lie, when I turn my crops."

Ollie drained the dishpan and wrung out the cloths. These she hung on a
line to dry. Isom watched her with approval, pleased to see her so
housewifely and neat.

"Ollie, you've come on wonderful since I married you," said he. "When
you come here--do you recollect?--you couldn't hardly make a mess of
biscuits that was fit to eat, and you knew next to nothing about milk
and butter for all that you was brought up on a farm."

"Well, I've learned my lesson," said she, with a bitterness which passed
over Isom's head.

Her back was turned to him, she was reaching to hang a utensil on the
wall, so high above her head that she stood on tiptoe. Isom was not
insensible to the pretty lines of her back, the curve of her plump hips,
the whiteness of her naked arms. He smiled.

"Well, it's worth money to you to know all these things," said he, "and
I don't know but it's just as well for you to go on and do the work this
summer for the benefit of what's to be got out of it; you'll be all the
better able to oversee a nigger woman when I put one in, and all the
better qualified to take things into your own hands when I'm done and in
the grave. For I'll have to go, in fifteen or twenty years more," he
sighed.

Ollie made no reply. She was standing with her back still turned toward
him, stripping down her sleeves. But the sigh which she gave breath to
sounded loud in Isom's ears.

Perhaps he thought she was contemplating with concern the day when he
must give over his strivings and hoardings, and leave her widowed and
alone. That may have moved him to his next excess of generosity.

"I'm going to let Joe help you around the house a good deal, Ollie,"
said he. "He'll make it a lot easier for you this summer. He'll carry
the swill down to the hogs, and water 'em, and take care of the calves.
That'll save you a good many steps in the course of the day."

Ollie maintained her ungrateful silence. She had heard promises before,
and she had come to that point of hopelessness where she no longer
seemed to care. Isom was accustomed to her silences, also; it appeared
to make little difference to him whether she spoke or held her peace.

He sat there reflectively a little while; then got up, stretching his
arms, yawning with a noise like a dog.

"Guess I'll go to bed," said he.

He looked for a splinter on a stick of stove-wood, which he lit at the
stove and carried to his lamp. At the door he paused, turne