I never cared a straw for any other. I
know that now. You're all there is in the world."
When they walked up over the brown field, the sun lay very warmly there
with a promise of spring fulfilled. The wind had miraculously died, and
soft clouds ran over the sky in flocks. Rosie danced on ahead, singing
her queer little song, and Enoch struggled with himself to speak the
word his wife might wish.
"'Melia," said he at last, "there ain't anything in my life I couldn't
tell you. I jest ain't dwelt on it, that's all. If you want to have me
go over it"--
"I don't want anything," said Amelia firmly. Her eyes were suffused,
and yet lambent. The light in them seemed to be drinking up their
tears. Her steps, she knew, were set within a shining way. At the door
only she paused and fixed him with a glance. "Enoch," said she
threateningly, "whose cows were them you sold to-day?"
He opened his lips, but she looked him down. One word he rejected, and
then another. His cheeks wrinkled up into obstinate smiling, and he
made the grimace of a child over its bitter draught.
"'Melia, it ain't fair," he complained. "No, it ain't. I'll take one of
'em, if you say so, or I'll own it don't make a mite o' difference
whose they be.
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