“Yes, I do, but your grandpa don't. And you don't understand him. . . . Oh, Albert, DON'T be as stubborn as he is, as your mother was--the Lord and she forgive me for sayin' it. She was partly right about marryin' your pa and Cap'n Lote was partly right, too. If they had met half way and put the two 'partlys' together the whole thing might have been right in the end. As 'twas, 'twas all wrong. Don't, don't, DON'T, Albert, be as stubborn as that. For their sakes, Al,--yes, and for my sake, for I'm one of your family, too, or seems as if I was--don't.” She hastily wiped her eyes with her apron. He, too was greatly moved. “Don't cry, Rachel,” he muttered, hurriedly. “Please don't. . . . I didn't know you felt this way. I didn't know anybody did. I don't want to make trouble in the family--any more trouble. Grandmother has been awfully good to me; so, too, has Grandfather, I suppose, in his way. But--oh, what am I going to do? I can't stay in that office all my life. I'm not good at business. I don't like it. I can't give up--” “No, no, course you mustn't. I don't want you to give up.” “Then what do you want me to do?” “I want you to go to your grandpa and talk to him once more. Not givin' up your plans altogether but not forcin' him to give up his either, not right away. Tell him you realize he wants you to go on with Z. Snow and Company and that you will--for a while--” “But--” “For a while, I said; three or four years, say. You won't be so dreadful old then, not exactly what you'd call a Methusalem. Tell him you'll do that and on his side he must let you write as much as you please, provided you don't let the writin' interfere with the Z. Snow and Co. work. Then, at the end of the three or four years, if you still feel the same as you do now, you can tackle your poetry for keeps and he and you'll still be friends. Tell him that, Albert, and see what he says. . . . Will you?” Albert took some moments to consider. At length he said: “If I did I doubt if he would listen.” “Oh, yes he would. He'd more than listen, I'm pretty sartin. I think he'd agree.” “You do?” “Yes, I do. You see,” with a smile, “while I've been talkin' to you there's been somebody else talkin' to him. . . . There, there! don't you ask any questions. I promised not to tell anybody and if I ain't exactly broke that promise, I've sprained its ankle, I'm afraid. Good night, Albert, and thank you ever and ever so much for listenin' so long without once tellin' me to mind my own business.” “Good night, Rachel. . . . And thank you for taking so much interest in my affairs. You're an awfully good friend, I can see that.” “Don't--don't talk that way. And you WILL have that talk with your grandpa?” “Yes, I will.” “Oh, I'm SO glad! There! Good night. I come pretty nigh kissin' you then and for a woman that's been engaged to be married for upwards of eighteen years that's a nice way to act, ain't it! Good night, good night.”