qualifications for matrimony, the incontrovertible fact that he could
and would take care of Lucy. He stopped at the appropriate moment and
waited confidently for Calvin Stammark's approval.

The latter, out of a gathering immeasurable rage, almost shouted: "You
get to hell off my place!"

Wilmer Deakon was astounded but otherwise unshaken. "That's no way to
answer a decent man and a proper question," he replied. "Lucy and I
want to be married. There's nothing wrong with that. But you look as if
I had offered to disgrace her. Why, Mr. Stammark, you can't keep her
forever. I reckon it'll be hard on you to have her go, but you must
make up your mind to it some day. She's willing, and you know all about
me. Then Lucy won't be far away from you all. I've cleared the brush up
and right now the bottom of our house is laid in Sugarloaf."

Calvin's anger sank before a sense of helplessness at this latter fact.
Wilmer was building a house for her just as he had built one for
Hannah. He remembered his delight and pride as it had approached
completion; he remembered the evening, nearly twenty years ago, when he
had sat on the bank across the road and seen it finished. Then he had
ridden, without waiting to fix up, to the Braleys'; Hannah had scolded
him as they sat in the parlor.

"I must talk to Lucy," he said in a different weary tone. Bareheaded he
walked over into the pasture, now his. The cattle moved vaguely in the
gloom, with softly blowing nostrils, and the streams were like smooth
dark ribbons. When he returned to his house the lights were out, Wilmer
Deakon was gone and Lucy was in bed.