But what did Old Goodwin care for that? “It is clean dirt, Adam,” said he, “and honest. The hands that I have to take every day, they are--well--it turns me nearly sick at times, to take them--though they are white enough, and soft.” He looked out over my garden, that showed already unbroken rows of green, where the early peas had come through the earth. “So your planting is all done?” he asked. “I am sorry, for I had hoped to have a hand in it.” “And so you may,” I answered, “if you will. There are yet some plantings of corn to be put in--but nothing for two weeks.” I hesitated, and blundered on. “And Mrs. Goodwin--she is well?” “Quite well,” he said, and smiled as he spoke--and so did Eve. “Yes, she is quite well. She came down too. You may get a glimpse of her now and then, I think, about the grounds, for she is restless this spring, and out more than she has been used to be. No doubt,” he added, “it is the weather.” “No doubt,” I said; but I knew not how to take it, and I glanced at Eve to see. “Yes, no doubt it is the weather.” Then I went in, for I would change my boots. And Old Goodwin wandered, that meanwhile, about my place with Eve beside him. When I came again I found him on the seat under the pine; and he was gazing at the stones, and then off over my clam beds, where the water danced in the sun and the little waves broke upon the sands. But Eve was not there. I marveled somewhat at it. “She is gone to see her mother,” he said, answering the thought unspoken. “She will be back presently. And how are the clams, Adam?” I laughed, it was so exactly what I expected of him. “Pretty well, I thank you,” I replied; “or they were, two weeks ago. I have not seen them lately, for I have been busy. You may dig whenever you will. They thrive, I think.” He smiled again--his thanks. “And the stones--you have put some fresh ones in, I see--they are all ready?” “They are all ready,” I answered, “and the weed lies in heaps along the shore. But I find that my appetite for baked clams is not yet ripe”-- But he interrupted. “Ah, Adam,” he said, “but you have this with you all the year.” He waved his hand about. “That is much to be thankful for. But I--the memory of those baked clams is all that has carried me over many a hard place. For I realize--sometimes--that I am an old man; but when I am here”-- “You are not,” I finished for him. “And that is reason enough for staying. You have a roof over your head--such as it is--and a crust of bread--with a chop or two when there is need. No man, however poor, can ask more--and no man, however rich, can get more. So I foretell”--