"Well, Lizzie, seen any ghosts?" he began. "I seen somebody that'll be a ghost pretty soon if you send him off to the Farm," Lizzie said, sharply. "Well," Hiram said, "I don't see what's to be done--'less some nice, likely woman comes along and marries him." Dyer snickered. Lizzie turned very red, and started home down the elm-shaded street. When she reached her little gray house under its big tree, she went first into the cow-barn--a crumbling lean-to with a sagging roof--to see if a sick dog which had found shelter there was comfortable. It seemed to Lizzie that his bleared eyes should be washed; and she did this before she went through her kitchen into a shed-room where she slept. There she sat down in hurried and frowning preoccupation, resting her elbows on her knees and staring blankly at the braided mat on the floor. As she sat there her face reddened; and once she laughed, nervously. "An' me 'most fifty!" she said to herself.... The next morning she went to see Nathaniel again. He was up-stairs in a little hot room under the sloping eaves. He was bending over, straining his poor eyes close to some small wheels and bands and reflectors arranged on a shaky table. He welcomed her eagerly, and with all the excitement of conviction plunged at once into 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."