Old Goodwin was roaring with laughter. “Yes,” he said, as soon as he could speak, “I have a roof over my head--such as it is--and the tiles upon it may last through a winter; and I shall have--no doubt--a crust of bread--with a chop or two when there is need. And so you would have me give up my house in town. Well, well, there is something to be said for it. We shall see. We shall see.” “Your house in town would be but a burden,” I said then. “No man can live in two houses--two at once--having but one body. And you might well give up--it is time to retire, having enough of means. And these fields and this water and the woods are a never-ending delight. You need not fear your nerves. For look at me. Am I nervous? And I have retired--retired these many years--retired before my career was well begun. I find amusement--and I am like to live long. And you should know Judson--you must know him. He has lived long and will yet live some while. He should have been here this morning.” Old Goodwin looked at me, questioning. “Your neighbor?” he asked. “I should like it much. But I thought you did not care for neighbors, Adam.” I was ashamed. “I did not,” I answered, “but Eve has shown me--I was wrong.” Old Goodwin smiled at that, his quiet smile of peace. And I went on. “But you”-- “I will consider,” he said; and I remembered me of a time when Eve had said those very words. But she said more. There was “good fisherman” if I remembered me aright. “I will consider the matter,” said Old Goodwin. “And I must consult”-- “Ah!” I cried, “I had forgot.” And I smiled, more broadly than I meant to; but it mattered not, for Old Goodwin was smiling too. “There comes Eve,” he said. And indeed, I knew it well. Was I not looking for her every minute that she was gone from me?