Japhra gave his tight-lipped smile. "Woman's reasons--who shall discover such?" But Ima made a motion of protest, and he went on: "Nay, the chance fell, and truly I was glad she should have woman's company--and gentle company. In Norfolk where we pitched the winter gone by was a doctor I had known when we were young--he and I. He shipped twice aboard a cattle boat with me, having the restlessness on him in those days. Now I found him stout and proper, but not forgetful of an indifferent matter between us. He brought his lady to the van, and she conceived a fancy for Ima, holding her a fair, wild thing that should be tamed. Therefore took Ima to her house and to her board, and taught her as she hath instructed thee. Thus was the manner of it; as to the wherefore--why, woman's reasons, as I have said," and he smiled again. Ima got abruptly to her feet. The meal was ended, and she began to collect the plates. Her action plainly rebuked the further questions with which Percival was playfully turning to her. He offered instead to help her with her washing of the dishes, but she told him: "Nay, maid's work this. Abide thou with father, and talk men's talk." In the action of moving away she turned to Japhra and added her earlier plea: "So it is not of boxing and the rough ways." CHAPTER V JAPHRA'S LESSONS I Japhra took up Ima's words when she had left them. "Nay, but the boxing is my business," Japhra said, filling his pipe. "I'm for the boxing again this summer. Money's short and old Pilgrim yonder has full earned his rest and must have another take up his shafts. Another horse is to be bought, wherefore a sparring booth again for me." Percival asked: "When are you going?" "To-morrow. I pick up the circus by Dorchester. My lads are waiting me. Ginger Cronk, I have--thou mind'st Ginger?--and Snowball White, a useful one. Stingo seeketh another for me. A good lad, I must have, if the money's to be made, for Foxy Pinsent hath a brave show that will draw the company--two coloured lads and four more with himself." Percival was silent. "I wish I could go with you," he said presently: "And you're going to-morrow, you say?--to-morrow?" "At daybreak, master." "Ah!" Percival gave a hard exclamation as though feelings that were pent up in him escaped him. "Now I had found you again, I hoped I was going to see you often for a bit. My luck's right out," and he gave a little laugh. Japhra lit his pipe. "So we come back to thy trouble," he said. His voice and a motion that he made invited confidence. Percival watched through the dusk the glow from his pipe, now lighting his face, now leaving it in shadow. He had longed to tell Japhra; he found it hard. After a moment: "Hard to tell!" he jerked. "How to bear? That is the measure of a grief." "Impossible to bear!" "Tell, then." "There's little to be told. That's it! That's the sting of it--so little, so much. A man must do something with his life, Japhra!"