Nathaniel; warmed even to the mangy dog that limped out from the barn
and curled up on Lizzie's skirt. But when she went away, "comfortable
in her mind," as she told her husband, Lizzie Graham still sat in the
dark under her elm, trying to get her wits together.

"I know Josh is right," she told herself; "he's a careful talker. I
can't do it!" But she winced, and drew in her breath; poor Nathaniel!

She had seen him that afternoon, and had told him, this time with no
embarrassment (for he was as simple as a child about it), that she had
arranged with Mr. Niles to marry them. "An' you fetch your bag along,
Nathaniel, and we'll put the machine together, evenin's," she said.

"Yes, kind woman," he answered, joyously. "Oh, what a weight you have
taken from my soul!"

His half-blind eyes were luminous with belief. Lizzie had smiled, and
shaken her head slightly, looking at the battered rubbish in the
bag--the little, tarnished mirrors, one of them cracked; the two small
lenses, scratched and dim; the handful of rusty cogs and wheels. With
what passion he had dreamed that he would see that which it hath not
entered into the heart of man to conceive! He began to talk, eagerly,
of his invention; but reasonably, it seemed to Lizzie. Indeed, except
for the idea itself, there was nothing that betrayed the unbalanced
mind. His gratitude, too, was sane enough; he had been planning how he
could he useful to her, how he was to do this or that sort of work for
her--at least until his eyes gave out, he said, cheerfully. "But by
that time, kind woman, my invention will be perfected, and you shall
have no need to consider ways and means."