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。 If she's got a secret that it mortifies her to tell it will be buried in the grave with her； and most likely it will never see the light at judgment Day。 Lucy was always ashamed of my being jilted； you know。〃
〃It's a new story then； is it？〃
〃Oh； it's as old as the hills by now。 What's the funny part； though； is that Lucy has always tried to persuade herself it was really Matoaca I cared for。 You know； I sometimes think that a woman can convince herself that black is white if she only keeps trying hard enoughand it's marvellous that she never sees the difference between wanting to believe a thing and believing it in earnest。 Now； if Matoaca had been the last woman on this earth； and I the last man； I could never have fallen in love with her； though I may as well confess that I had my share of fancies when I was young。 It's no use attempting to explain a man's feelings； of course。 Matoaca was almost as great a belle as Lucy； and she was the handsomest creature you ever laid eyes onone of those big； managing women who are forever improving things around them。 Why； I don't believe she could stay two seconds in a man's arms without improving the set of his cravat。 Some men like that kind of thing； but I never did； and I often think the reason I went so mad about the other woman was that she came restful after Matoaca。 She was the comforting kind； who； you might be sure； always saw you at your best； and no matter the mood you were in； she never wanted to pat and pull you into shape。 Lucy always said she couldn't hold a candle to Matoaca in looks； and I suppose she was right； but； pretty or plain； that girl had something about her that went straight to my heart more than thirty years ago and stays there still。 Strange to say； I've tried to believe that it was half compassion； for she always reminded me of a little wild bird that somebody had caught and shut up in a cage； and it used to seem to me sometimes that I could almost hear the fluttering of her soul。 Well； whatever it was； the feeling was the sort that is most worth while； though she didn't think so； of course； and broke her great heart over another man。 She married him and had six children and died a few years ago。 He was a fortunate fellow； I suppose； and yet I can't help fancying that I've had the better part and the Lord was right。 She was not happy； they said； and he knew it； and yet had to face those eyes of hers every day。 It was like many other marriages； I reckon； he got used to her body and never caught so much as a single glimpse of her soul。 Then she faded away and died to him； but to me she's just the same as when I first saw her； and I still believe that if she could come here and sit on this old bench I should be perfectly happy。 It's a lucky man； I tell you； who can keep the same desire for more than thirty years。〃
He shook his head slowly； smiling as he listened to the bluebird singing in the road。 〃And now I'll be fetching my crumbs；〃 he added； struggling to his crutches。
When he had helped Tucker to the house； Christopher came back and sat down again on the bench； closing his eyes to the sunshine； the spring sky； and the dandelion blooming in the mould。 He was very tired； and his muscles ached from the strain of heavy labour； yet as he lingered there in the warm wind it seemed to him that action was the one thing he desired。 The restless season worked in his blood； and he felt the stir of old impulses that had revived each year with the quickening sap since the first pilgrimage man made on earth。 He wanted to be up and away while he was still young； and his heart beat high； and at the moment he would have found positive delight in any convulsion of the natural order； in any excuse for a headlong and impetuous plunge into life。
He heard the door open again； and Tucker shuffled out into the path and began scattering his crumbs upon the gravel。 When Christopher passed a moment later； on his way to the house； the old soldier was merrily whistling an invitation to a glimpse of blue in a tree…top by the road。
The spring dragged slowly； and with June came the transplanting of the young tobacco。 This was the busiest season of the year with Christopher； and so engrossed was he in his work that for a week at the end of the month he did not go down for the county news at Tom Spade's store。 Fletcher was at home； he knew； but he had heard nothing of Will； and it was through the storekeeper at last that he learned definitely of the boy's withdrawal from the university。 Returning from the field one afternoon at sunset； he saw Tom sitting beside Tucker in the yard； and in response to a gesture he crossed the grass and stopped beside the long pine bench。
〃I say； Mr。 Christopher； I've brought you a bit of news；〃 called the storekeeper at the young man's approach。
〃Well； let's have it；〃 returned Christopher； laughing。 〃If you're going to tell me that Uncle Tucker has discovered a rare weed； though； I warn you that I can't support it。〃
〃Oh； I'm not in this； thank heaven；〃 protested Tucker； 〃but to tell the truth； I'm downright sorry for the boyFletcher or no Fletcher；〃
〃Ah；〃 said Christopher under his breath； 〃so it's Will Fletcher？〃
〃He's in a jolly scrape this time； an' no mistake；〃 replied Tom。 〃He's been leadin' a wild life at the university； it seems； an' to…day Fletcher got a telegram saying that the boy had been caught cheatin' in his examinations。 The old man left on the next train； as mad as a hornet； I can tell you。 He swore he'd bring the young scamp back an' put him to the plough。 Well； well； thar are worse dangers than a pretty gal； though Susan won't believe it。〃
〃Then he'll bring him home？〃 asked Christopher； blinking in the sunlight。 At the instant it seemed to him that sky and field whirled rapidly before his eyes； and a strange noise started in his ears which he found presently to be the throbbing of his arteries。
〃Oh； he's been given a hard push down the wrong road；〃 answered Tom； 〃an' it's more than likely he'll never pull up till he gits clean to the bottom。〃
CHAPTER VI。 The Wages of Folly
Two days later Fletcher's big new carriage crawled over the muddy road； and Christopher； looking up from his work in the field； caught a glimpse of the sullen face Will turned on the familiar landscape。 The younger Fletcher had come home evidently nursing a grievance at his heart； his eyes held a look of dogged resentment； and the hand in which he grasped the end of the linen dust…robe was closed in an almost convulsive grip。 When he met Christopher's gaze he glanced angrily away without speaking； and then finding himself face to face with his grandfather's scowl he jerked impatiently in the opposite direction。 It was clear that the tussle of wills had as yet wrung only an enforced submission from the younger man。
Lifting his head； Christopher stood idly watching the carriage until it disappeared between the rows of flowering chestnuts； then； returning in a half…hearted fashion to his work； he found himself wondering curiously if Fletcher's wrath and Will's indiscretions were really so great as public rumour might lead one to suppose。
An answer to his question came the next evening； when he heard a light； familiar whis