the day after the Marches had talked their future over. "Said anything to
you yet?"

"No, not a word."

"You're anxious, I suppose, same as I am. Fact is," said Fulkerson,
blushing a little, "I can't ask to have a day named till I know where I
am in connection with the old man. I can't tell whether I've got to look
out for something else or somebody else. Of course, it's full soon yet."

"Yes," March said, "much sooner than it seems to us. We're so anxious
about the future that we don't remember how very recent the past is."

"That's something so. The old man's hardly had time yet to pull himself
together. Well, I'm glad you feel that way about it, March. I guess it's
more of a blow to him than we realize. He was a good deal bound up in
Coonrod, though he didn't always use him very well. Well, I reckon it's
apt to happen so oftentimes; curious how cruel love can be. Heigh? We're
an awful mixture, March!"

"Yes, that's the marvel and the curse, as Browning says."

"Why, that poor boy himself," pursued Fulkerson, had streaks of the mule
in him that could give odds to Beaton, and he must have tried the old man
by the way he would give in to his will and hold out against his
judgment. I don't believe he ever budged a hairs-breadth from his
original position about wanting to be a preacher and not wanting to be a
business man. Well, of course! I don't think business is all in all; but
it must have made the old man mad to find that without saying anything,
or doing anything to show it, and after seeming to come over to his