Life at High Tide | Page 6

an explanation of his principle. Then suddenly conviction broke into
despair: "I am not to be allowed to finish it!" He gave a quick sob, like
a child. He had forgotten Lizzie's presence.
"Nathaniel," she said, and paused; then began again: "Nathaniel--"

"Who is here? Oh yes: Lizzie Graham. Kind woman; kind woman."
"Nathaniel, you know I ain't got means; I'm real poor,--"
"Are you?" he said, with instant concern. "I am sorry. If I could help
you--if I had anything of my own--or if they will let me finish my
machine; then I shall have all the money I want, and I will help you; I
will give you all you need. I will give to all who ask!" he said, joyfully;
then again, abruptly: "But no; but no; I am not allowed to finish it."
"Nathaniel, what I was going to say was--I am real poor. I got James's
pension, and our house out on the upper road;--do you mind it--a mite
of a house, with a big elm right by the gate? And woods on the other
side of the road? Real shady and pleasant. And I got eight hens and a
cow;--well, she'll come in in September, and I'll have real good milk all
winter. Maybe this time I could raise the calf, if it's a heifer. Generally I
sell it; but if you--well, it might pay to raise it, if--we--" Lizzie
stammered with embarrassment.
Nathaniel had forgotten her again; his head had fallen forward on his
breast, and he sighed heavily.
"You see, I am poor," Lizzie said; "you wouldn't have comforts."
Nathaniel was silent.
Lizzie laughed, nervously. "Well? Seems queer; but--will you?"
Nathaniel, waking from his troubled dream, said, patiently: "What did
you say? I ask your pardon; I was not listening."
"Why," Lizzie said, her face very red, "I was just saying--if--if you
didn't mind getting married, Nathaniel, you could come and live with
me?"
"Married?" he said, vacantly. "To whom?"
"Me," she said.
Nathaniel turned toward her in astonishment. "Married!" he repeated.
"If you lived with me, you could finish the machine; there's an attic
over my house; I guess it's big enough. Only, we'd have to be married,
I'm afraid. Jonesville is a mean place, Nathaniel. We'd have to be
married. But you could finish the machine."
He stood up, trembling, the tears suddenly running down his face.
_"Finish it?"_ he said, in a whisper. "Oh, you are not deceiving me?
You would not deceive me?"
"I don't see why you couldn't finish it," she told him, kindly. "But,
Nathaniel, mind, I am poor. You wouldn't get as good victuals even as

you would at the Farm. And you'd have to marry me, or folks would
talk about me. But you could finish your machine."
Nathaniel lifted his dim eyes to heaven.
III
"Well," said Mrs. Butterfield, "I suppose you know your own business.
But my goodness sakes alive!"
"I just thought I'd tell you," Lizzie said.
"But, Lizzie Graham! you ain't got the means."
"I can feed him."
"There's his clothes; why, my land--"
"I told Hiram Wells that if the town would see to his clothes, I'd do the
rest. They'd have to clothe him if he went to the Farm."
"Well," said Mrs. Butterfield, "I never in all my born days--Lizzie, now
_don't_. My goodness,--I--I ain't got no words! Why, his victuals--"
"He ain't hearty. Sam Dyer told me he wa'n't hearty."
"Well, then, Sam Dyer had better feed him, 'stid o' puttin' it onto you!"
Lizzie was silent. Then she said, with a short sigh, "Course if I could 'a'
just taken him in an' kep' him--but you said folks would talk--"
"Well, I guess so. Course they'd talk--you know this place. You've
always been well thought of in Jonesville, but that would 'a' been the
end of you, far as bein' respectable goes."
"Well, you can't say this ain't respectable."
"No; I can't say it ain't respectable; but I can say it's the foolishest thing
I ever heard of. An' wrong too; 'cause anything foolish is wrong."
"Anything cruel is wrong," Lizzie said, stubbornly.
"Well, you was crazy to think of havin' him visit you. But it don't
follow, 'cause he can't be visitin' you, that you got to go marry him."
"I got to do something," Lizzie said, desperately; "I'd never have a
minute's peace if he had to go to the Farm."
"He'd be more comfortable there."
"His stomach might be," Lizzie admitted.
"Well, then!" Mrs. Butterfield declared, triumphantly. "Now you just
let him go, Lizzie. You just be sensible."
"I'm goin' to marry him. I'm goin' to take him round to Rev. Niles day
after to-morrow; he said he'd marry us."
Mrs. Butterfield gasped. "Well, if Rev. Niles does that!--There! You
know he was a