is most worth while, though she didn't think so, of course, and
broke her great heart over another man. She married him and had
six children and died a few years ago. He was a fortunate fellow,
I suppose, and yet I can't help fancying that I've had the better
part and the Lord was right. She was not happy, they said, and he
knew it, and yet had to face those eyes of hers every day. It was
like many other marriages, I reckon; he got used to her body and
never caught so much as a single glimpse of her soul. Then she
faded away and died to him, but to me she's just the same as when
I first saw her, and I still believe that if she could come here
and sit on this old bench I should be perfectly happy. It's a
lucky man, I tell you, who can keep the same desire for more than
thirty years."

He shook his head slowly, smiling as he listened to the bluebird
singing in the road. "And now I'll be fetching my crumbs," he
added, struggling to his crutches.

When he had helped Tucker to the house, Christopher came back and
sat down again on the bench, closing his eyes to the sunshine,
the spring sky, and the dandelion blooming in the mould. He was
very tired, and his muscles ached from the strain of heavy
labour, yet as he lingered there in the warm wind it seemed to
him that action was the one thing he desired. The restless season
worked in his blood, and he felt the stir of old impulses that
had revived each year with the quickening sap since the first
pilgrimage man made on earth. He wanted to be up and away while
he was still young, and his heart beat high, and at the moment he
would have found positive delight in any convulsion of the
natural order, in any excuse for a headlong and impetuous plunge