Page:Reuben and other poems.pdf/36

 “Ye can sell some o’ the house-stuff, then,” Said Sarah stoutly, tho’ her secret heart Reel’d with a consternation yet ungauged: “Or get a mortgage on the house and land— Not that I grudge, but he that’s gear to hold Has gear to handle.” “House nor land is mine. It never was,” he answer’d wondering, “and I doubt there’s little o’ the house-stuff mine. It’s four months that I’m owing for the rent. They said they’d put a man in after three, Then after four—and the fourth’s up—it fell O’ Christmas, and no going to beg more time By reason of the snow. God’s blessing on it, It’s seen her safe away! Now, when he comes, He may come, him you took for doctor, him That’s coming yonder—for all’s theirs by right— The very bed is theirs.”

“He’s coming now?” Cried Sarah. She believed at last. His tone, Simple, direct, left no more room for doubt. Sorrier far than wonted weakness is The helplessness of strength; with hanging hands Beside the silent bed she stood stock-still And fumbled in her mind. “Have pity on us! Oh, my poor Mercy! Oh, what will folk say? Reuben! you’d never, never let him in? Not right in the dead face of her?” She came And crouch’d beside him, like a wild thing tamed,