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I
made
an
appropriate
rejoinder
,
and
he
smiled
wanly
.
"
I
haven
’
t
been
home
for
five
years
.
I
think
I
’
d
forgotten
it
all
;
I
seemed
to
have
come
so
far
away
from
my
father
’
s
house
that
I
was
shy
at
the
idea
of
revisiting
it
;
but
now
I
feel
it
’
s
my
only
refuge
.
"
He
was
sore
and
bruised
,
and
his
thoughts
went
back
to
the
tenderness
of
his
mother
’
s
love
.
The
ridicule
he
had
endured
for
years
seemed
now
to
weigh
him
down
,
and
the
final
blow
of
Blanche
’
s
treachery
had
robbed
him
of
the
resiliency
which
had
made
him
take
it
so
gaily
.
He
could
no
longer
laugh
with
those
who
laughed
at
him
.
He
was
an
outcast
.
He
told
me
of
his
childhood
in
the
tidy
brick
house
,
and
of
his
mother
’
s
passionate
orderliness
.
Her
kitchen
was
a
miracle
of
clean
brightness
.
Everything
was
always
in
its
place
,
and
no
where
could
you
see
a
speck
of
dust
.
Cleanliness
,
indeed
,
was
a
mania
with
her
.
I
saw
a
neat
little
old
woman
,
with
cheeks
like
apples
,
toiling
away
from
morning
to
night
,
through
the
long
years
,
to
keep
her
house
trim
and
spruce
.
His
father
was
a
spare
old
man
,
his
hands
gnarled
after
the
work
of
a
lifetime
,
silent
and
upright
;
in
the
evening
he
read
the
paper
aloud
,
while
his
wife
and
daughter
(
now
married
to
the
captain
of
a
fishing
smack
)
,
unwilling
to
lose
a
moment
,
bent
over
their
sewing
.
Nothing
ever
happened
in
that
little
town
,
left
behind
by
the
advance
of
civilisation
,
and
one
year
followed
the
next
till
death
came
,
like
a
friend
,
to
give
rest
to
those
who
had
laboured
so
diligently
.
"
My
father
wished
me
to
become
a
carpenter
like
himself
.
For
five
generations
we
’
ve
carried
on
the
same
trade
,
from
father
to
son
.
Perhaps
that
is
the
wisdom
of
life
,
to
tread
in
your
father
’
s
steps
,
and
look
neither
to
the
right
nor
to
the
left
.
When
I
was
a
little
boy
I
said
I
would
marry
the
daughter
of
the
harness
-
maker
who
lived
next
door
.
She
was
a
little
girl
with
blue
eyes
and
a
flaxen
pigtail
.
She
would
have
kept
my
house
like
a
new
pin
,
and
I
should
have
had
a
son
to
carry
on
the
business
after
me
.
"
Stroeve
sighed
a
little
and
was
silent
.
His
thoughts
dwelt
among
pictures
of
what
might
have
been
,
and
the
safety
of
the
life
he
had
refused
filled
him
with
longing
.
"
The
world
is
hard
and
cruel
.
We
are
here
none
knows
why
,
and
we
go
none
knows
whither
.
We
must
be
very
humble
.
We
must
see
the
beauty
of
quietness
.
We
must
go
through
life
so
inconspicuously
that
Fate
does
not
notice
us
.
And
let
us
seek
the
love
of
simple
,
ignorant
people
.
Their
ignorance
is
better
than
all
our
knowledge
.
Let
us
be
silent
,
content
in
our
little
corner
,
meek
and
gentle
like
them
.
That
is
the
wisdom
of
life
.
"
To
me
it
was
his
broken
spirit
that
expressed
itself
,
and
I
rebelled
against
his
renunciation
.
But
I
kept
my
own
counsel
.
"
What
made
you
think
of
being
a
painter
?
"
I
asked
.
