Elenor began: "If you can help me, grandpa, just a little I can go through the university. I can teach school in summer and can save A little money by denying self. If you can let me have two hundred dollars, When school begins each year, divide it up, If you prefer, and give me half in the fall, And half in March, perhaps, I can get through. And when I finish I shall go to work And pay you back, I want it as a loan, And do not ask it for a gift." She sat, And fingered at her dress while asking him, And Arthur Fouche looked at her. Come to think He was toward eighty then. At last he said: "I wish I could do what you ask me, Elenor, But there are several things. You see, my child, I have been through this thing of educating A family of children, lived my life In that regard, and so have done my part. I sent your mother to St. Mary's, sent The rest of them wherever they desired. And that's what every father owes his children. And when he does it, he has done his duty. I'm sorry that your father cannot help you, And I would help you, though I've done my duty By those to whom I owed it; but you see Your uncle and myself are partners buying And selling cattle, and the business lags. We do not profit much, and all the money I have in bank is needed for this business. We buy the cattle, and we buy the corn, Then we run short of corn; and now and then I have to ask the bank to lend us money, And give my note. Last month I borrowed money!" And so the old man talked. And as I looked I saw the tears run down her cheeks. She sat And looked as if she didn't believe him. No, Why should she? For I do not understand Why in a case like this, a man who's worth, Say fifty thousand dollars couldn't spare Two hundred dollars by the year. Let's see: He might have bought less corn or cattle, gambled On lucky sales of cattle--there's a way To do a big thing when you have the eyes To see how big it is; and as for me, If money must be lost, I'd rather lose it On Elenor Murray than on cattle. In fact, That's where the money went, as I have said. And Elenor Murray went away and earned Two terms at college, and this worthless son Ate up and spent the money. All of them, The son and Arthur Fouche and Elenor Murray Are gone to dust, now, like the garden things That sprout up, fall and rot. At times it seems All waste to me, no matter what you do For self or others, unless you think of turnips Which can't be much to turnips, but are good For us who raise them. Here's my story then, Good wishes to you, Coroner Merival. * * * * *