Louis and I talked sometimes of the coming time when we should receive the sacred seal of marriage, and when the year for which he asked had expired and the fall term opened in the seminary, he said: 

“Little mother tells me she cannot let me go back, she is too tired to live without me.  I knew it before she told me; her strength is very little without mine, and,” he added, “even if we do all we can, that little mother must leave us before many years.  You know, Emily, how I have wanted all my life to be an artist.  Perhaps I shall, sometime, but now before me I can see a need that will bring me into different work, and it may be also (his eyes were far away) I can, after all, do better service by painting living faces.”

“What do you mean, Louis?

“I mean, Emily, that when the tired hearts we find, feel comfort creeping over them, the work shines through the eyes and glows within the smiles that beam upon us.  Did we not paint a pleasant picture at the wedding, and are not these works of art appreciated through endless time?  Will they not repay us with something better than the gold which we may lose, the earthly things that perish?  And again, I have seriously thought that it is not right for me to take the work that others who need might have.  Side by side with our great love must walk these truths.  I cannot see yet how our future plans are to be arranged, or where our home will be.  What does your good heart say, Emily?”

“Oh!  I cannot tell you, Louis.  I sometimes imagine a little cosy home like Hal’s, and then it dissolves beyond my reach and I say ’Time will tell it all.’  Your mother taught me that one of the greatest lessons in life is to learn to wait, and move with the tide if we can instead of against it.  These hills are very dear to me.”

“May they never be less!” said Louis, gathering me to himself; while I reverently thought, “How glorious a manhood is his! how great the love he gives me!”

Time passed rapidly.  Ben’s first season as a real farmer had passed, and storehouse and barn were filled.  His hands grew strong and his blows were telling.  A handsome woodpile was one of the things he was truly proud of, and everything was done in good season and with perfect system.  Hal said that he and Mary were living with Ben.  Father was surprised at his success, and when, in the winter, he walked in with a dozen brooms of his own make, Aunt Hildy said: 

“Industry and economy were two virtues that the Lord would see well rewarded.  You’ll be a rich man and a generous one too.  Wish your Aunt Phebe’d come up to see us.”

“She’s coming,” said Ben.  “I’ve written to her to come to our house and stay a week.  I want her to come and see my broom-corn room.  I’ll bet she’ll be interested in it, and I’m going to give her six brooms to take home with her.  But did you know Deacon Grover’s very sick?”

“Why, no, indeed!” said I.