spirit. But wherever trouble
is found, there is also to be found envy, pride, and vanity. It is
good to be humble, Mrs. Wicket; in humility lie the forces of peace.
The humble heart is an impregnable fortress."

And he tapped his breast, as though to say, "Here is a whole army."

"Yes," she mused, "yes . . . but the heart's liable to break, too,
after a while."

"Not the humble heart," said Mr. Jeminy firmly. "No . . . you cannot
break the humble heart."

Mrs. Wicket stood gazing at the ground, twisting her apron with her
hands. On her face was a look of pity for Mr. Jeminy, because she had
heard that he was not to teach school any longer. "It will be a hard
blow to him," she thought.

"Few," continued Mr. Jeminy, "go very long without their share of
sorrow. And sorrow is not a light thing to bear, Mrs. Wicket.
Poverty, also, falls to the lot of most of us; and it is not easy to be
poor. Yet to be poor, to be sad, and to be brave, is indeed the best
of life. He who wants little for himself, is a happy man. If he is
wise, he will pity those who have more than they need. He will not
envy them; he will see the trouble they are making for themselves.
There is no end of pity in this world, Mrs. Wicket; like love, it makes
rich men of us all."

Mrs. Wicket nodded her head. "Yes," she said, "it's a blessing to feel
pity. It makes you strong, like. The humble heart is a power of
strength."

And she went back to Juliet, who had begun to cough again. Left to
himself, Mr. Jeminy regarded the gate-post with a thoughtful air. But
inwardly he was very much pleased with himself.

That year they kept harvest home before September was fairly done. In
the meadows the hay, gathered in stacks, shone in the moonlight like
little hills of snow; and in the shadows the crickets hopped and sang,
repeating with shrill voices, the murmurs of lovers, hidden in the
woods.

Anna Barly and her friends watched the moon come up along the road to
Adams' Forge. In Ezra Adams' haywagon they were singing the harvest
in. Their voices rolled across the fields in lovely glees, rose in the
old, familiar songs, broke into laughter, and died away in whispers.
Thus they renewed their interrupted youth, and celebrated the return of
peace.

It was a cold, still night, with dew white as frost over the ground.
Anna, huddled in the hay, could see her breath go out in fog; while the
moon, shining in her face, seemed to veil in shadow the