following the lead of undiscouraged fancy, they declared that he must
be some of cousin Silas's connections from Omaha; but even before
Amelia had time to deny that, his ignorance of local tradition denied
it for him. He must have heard of this or that, by way of cousin Silas;
but he owned to nothing defining place or time, save that he had been
in the war--"all through it." He seemed to be a man quite weary of the
past and indifferent to the future. After a half hour's talk with him,
unseasonable callers were likely to withdraw, perhaps into the pantry,
whither Amelia had retreated to escape catechism, and remark jovially,
"Well, 'Melia, you ain't told us who your company is!"

"Mr. Willis," said Amelia. She was emulating his habit of reserve. It
made a part of her new loyalty.

Even to her, Enoch had told no tales; and strangely enough, she was
quite satisfied. She trusted him. He did say that Rosie's mother was
dead; for the last five years, he said, she had been out of her mind.
At that, Amelia's heart gave a fierce, amazing leap. It struck a note
she never knew, and wakened her to life and longing. She was glad
Rosie's mother had not made him too content. He went on a step or two
into the story of his life. His wife's last illness had eaten up the
little place, and after she went, he got no work. So, he tramped. He
must go again. Amelia's voice sounded sharp and thin, even to her, as
she answered,--

"Go! I dunno what you want to do that for. Rosie's terrible contented
here."

His brown eyes turned upon her in a kindly glance.