heon. Pity me, instead.
I've made no attempt to deceive you. I've been silent, because I could
not talk about a matter that was sad an' sacred. Yes, I'm married;
but"--an' great tears came into his eyes--"my wife has been hopelessly
insane for ten years. You buried Micah an' mourned for him, knowin' he
was dead; I buried my wife alive, God knows whether I've grieved for
her. She is in an insane asylum. For years I could not break away an'
leave her; it seemed so heartless to desert one who had been the joy
an' pride of my youth. But the doctor told me that it was death for me
if I stayed; that I could not last more than a year goin' on as I'd
been livin'. Now you can understand why I am here, solitary an'
hopeless, without a friend--unless I can call you one?"

"You never had a truer one, neighbor King," my heart speakin' out its
gratitude. "When I think of what you've done for me, an' how you've
thought of me, all when the world was the darkest,--why, it seems as
if my life was too short in which to say all my prayers for you."

Perhaps I spoke particularly quick an' spirited, an' perhaps my eyes
showed more'n I spoke; for he looked very queerly at me for a minute,
his face lightin' up in a way it was unused to, an' then he said,
"Thank you, Mrs. Pyncheon; I think I understand. I shall not forget
this meetin'. Good-by." An', before I knew what he meant to do, he
stooped an' kissed my forehead, an' was out of the house before I
could speak.

I wasn't angry; I wasn't hurt. If the truth was given, I was
delighted; for I, too, was hungry an' thirsty for a little love. I was
woman enough to know what that kiss meant. At the same time I grieved
for the poor man, chained, so to speak, to a crazy person, bearin' his
unseen burden so uncomplainingly, an' doin' God-like work all the
year round. But the more I thought over that kiss, the more I realized
that between neighbor King an' myself had been suddenly put up a high
wall, he on one side, I on the other; an' that in the future I should
see him very seldom.

It happened as I thought. Days passed, an' neighbor King came not. The
thumpety-thump of his pony no longer sounded along the road. Mornin's
and evenin's came an' went, an' not a "howdy-do" in his pleasant
voice. I wasn't surprised; I expected as much for a time. Finally, one
of the hired men said he'd gone away. Then I put my lips together in a
dogged way an' settled down to a lonesome life, cheered a little by
the