Matthew lived at the farmhouse. He slept in his old room and ate his meals with a quiet Ellen and a tearful and monosyllabic Mrs. Sassaman. At other times he was at his work. His eyes shone with eagerness, his brow was furrowed with pleasant thinking. He could have embraced the trees and thrown himself upon the soil which he loved.
Already, though the farm was run down and needed all that he could put into it, he looked with longing eyes upon a small adjoining property, across which he could reach the highroad directly from the quarry he meant to open. He looked down upon it from the woodland one August afternoon. The undertaking would be inexpensive and the profit would be out of all proportion to the small outlay. If he only had enough money to begin! Perhaps Grandfather would lend it to him. He did not like to go to Millie's father, would not, indeed, though success was certain. That was no way for a self-respecting son-in-law to begin married life!
Then, as though his question had been borne aloft by the wind, the wind returned an answer. He looked at the nearest tree, a fine oak from which the soft whisper came; he looked at the next tree which was equally fine. In reality the plan for their own destruction was not breathed by the trees, but originated in a suggestion of Millie's, made long ago when possession of them seemed only a dream. The price of the adjoining fields was in his hand!
Ellen and Mrs. Sassaman cleaned the house and Ellen packed away her father's belongings, realization of the finality of death being now complete. Once she asked a question.
"Shall we leave the office as it is, Matthew?"
Matthew blinked; he was calculating at that moment the price which the trees would bring.
"I'll ask Millie what she wants," said he at last, bringing himself to consider Ellen's question. "And I'll ask Dr. Wescoe whether he would like to buy the medicines and the books."
"Not the books!" Ellen began to twist her hands together in the most excited way.
"Very well!" he answered impatiently. "As you like."
Mrs. Sassaman also approached with a question.
"When, then, am I to go?" Her large face was pale and her hands drooped from the wrist joints, like the front paws of a rabbit sitting upon its haunches. She might have been asking for the date of her execution.