Well—John was very hungry and he began to eat. Presently he noticed that Betsy was crying softly. It was a long time before she succumbed to his coaxing. But then she confessed: “She said I ought to go to the poor-house.” “Who?” shouted John, rising angrily. “Mrs. Morrell, who brought the meat.” John flung the bowl and its contents out of the window. Betsy was awed. She had never seen him like that. “John!” she coaxed softly. “That’s what Miller told me. God! Said I wasn’t worth nothing to work no more. I’ll show ’em—I’ll show ’em!” But he didn’t show them—he could not. Age had come at last, and at last he knew this. He earned nothing—and their hunger went on. And, one evening, Betsy timidly resumed the hated subject. “I’ve been thinking about it, John, dear, and she meant it very kind. It is warm there, John, and there is plenty of food. John—” “My God, Betsy, do you want to go—live on charity—do you at last want to leave me—and live on charity—do you want to separate after sixty years—and live on charity?—Oh, my God!” “No—no—no! John, let us stay together now until—the end,” said Betsy. “Forgive me. Only I’m such a burden to you—and it is so cold—” John had another period of savage activity. It brought no work. But the agitation shattered him. He went to bed, and when he rose again his spirit was broken. “John,” said Betsy to him then, with an angelic light on her face, “when you get a little better we—will go.” John only looked stern. “I have thought it all over—it is best.” “I will not go,” said John, quietly. “I am a soldier!” “Yes, John, dear, but—” “Betsy,” asked John, solemnly, “do you _want_ to go?” He never knew what a hero she became before she answered: “Yes—John—I—I want—to go. I’m so cold—and so hungry—” “Very—well,” said John. But his hand shook so that he could not put it to his eyes. “Just till you get right on your feet again, John, darling, just till you’re quite well. I’m such a burden to you now. We’re such a burden to each other. Just till things are better with you. That will be soon, I know it. Then, John, dear John, you shall come for me! Think of that! It will be another home-coming! Another beginning! Another bride and groom!” John listened avidly. A new and more youthful light flashed into his face. “Betsy—do you mean that?” “Mean it? Every word, John, every word!” He savagely caught her hands. “You will come back to me?” “No,” said Betsy, “you shall bring me back!” X THINGS FEEL HEAVIER IN AGE So, one day, a farm wagon, piled high with straw and pillows, came and took her away. The last thing she said was: “Dear John! we have lived together sixty years and you never gave me an unkind word. Kiss me! And again! Oh, it’s like ’35, ain’t it? And, John, come for me as soon as things are better with you. And if I can’t do without you that long and send for you—will you come before?”