"There's one thing sure," he added, rising. "I'll live by myself and be
independent of everybody, and make my way all alone in the world; and if
I can make 'em all finally own up and admit that I'm honest with 'em,
I'm satisfied. That's all I'll ever ask of anybody. But there's one
thing that worries me sometimes--that is, whether I ought to come here
so often. I'm afraid, sometimes, that it'll hinder your father from
gettin' work, or--something--for you folks to be friends with me."

"I think such things take care of themselves," said Susan, quietly. "If
a chip won't float, let it sink."

"Good-night," said Eph, and he walked off, and went home to his echoing
house.

After that, his visits to Joshua's became less frequent.

* * * * *

It was a bright day in March--one of those which almost redeem the
reputation of that desperado of a month. Eph was leaning on his fence,
looking now down the bay and now to where the sun was sinking in the
marshes. He knew that all the other men had gone to the town-meeting,
where he had had no heart to intrude himself--that free democratic
parliament where he had often gone with his father in childhood; where
the boys, rejoicing in a general assembly of their own, had played ball
outside, while the men debated gravely within. He recalled the time when
he himself had so proudly given his first vote for President, and how
his father had introduced him then to friends from distant parts of the
town. He remembered how he had heard his father speak there, and how