g over his
conclusions. He had convinced himself that each demand of the body was
useless except the food that nourished it, the clothes that warmed it
and the sleep that repaired it. He hated soft things and the twist in
his mind that was Martin proved to him their futility. Love? It was an
empty dream, a shell that fooled. Its joys were fleeting. There was but
one thing worth while and that was work. The body was made for it--the
thumb to hold the hammer, the hand to pump the water and drive the
horses, the legs to follow the plow, herd the cattle and chase the
pigs from the cornfield, the ears to listen for strange noises from the
stock, the eyes to watch for weeds and discover the lice on the hens,
the mouth to yell the food call to the calves, the back to carry the
bran. Work meant money, and money meant--what? It was merely a stick
that measured the amount of work done. Then why did he toil so hard and
save so scrupulously? His answer was always another question. What was
there in life that could enable one to forget it faster? That woman
in there waiting for him--oh, she would suffer before she realized the
truth of this lesson he had already learned, and Martin felt a little
pity for her.

When he went in for supper, Rose was just beginning to prepare it. With
a catch of anger in his manner, he gave her a sharp look and saw that
she had been crying. He couldn't remember ever before having had to deal
with a weeping woman; even when Benny had died and his mother had been
so shaken she had not given way to tears; so this was to be another of
the new experiences which must trot in with marriage. It annoyed him.

"What's the matter, Rose?"

"Nothing at all, Martin."

"Nothing? You don't cry about nothing, do you?"

"No." Rose felt a sudden fear; she sensed a lack of pity in Martin, an
unwillingness even to try to understand her conflicting emotions.

"Then you're crying about something. What is it?" There was command in
his question. Martin was losing patience. He knew tears were used as
weapons by women, but why in the world should Rose need any sort of
weapon on the first day of their marriage? He hadn't done anything to
her, said anything unkind. Was she going to be unreasonable? Now he was
sure it was all wrong.

"What's the matter?" he demanded, his voice rising.

"Nothing's the matter. I'm just a little nervous." Rose began to cry
afresh. If only Martin had come to her and put his arms around her, she