"It IS hard," said Nelson. "I lost my wife three years ago."

"That's hard, too."

"My goodness! I guess it is. And it's hardest when trouble
comes on a man and he can't go nowhere for advice."

"Yes, that's so, too. But--have you any children?"

"Yes, ma'am; that is, they ain't my own children. Lizzie and I
never had any; but these two we took and they are most like my own.
The girl is eighteen and the boy rising of fourteen."

"They must be a comfort to you; but they are considerable
of a responsibility, too."

"Yes, ma'am," he sighed softly to himself. "Sometimes I feel
I haven't done the right way by them, though I've tried.
Not that they ain't good children, for they are--no better anywhere.
Tim, he will work from morning till night, and never need
to urge him; and he never gives me a promise he don't keep it,
no ma'am, never did since he was a little mite of a lad.
And he is a kind boy, too, always good to the beasts;
and while he may speak up a little short to his sister, he saves
her many a step. He doesn't take to his studies quite as I would
like to have him, but he has a wonderful head for business.
There is splendid stuff in Tim if it could only be worked right."

While Nelson spoke, Tim was hunching his shoulders forward
in the darkness, listening with the whole of two sharp ears.