Dyer snickered. Lizzie turned very red, and started home down the
elm-shaded street. When she reached her little gray house under its
big tree, she went first into the cow-barn--a crumbling lean-to with a
sagging roof--to see if a sick dog which had found shelter there was
comfortable. It seemed to Lizzie that his bleared eyes should be
washed; and she did this before she went through her kitchen into a
shed-room where she slept. There she sat down in hurried and frowning
preoccupation, resting her elbows on her knees and staring blankly at
the braided mat on the floor. As she sat there her face reddened; and
once she laughed, nervously. "An' me 'most fifty!" she said to
herself....

The next morning she went to see Nathaniel again.

He was up-stairs in a little hot room under the sloping eaves. He was
bending over, straining his poor eyes close to some small wheels and
bands and reflectors arranged on a shaky table. He welcomed her
eagerly, and with all the excitement of conviction plunged at once
into an explanation of his principle. Then suddenly conviction broke
into despair: "I am not to be allowed to finish it!" He gave a quick
sob, like a child. He had forgotten Lizzie's presence.

"Nathaniel," she said, and paused; then began again: "Nathaniel--"

"Who is here? Oh yes: Lizzie Graham. Kind woman; kind woman."

"Nathaniel, you know I ain't got means; I'm real poor,--"

"Are you?" he said, with instant concern. "I am sorry. If I could help
you--if I had anything of my own--or if they will let me finish my