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ONE:In the autumn Reuben bought ten more acres of Boarzell��a better piece of land than the first, more sheltered, with more clay in the soil. Hops would do well on the lower part of it down by the brook."I��I dunno," she faltered, her voice sounding squeaky and unlike her own: "it might be nine." TWO:He pottered about the farm all the morning. Somehow these terrible events reminded him of the birth of his first child, when he had moped and fretted and sulked��and all for nothing. That seemed twenty years ago. Now he did not fret for nothing. His wife was dying, still young, still sometimes beautiful. His mind was full of jumbled memories of her��he saw her as Harry's sweetheart, sitting with him on Boarzell while he sang; he saw her in the dairy where he had first kissed her stooping over the cream; he saw her as his bride, flushed and timid beside him at the wedding-feast, as the mother of his boys, proud and full-bosomed. But mostly his thoughts were more trivial and tattered��memories of her in certain gowns, in a cap she had bought because, having three little boys, she thought she must "dress older"; memories of little things she had said��"Why don't you keep bees, Reuben? Why don't you keep bees? They're such pretty things, and I like the honey...."

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