I got a letter from Peter the next day, and it said such wonderful things about Sam that I pasted it in Grandmother Nelson’s book with the Commissioner’s report.  I had to cut out a whole page about Julia’s beauty and the way New York was crazy about her.  Peter is the most wonderful man in the world in some ways, and I believe that, as he deserves all kinds of happiness, he’ll get it; maybe a nice, big, pink happiness in a blue chiffon and gold dress that will rock his nerves through a long career of play-writing.  I told Sam my hopes.

He ruffled my hair with his big hand, and my lips with his, as he smoldered out toward Old Harpeth.  In his eyes was the gridiron land look that started the flow of sap along the twigs of my heart just a few months ago.  Then he said: 

“A man must plow his field of life deep, Betty, but if a woman didn’t trudge ’longside with her hoe and seed-basket, what would the harvest be?”

THE END