m. 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.

"I've got to make a start somewhere," said he. "I've been thinkin' a
machine shop's the best thing. I shall have to depend on somethin'
better'n days' works."

Amelia flushed the painful red of emotion without beauty.

"I dunno what we're all comin' to," said she brokenly.

Then the tramp knew. He put his gnarled hand over one of hers. Rosie
looked up curiously from the speckled beans she was counting into a bag,
and then went on singing to herself an unformed, baby song. "Folks'll
talk," said Enoch gently. "They do now. A man an' woman ain't never too
old to be hauled up, an' made to answer for livin'. If I was younger,
an' had suthin' to depend on, you'd see; but I'm no good now. The better
part o' my life's gone."

Amelia flashed at him a pathetic look, half agony over her own lost
pride, and all a longing of maternal love.

"I don't want you should be younger," said she. And next week they were
married.

Comment ran races with itself, and brought up nowhere. The treasuries of
local speech were all too poor to clothe so wild a venture. It was
agreed that there's no fool like an old fool, and that folks who ride to
market may come home afoot. Everybody forgot that Amelia had had no
previous romance, and dismally pictured her as going through the woods,
and getting a crooked stick at last. Even the milder among her judges
were not content with prophesying the betrayal of her trust alone. They
argued from the tramp nature to inevitable results, and declared it
would be a mercy if she were not murdered in her bed. According to the
popular mind, a tramp is a distinct species, with latent tendencies
toward crime. It was recalled that a white woman had, in the old days,
married a comely Indian, whose first drink of fire-water, after six
months of blameless