had
seen Hal, dressed and ready for a roistering night in
town, come out of the farmhouse and go into the road.
Along the path to his own house he trudged behind his
wife, looking at the ground and thinking. He couldn't
make out what was wrong. Every time he raised his eyes
and saw the beauty of the country in the failing light
he wanted to do something he had never done before,
shout or scream or hit his wife with his fists or
something equally unexpected and terrifying. Along the
path he went scratching his head and trying to make it
out. He looked hard at his wife's back but she seemed
all right.

She only wanted him to go into town for groceries and
as soon as she had told him what she wanted began to
scold. "You're always puttering," she said. "Now I want
you to hustle. There isn't anything in the house for
supper and you've got to get to town and back in a
hurry."

Ray went into his own house and took an overcoat from a
hook back of the door. It was torn about the pockets
and the collar was shiny. His wife went into the
bedroom and presently came out with a soiled cloth in
one hand and three silver dollars in the other.
Somewhere in the house a child wept bitterly and a dog
that had been sleeping by the stove arose and yawned.
Again the wife scolded. "The children will cry and cry.
Why are you always puttering?" she asked.

Ray went out of the house and climbed the fence into a
field. It was just growing dark and the scene that lay
before him was lovely. All the low hills were washed
with color and even the little clusters of bushes in
the corners of the fences were alive with beauty. The
whole world seemed to Ray Pearson to have become alive
with something just as he and Hal had suddenly become
alive when they stood in the corn field stating into
each other's eyes.

The beauty of the country about Winesburg was too much
for Ray on that fall evening. That is all there was to
it. He could not stand it. Of a sudden he forgot all
about being a quiet old farm hand and throwing off the
torn overcoat began to run across the field. As he ran
he shouted a protest against his life, against all
life, against everything that makes life ugly. "There
was no promise made," he cried into the empty spaces
that lay about him. "I didn't promise my Minnie
anything and Hal hasn't made any promise to Nell. I
know he hasn't. She went into the woods with him
because she wanted to go. What he wanted she wanted.
Why should