“For you have shown me, Eve,” I said, “that I have been in the wrong. I will not withhold good from them to whom it is due. And I bless God for my wife.” For I felt very humble. And what answer I got to that I shall not tell; but it satisfied me, and we mounted the stairs together. I opened my window wide. There was the steady drip of melting snow, and the air held a hint of spring, but the stars were bright. And, gazing at them, I thought upon my son that was to be--or haply a daughter, it mattered not which--and I remembered the time when I first knew it. There had been the start of surprise, the impulse at rejoicing--then the dread of it--the fear for Eve. And she had seen them all. She hung upon my neck, weeping with the joy of it. “Never fear for me, dear,” she cried, “never fear for me. But rejoice exceedingly.” And so I did. And I gazed at a faint star--a little one, just showing to the naked eye--and as I gazed, I thought that I saw the eyes of my son looking at me with an infinite knowledge and compassion--and an infinite love. And as I gazed, behold, the eyes were the eyes of Eve. And if my son shall have the spirit that his mother has I shall be well content. So thinking, I turned from the window and got me into bed; and having drawn the covers close, I slept. * * * * * One may guess that my friends did not desert me--so long as Eve was there; and she was like to be there long. For if it had not been well with Eve, this story had never been written. There is grief enough in the world without my adding to the sum of it--and I doubt much if I should have the heart to write it down. So I kept my friends, and they came as they had been wont and sat them by my fire; but I noted that they sat not still, but they were apt to rise and stroll about the room, and then they sat only to rise again. For the season got on towards spring; and spring ever breeds a restless fire in the bones of man that grows and glows until he can get him out-of-doors again. Then he finds that peace that seemed like to escape him. I doubted if my friends knew what ailed them--even knew that they were restless; but I knew well. And I advised with them and counseled that they turn their thoughts to gardening--and their restless bodies, too. For a man must needs do his digging for himself. What is a hired gardener but an abomination? Let a man dig, if he would find peace. It has taken refuge in the earth; and he that seeks shall find it. So I watched the snow melt on my garden and the ground soften; and it was come to the first week in April. But the ground was too wet for working--I tried it, every day, with my hoe, and the earth clung to the hoe; for it was but mud, and the frost went deep. But at last came a day when the earth clung no longer, but came away and left the hoe clean. And I knew that the spring had come. And, having made the test, I hurried to the house.