be only glad?

The question was still unanswered when he finally left the garage. With
all his powers of introspection, he had not yet fathomed the fact that
it was a fear of his own, until now utterly unsuspected, capacity for
recklessness. Heretofore, he had been able to count on the certainty
that his best judgment would govern all his actions. Now, he felt
himself clutching, almost frantically, at the hard sense of proportion
that never before had so much as threatened to desert him. He went
about his chores in a grave, automatic way, absorbed in anything but
agriculture. Hardly ever did he pass through his barn without paying
homage to his own progressiveness and oozing approval of the mechanical
milker, driven by his own electrical dynamo, the James Way stanchions
with electric lights above, the individual drinking fountains at the
head of each cow, the cork-brick floors, the scrupulously white-washed
walls, and the absence of odor, with the one exception of sweet,
fermented silage. But, tonight, he was not seeing these symbols of
material superiority. Instead he was thinking of a girl with eyes as
soft as a dove's, lips like a thread of scarlet and small white teeth as
even as a flock of his own Shropshire sheep. What else did that old King
Solomon say? God Almighty, he thought, there was a man who understood!
He'd try to get a chance to reread that Song of Songs that was breaking
his own heart with its joy and its sadness.

His reverie was broken abruptly by the jangling supper-bell. When he
reached the back door Bill was already at the table and Rose, in a
simple gown that brought out the appealing lines of her slim young body,
was deftly helping his wife in the final dishing up. As Martin stood
a moment, looking in at the bright scene and listening to the happy
chatter, he heard her ask if he had got her a job. At sight of him
she cried excitedly: "Oh, Uncle Martin! You can't think how I adore my
beautiful room! And Bill says it was you who first thought of building
it for me. You old darling! You and Aunt Rose are the best people in the
whole wide world. How can I ever thank you?"

"I'll tell you," he smiled, "forget all about that job and just stay
around here and make us all young. Time enough to work when you have
to."

Mrs. Wade noticed how Bill's eyes widened at these words, so unlike
his father, and soon she was acutely aware of her husband's marked
agreeableness whenever he directed his conversati