He Fell In Love With His Wife | Page 4

that he did not see how he could help himself. He was not a sanguine
man, but rather one endowed with a hard, practical sense which made it
clear that the down-hill process had only to continue sufficiently long
to leave him landless and penniless. It was all so distinct on this dismal
evening that he groaned aloud.
"If it comes to that, I don't know what I'll do--crawl away on a night
like this and give up, like enough."
Perhaps he was right. When a man with a nature like his "gives up," the
end has come. The low, sturdy oaks that grew so abundantly along the
road were types of his character--they could break, but not bend. He
had little suppleness, little power to adapt himself to varied conditions
of life. An event had occurred a year since, which for months, he could
only contemplate with dull wonder and dismay. In his youth he had
married the daughter of a small farmer. Like himself, she had always
been accustomed to toil and frugal living. From childhood she had been
impressed with the thought that parting with a dollar was a serious
matter, and to save a dollar one of the good deeds rewarded in this life
and the life to come. She and her husband were in complete harmony
on this vital point. Yet not a miserly trait entered into their humble
thrift. It was a necessity entailed by their meager resources; it was
inspired by the wish for an honest independence in their old age.
There was to be no old age for her. She took a heavy cold, and almost
before her husband was aware of her danger, she had left his side. He
was more than grief-stricken, he was appalled. No children had blessed
their union, and they had become more and more to each other in their

simple home life. To many it would have seemed a narrow and even a
sordid life. It could not have been the latter, for all their hard work,
their petty economies and plans to increase the hoard in the savings
bank were robbed of sordidness by an honest, quiet affection for each
other, by mutual sympathy and a common purpose. It undoubtedly was
a meager life, which grew narrower with time and habit. There had
never been much romance to begin with, but something that often
wears better--mutual respect and affection. From the first, James
Holcroft had entertained the sensible hope that she was just the girl to
help him make a living from his hillside farm, and he had not hoped for
or even thought of very much else except the harmony and good
comradeship which bless people who are suited to each other. He had
been disappointed in no respect; they had toiled and gathered like ants;
they were confidential partners in the homely business and details of
the farm; nothing was wasted, not even time. The little farmhouse
abounded in comfort, and was a model of neatness and order. If it and
its surroundings were devoid of grace and ornament, they were not
missed, for neither of its occupants had ever been accustomed to such
things. The years which passed so uneventfully only cemented the
union and increased the sense of mutual dependence. They would have
been regarded as exceedingly matter-of-fact and undemonstrative, but
they were kind to each other and understood each other. Feeling that
they were slowly yet surely getting ahead, they looked forward to an
old age of rest and a sufficiency for their simple needs. Then, before he
could realize the truth, he was left alone at her wintry grave; neighbors
dispersed after the brief service, and he plodded back to his desolate
home. There was no relative to step in and partially make good his loss.
Some of the nearest residents sent a few cooked provisions until he
could get help, but these attentions soon ceased. It was believed that he
was abundantly able to take care of himself, and he was left to do so.
He was not exactly unpopular, but had been much too reticent and had
lived too secluded a life to find uninvited sympathy now. He was the
last man, however, to ask for sympathy or help; and this was not due to
misanthropy, but simply to temperament and habits of life. He and his
wife had been sufficient for each other, and the outside world was
excluded chiefly because they had not time or taste for social
interchanges. As a result, he suffered serious disadvantages; he was

misunderstood and virtually left to meet his calamity alone.
But, indeed he could scarcely have met it in any other way. Even to his
wife, he had never formed the habit of speaking freely of his thoughts
and feelings.