The Balking of Christopher
"I have never in my life had enough of the bread of life to keep my soul nourished. I have tried to do my duties, but I believe sometimes duties act on the soul like weeds on a flower. They crowd it out.”
THE spring was early that year. It was onlythe last of March, but the trees were filmedwith green and paling with promise of bloom; thefront yards were showing new grass pricking throughthe old. It was high time to plow the south fieldand the garden, but Christopher sat in his rocking-chair beside the kitchen window and gazed out, anddid absolutely nothing about it.Myrtle Dodd, Christopher's wife, washed thebreakfast dishes, and later kneaded the bread, allthe time glancing furtively at her husband. Shehad a most old-fashioned deference with regard toChristopher. She was always a little afraid of him.Sometimes Christopher's mother, Mrs. Cyrus Dodd,and his sister Abby, who had never married, re-proached her for this attitude of mind. "You areentirely too much cowed down by Christopher,"Mrs. Dodd said."I would never be under the thumb of any man,"Abby said."Have you ever seen Christopher in one of hisspells?" Myrtle would ask.Then Mrs. Cyrus Dodd and Abby would lookat each other. "It is all your fault, mother," Abbywould say. "You really ought not to have allowedyour son to have his own head so much.""You know perfectly well, Abby, what I had tocontend against," replied Mrs. Dodd, and Abbybecame speechless. Cyrus Dodd, now deceasedsome twenty years, had never during his whole lifeyielded to anything but birth and death. Beforethose two primary facts even his terrible will waspowerless. He had come into the world withouthis consent being obtained; he had passed in likemanner from it. But during his life he had ruled,a petty monarch, but a most thorough one. He hadspoiled Christopher, and his wife, although a womanof high spirit, knew of no appealing."I could never go against your father, you knowthat," said Mrs. Dodd, following up her advantage."Then," said Abby, "you ought to have warnedpoor Myrtle. It was a shame to let her marry aman as spoiled as Christopher.""I would have married him, anyway," declaredMyrtle with sudden defiance; and her mother-in-law regarded her approvingly."There are worse men than Christopher, andMyrtle knows it," said she."Yes, I do, mother," agreed Myrtle. "Christo-pher hasn't one bad habit.""I don't know what you call a bad habit," re-torted Abby. "I call having your own way in spiteof the world, the flesh, and the devil rather a badhabit. Christopher tramples on everything in hispath, and he always has. He tramples on poor Myrtle."At that Myrtle laughed. "I don't think I looktrampled on," said she; and she certainly did not.Pink and white and plump was Myrtle, although shehad, to a discerning eye, an expression which denotedextreme nervousness.This morning of spring, when her husband satdoing nothing, she wore this nervous expression. Herblue eyes looked dark and keen; her forehead waswrinkled; her rosy mouth was set. Myrtle andChristopher were not young people; they were alittle past middle age, still far from old in look orability.Myrtle had kneaded the bread to rise for thelast time before it was put into the oven, and hadput on the meat to boil for dinner, before she daredaddress that silent figure which had about it some-thing tragic. Then she spoke in a small voice."Christopher," said she.Christopher made no reply."It is a good morning to plow, ain't it?" saidMyrtle.Christopher was silent."Jim Mason got over real early; I suppose hethought you'd want to get at the south field. He'sbeen sitting there at the barn door for 'most twohours."Then Christopher rose. Myrtle's anxious facelightened. But to her wonder her husband wentinto the front entry and got his best hat. "Heain't going to wear his best hat to plow," thoughtMyrtle. For an awful moment it occurred to herthat something had suddenly gone wrong with herhusband's mind. Christopher brushed the hat care-fully, adjusted it at the little looking-glass in thekitchen, and went out."Be you going to plow the south field?" Myrtlesaid, faintly."No, I ain't.""Will you be back to dinner?""I don't know -- you needn't worry if I'm not."Suddenly Christopher did an unusual thing for him.He and Myrtle had lived together for years, and out-ward manifestations of affection were rare betweenthem. He put his arm around her and kissed her.After he had gone, Myrtle watched him out ofsight down the road; then she sat down and wept.Jim Mason came slouching around from his stationat the barn door. He surveyed Myrtle uneasily."Mr. Dodd sick?" said he at length."Not that I know of," said Myrtle, in a weakquaver. She rose and, keeping her tear-stained facealoof, lifted the lid off the kettle on the stove."D'ye know am he going to plow to-day?""He said he wasn't."Jim grunted, shifted his quid, and slouched out ofthe yard.Meantime Christopher Dodd went straight downthe road to the minister's, the Rev. Stephen Wheaton.When he came to the south field, which he wasneglecting, he glanced at it turning emerald uponthe gentle slopes. He set his face harder. Christo-pher Dodd's face was in any case hard-set. Nowit was tragic, to be pitied, but warily, lest it turnfiercely upon the one who pitied. Christopher wasa handsome man, and his face had an almost classicturn of feature. His forehead was noble; his eyesfull of keen light. He was only a farmer, but inspite of his rude clothing he had the face of a manwho followed one of the professions. He was insore trouble of spirit, and he was going to consultthe minister and ask him for advice. Christopherhad never done this before. He had a sort of in-credulity now that he was about to do it. He hadalways associated that sort of thing with womankind,and not with men like himself. And, moreover,Stephen Wheaton was a younger man than himself.He was unmarried, and had only been settled in thevillage for about a year. "He can't think I'm com-ing to set my cap at him, anyway," Christopherreflected, with a sort of grim humor, as he drewnear the parsonage. The minister was haunted bymarriageable ladies of the village."Guess you are glad to see a man coming, insteadof a woman who has doubts about some doctrine,"was the first thing Christopher said to the ministerwhen he had been admitted to his study. Thestudy was a small room, lined with books, and onlyone picture hung over the fireplace, the portrait ofthe minister's mother -- Stephen was so like her thata question concerning it was futile.Stephen colored a little angrily at Christopher'sremark -- he was a hot-tempered man, although aclergyman; then he asked him to be seated.Christopher sat down opposite the minister. "Ioughtn't to have spoken so," he apologized, "butwhat I am doing ain't like me.""That's all right," said Stephen. He was a short,athletic man, with an extraordinary width of shoul-ders and a strong-featured and ugly face, still indica-tive of goodness and a strange power of sympathy.Three little mongrel dogs were sprawled about thestudy. One, small and alert, came and rested hishead on Christopher's knee. Animals all liked him.Christopher mechanically patted him. Patting anappealing animal was as unconscious with the manas drawing his breath. But he did not even look atthe little dog while he stroked it after the fashionwhich pleased it best. He kept his large, keen,melancholy eyes fixed upon the minister; at lengthhe spoke. He did not speak with as much eagernessas he did with force, bringing the whole power ofhis soul into his words, which were the words of aman in rebellion against the greatest odds on earthand in all creation -- the odds of fate itself."I have come to say a good deal, Mr. Wheaton,"he began."Then say it, Mr. Dodd," replied Stephen, withouta smile.Christopher spoke. "I am going back to the verybeginning of things," said he, "and maybe you willthink it blasphemy, but I don't mean it for that.I mean it for the truth, and the truth which is toomuch for my comprehension.""I have heard men swear when it did not seemblasphemy to me," said Stephen."Thank the Lord, you ain't so deep in your rutyou can't see the stars!" said Christopher. "ButI guess you see them in a pretty black sky sometimes.In the beginning, why did I have to come into theworld without any choice?""You must not ask a question of me which canonly be answered by the Lord," said Stephen."I am asking the Lord," said Christopher, withhis sad, forceful voice. "I am asking the Lord, andI ask why?""You have no right to expect your question to beanswered in your time," said Stephen."But here am I," said Christopher, "and I wasa question to the Lord from the first, and fifty yearsand more I have been on the earth.""Fifty years and more are nothing for the answerto such a question," said Stephen.Christopher looked at him with mournful dissent;there was no anger about him. "There was timebefore time," said he, "before the fifty years andmore began. I don't mean to blaspheme, Mr.Wheaton, but it is the truth. I came into the worldwhether I would or not; I was forced, and then I wastold I was a free agent. I am no free agent. Forfifty years and more I have thought about it, andI have found out that, at least. I am a slave -- aslave of life.""For that matter," said Stephen, looking curi-ously at him, "so am I. So are we all.""That makes it worse," agreed Christopher -- "awhole world of slaves. I know I ain't talking inexactly what you might call an orthodox strain. Ihave got to a point when it seems to me I shall gomad if I don't talk to somebody. I know there is thatawful why, and you can't answer it; and no manliving can. I'm willing to admit that sometime, inanother world, that why will get an answer, butmeantime it's an awful thing to live in this worldwithout it if a man has had the kind of life I have.My life has been harder for me than a harder lifemight be for another man who was different. Thatmuch I know. There is one thing I've got to bethankful for. I haven't been the means of sendingany more slaves into this world. I am glad my wifeand I haven't any children to ask 'why?'"Now, I've begun at the beginning; I'm going on.I have never had what men call luck. My folkswere poor; father and mother were good, hard-working people, but they had nothing but trouble,sickness, and death, and losses by fire and flood.We lived near the river, and one spring our housewent, and every stick we owned, and much as everwe all got out alive. Then lightning struck father'snew house, and the insurance company had failed,and we never got a dollar of insurance. Then myoldest brother died, just when he was getting startedin business, and his widow and two little childrencame on father to support. Then father got rheu-matism, and was all twisted, and wasn't good formuch afterward; and my sister Sarah, who had beenexpecting to get married, had to give it up and takein sewing and stay at home and take care of therest. There was father and George's widow -- shewas never good for much at work -- and mother andAbby. She was my youngest sister. As for me, Ihad a liking for books and wanted to get an educa-tion; might just as well have wanted to get a seaton a throne. I went to work in the grist-mill of theplace where we used to live when I was only a boy.Then, before I was twenty, I saw that Sarah wasn'tgoing to hold out. She had grieved a good deal,poor thing, and worked too hard, so we sold outand came here and bought my farm, with the mort-gage hitching it, and I went to work for dear life.Then Sarah died, and then father. Along about thenthere was a girl I wanted to marry, but, Lord, howcould I even ask her? My farm started in as afailure, and it has kept it up ever since. When therewasn't a drought there was so much rain everythingmildewed; there was a hail-storm that cut every-thing to pieces, and there was the caterpillar year.I just managed to pay the interest on the mortgage;as for paying the principal, I might as well have triedto pay the national debt."Well, to go back to that girl. She is marriedand don't live here, and you ain't like ever to seeher, but she was a beauty and something more. Idon't suppose she ever looked twice at me, butlosing what you've never had sometimes is worsethan losing everything you've got. When she gotmarried I guess I knew a little about what themartyrs went through."Just after that George's widow got married againand went away to live. It took a burden off therest of us, but I had got attached to the children.The little girl, Ellen, seemed 'most like my own.Then poor Myrtle came here to live. She diddressmaking and boarded with our folks, and Ibegun to see that she was one of the nervous sort ofwomen who are pretty bad off alone in the world,and I told her about the other girl, and she said shedidn't mind, and we got married. By that timemother's brother John -- he had never got married --died and left her a little money, so she and my sisterAbby could screw along. They bought the littlehouse they live in and left the farm, for Abby wasalways hard to get along with, though she is agood woman. Mother, though she is a smart woman,is one of the sort who don't feel called upon to inter-fere much with men-folks. I guess she didn't inter-fere any too much for my good, or father's, either.Father was a set man. I guess if mother had been alittle harsh with me I might not have asked thatawful 'why?' I guess I might have taken my bitterpills and held my tongue, but I won't blame myselfon poor mother."Myrtle and I get on well enough. She seemscontented -- she has never said a word to make methink she wasn't. She isn't one of the kind ofwomen who want much besides decent treatmentand a home. Myrtle is a good woman. I am sorryfor her that she got married to me, for she deservedsomebody who could make her a better husband.All the time, every waking minute, I've been growingmore and more rebellious."You see, Mr. Wheaton, never in this world haveI had what I wanted, and more than wanted --needed, and needed far more than happiness. Ihave never been able to think of work as anythingbut a way to get money, and it wasn't right, notfor a man like me, with the feelings I was born with.And everything has gone wrong even about thework for the money. I have been hampered andhindered, I don't know whether by Providence orthe Evil One. I have saved just six hundred andforty dollars, and I have only paid the interest onthe mortgage. I knew I ought to have a little aheadin case Myrtle or I got sick, so I haven't tried topay the mortgage, but put a few dollars at a timein the savings-bank, which will come in handy now."The minister regarded him uneasily. "What," heasked, "do you mean to do?""I mean," replied Christopher, "to stop trying todo what I am hindered in doing, and do just once inmy life what I want to do. Myrtle asked me thismorning if I wasn't going to plow the south field.Well, I ain't going to plow the south field. I ain'tgoing to make a garden. I ain't going to try forhay in the ten-acre lot. I have stopped. I haveworked for nothing except just enough to keep souland body together. I have had bad luck. But thatisn't the real reason why I have stopped. Look athere, Mr. Wheaton, spring is coming. I have neverin my life had a chance at the spring nor the summer.This year I'm going to have the spring and the sum-mer, and the fall, too, if I want it. My apples mayfall and rot if they want to. I am going to get asmuch good of the season as they do.""What are you going to do?" asked Stephen."Well, I will tell you. I ain't a man to makemystery if I am doing right, and I think I am. Youknow, I've got a little shack up on Silver Mountainin the little sugar-orchard I own there; never gotenough sugar to say so, but I put up the shack oneyear when I was fool enough to think I might getsomething. Well, I'm going up there, and I'm goingto live there awhile, and I'm going to sense thethings I have had to hustle by for the sake of afew dollars and cents.""But what will your wife do?""She can have the money I've saved, all exceptenough to buy me a few provisions. I sha'n't needmuch. I want a little corn meal, and I will have afew chickens, and there is a barrel of winter applesleft over that she can't use, and a few potatoes.There is a spring right near the shack, and there aretrout-pools, and by and by there will be berries,and there's plenty of fire-wood, and there's an oldbed and a stove and a few things in the shack.Now, I'm going to the store and buy what I want,and I'm going to fix it so Myrtle can draw the moneywhen she wants it, and then I am going to theshack, and" -- Christopher's voice took on a solemntone -- "I will tell you in just a few words the gistof what I am going for. I have never in my lifehad enough of the bread of life to keep my soulnourished. I have tried to do my duties, but I believesometimes duties act on the soul like weeds on aflower. They crowd it out. I am going up on SilverMountain to get once, on this earth, my fill of thebread of life."Stephen Wheaton gasped. "But your wife, shewill be alone, she will worry.""I want you to go and tell her," said Christopher,"and I've got my bank-book here; I'm going towrite some checks that she can get cashed when sheneeds money. I want you to tell her. Myrtle won'tmake a fuss. She ain't the kind. Maybe she willbe a little lonely, but if she is, she can go and visitsomewhere." Christopher rose. "Can you let mehave a pen and ink?" said he, "and I will writethose checks. You can tell Myrtle how to usethem. She won't know how."Stephen Wheaton, an hour later, sat in his study,the checks in his hand, striving to rally his courage.Christopher had gone; he had seen him from hiswindow, laden with parcels, starting upon the ascentof Silver Mountain. Christopher had made outmany checks for small amounts, and Stephen heldthe sheaf in his hand, and gradually his courageto arise and go and tell Christopher's wife gainedstrength. At last he went.Myrtle was looking out of the window, and shecame quickly to the door. She looked at him, herround, pretty face gone pale, her plump handstwitching at her apron."What is it?" said she."Nothing to be alarmed about," replied Stephen.Then the two entered the house. Stephen foundhis task unexpectedly easy. Myrtle Dodd was anunusual woman in a usual place."It is all right for my husband to do as he pleases,"she said with an odd dignity, as if she were defendinghim."Mr. Dodd is a strange man. He ought to havebeen educated and led a different life," Stephen said,lamely, for he reflected that the words might behard for the woman to hear, since she seemed obvi-ously quite fitted to her life, and her life to her.But Myrtle did not take it hardly, seemingly ratherwith pride. "Yes," said she, "Christopher oughtto have gone to college. He had the head for it.Instead of that he has just stayed round here anddogged round the farm, and everything has gonewrong lately. He hasn't had any luck even withthat." Then poor Myrtle Dodd said an unexpectedlywise thing. "But maybe," said Myrtle, "his badluck may turn out the best thing for him in the end."Stephen was silent. Then he began explainingabout the checks."I sha'n't use any more of his savings than I canhelp," said Myrtle, and for the first time her voicequavered. "He must have some clothes up there,"said she. "There ain't bed-coverings, and it iscold nights, late as it is in the spring. I wonderhow I can get the bedclothes and other things tohim. I can't drive, myself, and I don't like to hireanybody; aside from its being an expense, it wouldmake talk. Mother Dodd and Abby won't maketalk outside the family, but I suppose it will haveto be known.""Mr. Dodd didn't want any mystery made overit," Stephen Wheaton said."There ain't going to be any mystery. Christo-pher has got a right to live awhile on Silver Mountainif he wants to," returned Myrtle with her odd,defiant air."But I will take the things up there to him, if youwill let me have a horse and wagon," said Stephen."I will, and be glad. When will you go?""To-morrow.""I'll have them ready," said Myrtle.After the minister had gone she went into herown bedroom and cried a little and made the moanof a loving woman sadly bewildered by the waysof man, but loyal as a soldier. Then she driedher tears and began to pack a load for thewagon.The next morning early, before the dew was offthe young grass, Stephen Wheaton started with thewagon-load, driving the great gray farm-horse upthe side of Silver Mountain. The road was fairlygood, making many winds in order to avoid steepascents, and Stephen drove slowly. The gray farm-horse was sagacious. He knew that an unaccustomedhand held the lines; he knew that of a right he shouldbe treading the plowshares instead of climbing amountain on a beautiful spring morning.But as for the man driving, his face was radiant,his eyes of young manhood lit with the light of themorning. He had not owned it, but he himself hadsometimes chafed under the dull necessity of his life,but here was excitement, here was exhilaration. Hedrew the sweet air into his lungs, and the deepermeaning of the spring morning into his soul. Christo-pher Dodd interested him to the point of enthusiasm.Not even the uneasy consideration of the lonely,mystified woman in Dodd's deserted home coulddeprive him of admiration for the man's flight intothe spiritual open. He felt that these rights of theman were of the highest, and that other rights, evenhuman and pitiful ones, should give them the rightof way.It was not a long drive. When he reached theshack -- merely a one-roomed hut, with a stove-pipe chimney, two windows, and a door -- Christo-pher stood at the entrance and seemed to illuminateit. Stephen for a minute doubted his identity.Christopher had lost middle age in a day's time.He had the look of a triumphant youth. Blue smokewas curling from the chimney. Stephen smelledbacon frying, and coffee.Christopher greeted him with the joyousness ofa child. "Lord!" said he, "did Myrtle send you upwith all those things? Well, she is a good woman.Guess I would have been cold last night if I hadn'tbeen so happy. How is Myrtle?""She seemed to take it very sensibly when I toldher."Christopher nodded happily and lovingly. "Shewould. She can understand not understanding, andthat is more than most women can. It was mightygood of you to bring the things. You are in timefor breakfast. Lord! Mr. Wheaton, smell the trees,and there are blooms hidden somewhere that smellsweet. Think of having the common food of mansweetened this way! First time I fully sensed I wassomething more than just a man. Lord, I am paidalready. It won't be so very long before I get myfill, at this rate, and then I can go back. To thinkI needn't plow to-day! To think all I have to dois to have the spring! See the light under thosetrees!"Christopher spoke like a man in ecstasy. He tiedthe gray horse to a tree and brought a pail of waterfor him from the spring near by.Then he said to Stephen: "Come right in. Thebacon's done, and the coffee and the corn-cake andthe eggs won't take a minute."The two men entered the shack. There was noth-ing there except the little cooking-stove, a fewkitchen utensils hung on pegs on the walls, an oldtable with a few dishes, two chairs, and a loungeover which was spread an ancient buffalo-skin.Stephen sat down, and Christopher fried the eggs.Then he bade the minister draw up, and the twomen breakfasted."Ain't it great, Mr. Wheaton?" said Christopher."You are a famous cook, Mr. Dodd," laughedStephen. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, andthe breakfast was excellent."It ain't that," declared Christopher in his ex-alted voice. "It ain't that, young man. It's be-cause the food is blessed."Stephen stayed all day on Silver Mountain. Heand Christopher went fishing, and had fried trout fordinner. He took some of the trout home to Myrtle.Myrtle received them with a sort of state whichdefied the imputation of sadness. "Did he seemcomfortable?" she asked."Comfortable, Mrs. Dodd? I believe it will meana new lease of life to your husband. He is an un-common man.""Yes, Christopher is uncommon; he always was,"assented Myrtle."You have everything you want? You were nottimid last night alone?" asked the minister."Yes, I was timid. I heard queer noises," saidMyrtle, "but I sha'n't be alone any more. Chris-topher's niece wrote me she was coming to makea visit. She has been teaching school, and she losther school. I rather guess Ellen is as uncommon fora girl as Christopher is for a man. Anyway, she'slost her school, and her brother's married, and shedon't want to go there. Besides, they live in Boston,and Ellen, she says she can't bear the city in springand summer. She wrote she'd saved a little, andshe'd pay her board, but I sha'n't touch a dollar ofher little savings, and neither would Christopherwant me to. He's always thought a sight of Ellen,though he's never seen much of her. As for me, Iwas so glad when her letter came I didn't knowwhat to do. Christopher will be glad. I supposeyou'll be going up there to see him off andon." Myrtle spoke a bit wistfully, and Ste-phen did not tell her he had been urged to comeoften."Yes, off and on," he replied."If you will just let me know when you are going,I will see that you have something to take to him-- some bread and pies.""He has some chickens there," said Stephen."Has he got a coop for them?""Yes, he had one rigged up. He will have plentyof eggs, and he carried up bacon and corn meal andtea and coffee.""I am glad of that," said Myrtle. She spoke witha quiet dignity, but her face never lost its expressionof bewilderment and resignation.The next week Stephen Wheaton carried Myrtle'sbread and pies to Christopher on his mountainside.He drove Christopher's gray horse harnessed in hisold buggy, and realized that he himself was gettingmuch pleasure out of the other man's idiosyncrasy.The morning was beautiful, and Stephen carried inhis mind a peculiar new beauty, besides. Ellen,Christopher's niece, had arrived the night before,and, early as it was, she had been astir when hereached the Dodd house. She had opened the doorfor him, and she was a goodly sight: a tall girl,shaped like a boy, with a fearless face of great beautycrowned with compact gold braids and lit by un-swerving blue eyes. Ellen had a square, determinedchin and a brow of high resolve."Good morning," said she, and as she spoke sheevidently rated Stephen and approved, for she smiledgenially. "I am Mr. Dodd's niece," said she. "Youare the minister?""Yes.""And you have come for the things aunt is tosend him?""Yes.""Aunt said you were to drive uncle's horse andtake the buggy," said Ellen. "It is very kind of you.While you are harnessing, aunt and I will pack thebasket."Stephen, harnessing the gray horse, had a senseof shock; whether pleasant or otherwise, he couldnot determine. He had never seen a girl in the leastlike Ellen. Girls had never impressed him. Shedid.When he drove around to the kitchen door sheand Myrtle were both there, and he drank a cup ofcoffee before starting, and Myrtle introduced him."Only think, Mr. Wheaton," said she, "Ellen saysshe knows a great deal about farming, and we aregoing to hire Jim Mason and go right ahead."Myrtle looked adoringly at Ellen.Stephen spoke eagerly. "Don't hire anybody,"he said. "I used to work on a farm to pay my waythrough college. I need the exercise. Let me help.""You may do that," said Ellen, "on shares.Neither aunt nor I can think of letting you workwithout any recompense.""Well, we will settle that," Stephen replied.When he drove away, his usually calm mind was ina tumult."Your niece has come," he told Christopher,when the two men were breakfasting together onSilver Mountain."I am glad of that," said Christopher. "All thattroubled me about being here was that Myrtle mightwake up in the night and hear noises."Christopher had grown even more radiant. Hewas effulgent with pure happiness."You aren't going to tap your sugar-maples?"said Stephen, looking up at the great symmetricalefflorescence of rose and green which towered aboutthem.Christopher laughed. "No, bless 'em," said he,"the trees shall keep their sugar this season. Thisweek is the first time I've had a chance to get ac-quainted with them and sort of enter into their feel-ings. Good Lord! I've seen how I can love thosetrees, Mr. Wheaton! See the pink on their youngleaves! They know more than you and I. Theyknow how to grow young every spring."Stephen did not tell Christopher how Ellen andMyrtle were to work the farm with his aid. The twowomen had bade him not. Christopher seemed tohave no care whatever about it. He was simplyhappy. When Stephen left, he looked at him andsaid, with the smile of a child, "Do you think I amcrazy?""Crazy? No," replied Stephen."Well, I ain't. I'm just getting fed. I was starv-ing to death. Glad you don't think I'm crazy, be-cause I couldn't help matters by saying I wasn't.Myrtle don't think I am, I know. As for Ellen, Ihaven't seen her since she was a little girl. I don'tbelieve she can be much like Myrtle; but I guess ifshe is what she promised to turn out she wouldn'tthink anybody ought to go just her way to have itthe right way.""I rather think she is like that, although I sawher for the first time this morning," said Stephen."I begin to feel that I may not need to stay heremuch longer," Christopher called after him. "Ibegin to feel that I am getting what I came for sofast that I can go back pretty soon."But it was the last day of July before he came.He chose the cool of the evening after a burning day,and descended the mountain in the full light of themoon. He had gone up the mountain like an oldman; he came down like a young one.When he came at last in sight of his own home,he paused and stared. Across the grass-land aheavily laden wagon was moving toward his barn.Upon this wagon heaped with hay, full of silverlights from the moon, sat a tall figure all in white,which seemed to shine above all things. Christopherdid not see the man on the other side of the wagonleading the horses; he saw only this wonderfulwhite figure. He hurried forward and Myrtle camedown the road to meet him. She had been watch-ing for him, as she had watched every night."Who is it on the load of hay?" asked Christopher."Ellen," replied Myrtle."Oh!" said Christopher. "She looked like anangel of the Lord, come to take up the burden I haddropped while I went to learn of Him.""Be you feeling pretty well, Christopher?" askedMyrtle. She thought that what her husband hadsaid was odd, but he looked well, and he might havesaid it simply because he was a man.Christopher put his arm around Myrtle. "I ambetter than I ever was in my whole life, Myrtle,and I've got more courage to work now than I hadwhen I was young. I had to go away and get rested,but I've got rested for all my life. We shall getalong all right as long as we live.""Ellen and the minister are going to get marriedcome Christmas," said Myrtle."She is lucky. He is a man that can see with theeyes of other people," said Christopher.It was after the hay had been unloaded and Chris-topher had been shown the garden full of lustyvegetables, and told of the great crop with no draw-back, that he and the minister had a few minutesalone together at the gate."I want to tell you, Mr. Wheaton, that I amsettled in my mind now. I shall never complainagain, no matter what happens. I have found thatall the good things and all the bad things that cometo a man who tries to do right are just to prove tohim that he is on the right path. They are just theflowers and sunbeams, and the rocks and snakes,too, that mark the way. And -- I have found outmore than that. I have found out the answer to my'why?'""What is it?" asked Stephen, gazing at him curi-ously from the wonder-height of his own specialhappiness."I have found out that the only way to heavenfor the children of men is through the earth," saidChristopher.
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