I must have looked blank with astonishment. “Now who would have supposed,” said I, “that we could have eaten them all? For I thought that I had had enough for six at least.” At that Old Goodwin burst out laughing afresh. “If you could have seen your face, Adam! But never mind. No doubt we have eaten more than is good for us, as it is.” “I am sure of that,” I observed. And the two Rich men, filled full of lobster and corn and clams, did but laugh again, and they tilted upon their boxes. And I was filled full, too, but with content more than with clams, so that the wind that sighed in my pine sighed merrily. We sat long at my little table under my great tree, but at last it was cold, for the sun was gone behind a black cloud. And Old Goodwin rose, reluctantly, and that other Rich man rose too, and his pocket that had been toward Old Goodwin bulged. And when he emptied it there were clam shells that Old Goodwin had deposited there. And he laughed--I thought him good to laugh--I fear that, in his place, I should not have laughed--and he chased Old Goodwin. And when he had caught him and had filled his pocket with the shells, he came and stood before us, where we yet sat upon the seat. “I have to thank you,” he said to me, and his laugh was gone, “for the pleasantest time and the most delicious feast that I have had in many a long day.” Then he hesitated and looked away a moment; but presently his eyes came back to mine. “You are a better man than I am, Adam, and better worthy of her. From my heart I wish you joy. I shall not come again to plague you.” Again he looked away. “And I shall say as much to Mrs. Goodwin,--with your permission.” And I stood, and took the hand he offered; but I did not speak. I could not for a moment. Then I mumbled something, I know not what, about his kindness. But it did not matter what I said. And my heart warmed to him, and I was sorry for him--he had lost so much--but he took it as a man should. I thought nothing of his having called me Adam; indeed, I doubted if he knew it. And so he went, quickly, without so much as looking back, and Old Goodwin followed him as quickly, and they went down the steep path, and we heard their laughter. And I turned to Eve, and she smiled up at me. “Oh, Adam,” she cried, softly, “if we only could!” “We can but try, Eve,” I answered, smiling back at her; “and we will. He seems worth it.” And then I mused awhile, and at last I spoke my thoughts. “Eve,” I said, “why did you choose me?” She looked at me, her eyes wide. “Why did I choose you?” she asked, perplexed. “What do you mean, Adam? Would you give me up?” “Now, God forbid,” I cried, “that I should do that thing! What man, having got you, would give you up? But that Rich man”-- She laughed, a merry laugh. “Why, that is simple--as simple as life itself. I chose you because I loved you, and I did not love that Rich man. And why it should be so I do not know.”