decadence served him for barn and field. It was proverbial
that a silk hat lasted him five years for best and ten for common; but
whatever he might be doing, Israel Haydon always preserved an air of
unmistakable dignity. He was even a little ministerial in his look;
there had been a minister in the family two or three generations back.
Mr. Haydon and his wife had each inherited some money. They were by
nature thrifty, and now their only son was well married, with a good
farm of his own, to which Israel had added many acres of hay land and
tillage, saying that he was getting old, and was going to take the
rest of his life easily. In this way the old people had thrown many of
their worldly cares upon their son's broad shoulders. They had paid
visits each summer to their kindred in surrounding towns, starting off
in their Sunday chaise with sober pleasure, serene in their
prosperity, and free from any dark anticipations, although they could
not bring themselves to consent to any long absence, and the
temptation of going to see friends in the West was never dangerous to
their peace of mind. But the best of their lives was apparently still
before them, when good Martha Haydon's strength mysteriously failed;
and one dark day the doctor, whom Israel Haydon had anxiously
questioned behind the wood-pile, just out of sight from his wife's
window--the doctor had said that she never would be any b