第13章

“Well，now，goodnight。I’mgoingforalittlestroll。“Hisbrainwastooactivetosleep。Hekissedhismothergoodnightandwentoutintotheroad，hishatinhishand，thecool，moistwindonhishair。

Itwasverydark，thestarsbeingpartlyhiddenbyathinvapor。Oneachsidethehillsrose，everylinefamiliarasthefaceofanoldfriend。Awhippoorwillcalledoccasionallyfromthehillside，andthespasmodicjangleofabellnowandthentoldofsomecow’sbattlewiththemosquitoes。

Ashewalked，hepondereduponthetragedyhehadrediscoveredinthesepeople’slives。Outhereundertheinexorablespacesofthesky，adeepdistasteofhisownlifetookpossessionofhim。Hefeltlikegivingitallup。Hethoughtoftheinfinitetragedyoftheseliveswhichtheworldlovestocall“peacefulandpastoral。“HIS

mindwentoutintheaimtohelpthem。Whatcouldhedotomakelifebetterworthliving？Nothing。Theymustliveanddiepracticallyashesawthemtonight。

Andyetheknewthiswasamood，andthatinafewhourstheloveandthehabitoflifewouldcomebackuponhimanduponthem；

thathewouldgobacktothecityinafewdays；thatthesepeoplewouldliveonandmakethebestofit。

“I’llmakethebestofit，“hesaidatlast，andhisthoughtcamebacktohismotherandGrant。

IV

Thenextdaywasarainyday；notashower，butasteadyrain-anunusualthinginmidsummerintheWest。Acold，dismaldayinthefireless，colorlessfarmhouses。ItcametoHowardinthatpeculiarreactionwhichsurelycomesduringavisitofthischaracter，whenthoughtisaweariness，whenthevisitorlongsforhisownfamiliarwallsandpicturesandbooks，andlongstomeethisfriends，feelingatthesametimethetragedyoflifewhichmakesfriendsnearerandmorecongenialthanbloodrelations。

Howardatehisbreakfastalone，saveBabyandLaura，itsmother，goingabouttheroom。Babyandmotheralikeinsistedonfeedinghimtodeath。Alreadydyspepticpangsweresettingin。

“Nowain’ttheresomethingmoreIcan-“

“Goodheavens!No!“hecriedindismay。“I’mlikelytodieofdyspepsianow。Thishoneyandmilk，andthesedelicioushotbiscuits-“

“I’mafraiditain’tmuchlikethebreakfastsyouhaveinthecity。“

“Well，no，itain’t，“heconfessed。“Butthisisthekindamanneedswhenhelivesintheopenair。“

Shesatdownoppositehim，withherelbowsonthetable，herchininherpalm，hereyesfullofshadows。

“I’dliketogotoacityonce。Ineversawatownbigger’nLumberville。I’veneverseenaplay，butI’vereadof’eminthemagazines。Itmustbewonderful；theysaytheyhavewharvesandrealshipscominguptothewharf，andpeoplegettingoffandon。

Howdotheydoit？“

“Oh，that’stoolongastorytotell。It’salotofmachineryandpaintandcanvas。IfItoldyouhowitwasdone，youwouldn’tenjoyitsowellwhenyoucomeonandseeit。“

“DoyoueverexpecttoseemeinNewYork？“

“Why，yes。Whynot？IexpectGranttocomeOnandbringyouallsomeday，especiallyTonikinshere。Tonikins，youhear，sir？I

expectyoutocomeonyou’forbirfday，sure。“Hetriedthustostopthewoman’sgloomyconfidence。

’Ihatefarmlife，“shewentonwithabitterinflection。“It’snothingbutfret，fretandworkthewholetime，nevergoinganyplace，neverseeinganybodybutalotofneighborsjustasbigfoolsasyouare。Ispendmytimefightingfliesandwashingdishesandchurning。I’msickofitall。“

Howardwassilent。Whatcouldhesaytosuchanindictment？Theceilingswarmedwithflieswhichthecoldrainhaddriventoseekthewarmthofthekitchen。Thegrayrainwasfallingwithadrearysoundoutside，anddownthekitchenstovepipeanoccasionaldropfellonthestovewithahissing，angrysound。

Theyoungwifewentonwithadeepernote：

“IlivedinLumbervilletwoyears，goingtoschool，andIknowalittlesomethingofwhatcitylifeis。IfIwasaman，IbetIwouldn’twearmylifeoutonafarm，asGrantdoes。I’dgetawayandI’ddosomething。Iwouldn’tcarewhat，butI’dgetaway。“

TherewasacertainvolcanicenergybackofallthewomansaidthatmadeHowardfeelshe’dmaketheattempt。Shedidn’tknowthatthestrugglefora。placetostandonthisplanetwaseatingtheheartandsouloutofmenandwomeninthecity，justasinthecountry。Buthecouldsaynothing。Ifbehadsaidinconventionalphrase，sittingthereinhissoftclothing，“Wemustmakethebestofitall，“thewomancouldjustlyhavethrownthedishclothinhisface。Hecouldsaynothing。

“Iwasafoolforevermarrying，“shewenton，whilethebabypushedachairacrosstheroom。“Imadeadecentlivingteaching，I

wasfreetocomeandgo，mymoneywasmyown。NowI’mfledrightdowntoachurnoradishpan，Ineverhaveacentofmyown。

He’sgrowlin’roundhalfthetime，andthere’snochanceofhiseverbeingdifferent。“

Shestoppedwithabittersobinherthroat。Sheforgotshewastalkingtoherhusband’sbrother。Shewasconsciousonlyofhissympathy。

Asifagreatblackcloudhadsettleddownuponhim，Howardfeltitall-thehorror，hopelessness，immanenttragedyofitall。Thegloryofnature，thebountyandsplendorofthesky，onlymadeitthemorebenumbing。HethoughtofasentenceMilletoncewrote：

Iseeverywelltheaureoleofthedandelions，andthesunalso，fardowntherebehindthehills，flinginghisgloryupontheclouds。Butnotalonethat-Iseeintheplainsthesmokeofthetiredhorsesattheplough，or，onastony-heartedspotofground，aback-brokenmantryingtoraisehimselfuprightforamomenttobreathe。

Thetragedyissurroundedbyglories-thatisnoinventionofmine。

Howardaroseabruptlyandwentbacktohislittlebedroom，wherehewalkedupanddownthefloortillhewascalmenoughtowrite，andthenhesatdownandpoureditalloutto“DearestMargaret，“

andhisfirstsentencewasthis：

“Ifitwerenotforyou(justtoletyouknowthemoodI’min)-ifitwerenotforyou，andIhadtheworldinmyhands，I’dcrushitlikeapuffball；evilsopredominates，sufferingissouniversalandpersistent，happinesssofleetingandsoinfrequent。“

Hewroteonfortwohours，andbythetimehehadsealedanddirectedseverallettershefeltcalmer，butstillterriblydepressed。

Therainwasstillfalling，sweepingdownfromthehalf-seenhills，wreathingthewoodedpeakswithagraygarmentofmistandfillingthevalleywithawhitishcloud。

Itfellaroundthehousedrearily。Itrandownintothetubsplacedtocatchit，drippedfromthemossypump，anddrummedontheupturnedmilkpails，anduponthebrownandyellowbeehivesunderthemapletrees。Thechickensseemeddepressed，buttheirrepressiblebluejayscreamedamiditall，withthesameinsolentspirit，hisplumageuntarnishedbythewet。Thebarnyardshowedahorriblemixtureofmudandmire，throughwhichHowardcaughtglimpsesofthemen，slumpingtoandfrowithoutmoreadditionalprotectionthanaraggedcoatandashapelessfelthat。

Inthesittingroomwherehismothersatsewingtherewasnotanornament，savetheetchinghehadbrought。Theclockstoodonasmallshell，itsdialsomuchdefacedthatonecouldnottellthetimeofday；andwhenitstruck，itwaswithnoticeablydisproportionatedeliberation，asifitwishedtocorrectanymistakeintowhichthefamilymighthavefallenbyreasonofitsillegibledial。

ThepaperonthewallsshowedthefirstconcessionofthePuritanstotheSpiritofBeauty，andwasmadeupofaheterogeneousmixtureofflowersofunheard-ofshapesandcolors，arrangedinfourdifferentwaysalongthewall。Therewerenobooks，nomusic，andonlyafewnewspapersinsight-abare，blank，cold，drab-

coloredshelterfromtherain，notahome。Nothingcozy，nothingheartwarming；agrimandhorribleshed。

“Whataretheydoing？Itcan’tbethey’reatworksuchadayasthis，“Howardsaid，standingatthewindow。

“Theyfindplentytodo，evenonrainydays，“answeredhismother。

“Grantalwayshassomejobtosetthemenat。It’stheonlywaytolive。“

“I’llgooutandseethem。“Heturnedsuddenly。“Mother，whyshouldGranttreatmeso？HaveIdeservedit？“

Mrs。McLanesighedinpathetichopelessness。“Idon’tknow，Howard。I’mworriedaboutGrant。Hegetsmorean’moredownheartedan’gloomyeveryday。Seem’sifhe’dgocrazy。Hedon’tcarehowhelooksanymore，won’tdressuponSunday。Daysan’dayshe’llgoaroun’notsayin’aword。Iwasinhopesyoucouldhelphim，Howard。“

“Mycomingseemstohavehadanoppositeeffect。Hehasn’tspokenawordtome，exceptwhenhehadto，sinceIcame。

Mother，whatdoyousaytogoinghomewithmetoNewYork？“

“Oh，Icouldn’tdothat!“shecriedinterror。“Icouldn’tliveinabigcity-never!“

“Therespeaksthetrulyruralmind，“smiledHowardathismother，whowaslookingupathimthroughherglasseswithapatheticforlornnesswhichsoberedhimagain。“Why，Mother，youcouldliveinOrange，NewJersey，oroutinConnecticut，andbejustaslonesomeasyouarehere。Youwouldn’tneedtoliveinthecity。I

couldseeyoutheneverydayortwo。“

“Well，Icouldn’tleaveGrantan’thebaby，anyway，“shereplied，notrealizinghowonecouldliveinNewJerseyanddobusinessdailyinNewYork。

“Well，then，howwouldyouliketogobackintotheoldhouse？“hesaid，facingher。

Thepatienthandsfelltothelap，thedimeyesfixedinsearchingglanceonhisface。Therewasawistfulcryinthevoice。

“Oh，Howard!Doyoumean-“

UpTheCoulee93

Hecameandsatdownbyher，andputhisarmaboutherandhuggedherhard。“Imean，youdear，good，patient，work-wear~oldMother，I’mgoingtobuybacktheoldfarmandputyouinit。“

Therewasnorefugeforhernowexceptintears，andsheputupherthin，tremblingoldhandsabouthisneckandcriedinthateasy，placid，restfulwayagehas。

Howardcouldnotspeak。Histhroatachedwithremorseandpity。

Hesawhisforgetfulnessofthemalloncemorewithoutrelief-theblackthingitwas!

“There，there，Mother，don’tcry!“hesaid，tornwithanguishbyhertears。Measuredbyman’stearlessness，herweepingseemedterribletohim。“Ididn’trealizehowthingsweregoinghere。Itwasallmyfault-or，atleast，mostofit。Grant’sletterdidn’treachme。Ithoughtyouwerestillontheoldfarm。Butnomatter；it’sallovernow。

Come，don’tcryanymore，Motherdear。I’mgoingtotakecareofyounow。“

Ithadbeenyearssincethepoor，lonelywomanhadfeltsuchwarmthoflove。Hersonshadbeenlikeherhusband，charyofexpressingtheiraffection；andlikemostPuritanfamilies，therewaslittleofcaressingamongthem。Sittingtherewiththerainontheroofanddrivingthroughthetrees，theyplannedgettingbackintotheoldhouse。Howard’splanseemedtoherfullofsplendorandaudacity。Shebegantounderstandhispowerandwealthnow，asheputitintoconcreteformbeforeher。

“IwishIcouldeatThanksgivingdinnertherewithyou，“hesaidatlast，“butitcan’tbethoughtof。However，I’llhaveyouallintherebeforeIgohome。I’mgoingoutnowandtellGrant。Nowdon’tworryanymore；I’mgoingtofixitallupwithhim，sure。“Hegaveherapartinghug。

Lauraadvisedhimnottoattempttogettothebarn；butashepersistedingoing，shehuntedupanoldrubbercoatforhim。

“You’llmiredownandspoilyourshoes，“shesaid，glancingathisneatcalfgaiters。

“Darnthedifference!“helaughedinhisoldway。“Besides，I’vegotrubbers。“

“Bettergoroundbythefence，“sheadvisedashesteppedoutintothepouringrain。