have been glad to keep you company."

Mrs. Wicket smiled. But she did not answer this declaration, which Mr.
Jeminy knew in his heart to be untrue.

Putting down his tools, he began to examine the gate. "Hm," he said.
"Hm. Yes, I'll soon have this fixed for you." Mrs. Wicket stood
watching him with a gentle smile. "You're very kind," she said. "It's
very kind of you, Mr. Jeminy. Most folks are too proud to turn a hand
for me, no matter what was to happen."

"Tut," said Mr. Jeminy.

"Well, it's a fact," said Mrs. Wicket gravely. "I've never felt
loneliness like I do here. Not ever. Because I've had trouble, Mr.
Jeminy, and known sorrow, folks leave me alone. I'd go away . . . only
where would I go?"

"Sorrow," said Mr. Jeminy, "is a good friend, Mrs. Wicket. Sorrow and
poverty are close to our hearts. They teach the spirit to be resolute
and indulgent.

"One must also learn," he added, "to bear sorrow without being vexed by
it."

"I've never had sorrow without being vexed by it," said Mrs. Wicket.
"To my way of thinking, sorrow comes so full of troubles, it's hard to
tell what's one, and what's the other."

"Sorrow," said Mr. Jeminy, "comes only to the humble and the wise. It