"But how to provide the means to furnish such an education as he ought to have, is what puzzles me," continued Mrs. Smiley, pausing in her needle-work to study that problem more closely, and gazing absently at the face of her guest. "Will ten years more of school-teaching do it, I wonder?" "Ten years o' school-teachin', an' house-work, an' sewin'!" cried he. "Yes, long before that you will be under the sod o' the grave-yard! _You_ cannot send the boy to college." "Who, then?"--smiling at his vehemence. "_I_ will." "You, Mr. Chillis? I thought...." She checked herself, fearing to hurt his pride. "You thought I was poor, an' so I am, for I never tried to make money. _I_ don't want money. But there is land belongin' to me out in the valley--five or six hundred acres--an' land is growin' more valuable every year. Ten years from now I reckon mine would pay a boy's schoolin'. So you needn't work yourself to death for that, Mrs. Smiley." The tears sprang to the gray eyes which were turned upon him with such eloquent looks. "It is like you," she said, in a broken voice, "and I have nothing to say." "You are welcome to my land, White Rose, an' there is nothin' _to_ be said." Then she bent her head over her sewing, feeling, indeed, that there was little use for words. "Do you know," he asked, breaking a protracted silence, "that you have got to give up teachin'?" "And do what? I might take to gardening. That would be better, perhaps; I have thought about it." "Let me see your hands. They look like gardenin': two rose-leaves! Don't it make me wish to be back in my prime? Work for you! Wouldn't I love to work for you?" "And do you not, in every way you can? Am I to have no pride about accepting so much service? What a poor creature you must take me for, Mr. Chillis." "There is nothin' else in the world that I think of; nothin' else that I live for; an' after all it is so little, that I cannot save you from spoilin' your pretty looks with care. An' you have troubled yourself about me, too; don't think I haven't seen it. You fret your lovely soul about the old man's trouble, when you can't help it--you, nor nobody. An', after all, what does it matter about _me_? _I_ am nothin', and you are everything. I want you to remember that, and do everything for your own happiness without wastin' a thought on me. I am content to keep my distance, ef I only see you happy and well off. Do you understand me?"