“Well, all right,” he said, “I’ll be as decent as I can--with my limitations.” “Now don’t get mad. You see what I mean. You’ll have to overlook some things. She’ll be homesick at first. She’ll want to run down and see me and I guess you’ll have to let her.” “Why shouldn’t I let her? I don’t care how much she goes to see you.” “You think you don’t, but perhaps you will. I know you pretty well. You like to have folks jump when you give an order and to stay where they are when you don’t. Be patient with her, won’t you?” “I said I would.” “Well, there’s another thing. She may expect me to come up here and see her, sometimes, along in the beginnin’.” “Come ahead! I don’t care how often you come.” “I’ll try not to be a nuisance. And she’ll forget me in a little while, of course. It will be better for her if she does. Her way of livin’ and the people she’ll have for friends won’t be my kind and she’ll be ashamed of us by and by.” He turned and looked down at her. “No, no, she won’t,” he protested, with a change of tone. “If she does I won’t own her. Don’t worry, Reliance. You’ll see her about as often as you always have.... It’s pretty hard for you to give her up, isn’t it? Eh?” She rose. “Yes,” she said, “it is.” “You needn’t do it, if you don’t want to. I won’t force either of you into it. I’m not sure,” he added, with a shrug, “that, since you’ve hammered the facts into me with a sledge hammer, I’m not taking the biggest chance of the lot.” “I guess not. It ought to be a wonderful thing for her. And as for you--well, if you play your cards right you will have a lot of fun in the game. Esther will be here to-morrow forenoon, she and her trunk. You can send a wagon later on for any other of her things she may want to keep. Good-night.” He walked with her as far as the front door. The early dark of a cloudy fall evening was already shrouding the yard and its surroundings. A chill, damp breeze was whining through the bare branches of the elms and silver-leaf poplars. Puddles of steely gray water, left after the rain, gleamed coldly here and there. The Winslows, his neighbors across the road, were away in Boston, so there was not even the cheer of their lighted windows to brighten the desolation. It was the most depressing hour of a gloomy day in the dreariest season of the year. And he was the loneliest man on earth, just then he was sure of it. People respected him, or pretended to; they, as Miss Clark had said, bowed down to him; they all envied him; but was there a single soul of them all who really cared for him, who would shed an honest tear if he dropped dead that moment? He did not believe there was one. And, because of his own wretchedness he felt a twinge of pity for the woman who, because she knew it was best for Esther, was giving up the companionship which meant so much to her. She was going to be as lonesome, almost, as he was now. “Say, Reliance!” he hailed. She turned. “What is it?” she asked.