Mrs. Hight, like myself, was spent with conversation, and had ceased
even the one activity of fanning herself. I brought a desired drink of
water, and happily remembered some fruit that was left from my
luncheon. She revived with splendid vigor, and told me the simple
history of her later years since she had been smitten in the prime of
her life by the stroke of paralysis, and her husband had died and left
her alone with Esther and a mortgage on their farm. There was only one
field of good land, but they owned a great region of sheep pasture and
a little woodland. Esther had always been laughed at for her belief in
sheep-raising when one by one their neighbors were giving up their
flocks, and when everything had come to the point of despair she had
raised all the money and bought all the sheep she could, insisting that
Maine lambs were as good as any, and that there was a straight path by
sea to Boston market. And by tending her flock herself she had managed
to succeed; she had made money enough to pay off the mortgage five
years ago, and now what they did not spend was safe in the bank. "It
has been stubborn work, day and night, summer and winter, an' now she
's beginnin' to get along in years," said the old mother sadly. "She
's tended me 'long o' the sheep, an' she 's been a good girl right
along, but she ought to have been a teacher;" and Mrs. Hight sighed
heavily and plied the fan again.
We heard voices, and William and Esther entered; they did not know that
it was so late in the afternoon. William looked almost bold, and oddly
like a happy young man rather than an ancient boy. As for Esther, she
might have been Jeanne d'Arc returned to her sheep, touched with age
and gray with the ashes of a great remembrance. She wore the simple
look of sainthood and unfeigned devotion. My heart was moved by the
sight of her plain sweet face, weather-worn and gentle in its looks,
her thin figure in its close dress, and the strong hand that clasped a
shepherd's staff, and I could only hold William in new reverence; this
silent farmer-fisherman who knew, and he alone, the noble and patient
heart that beat within her breast. I am not sure that they
acknowledged even to themselves that they had always been lovers; they
could not consent to anything so definite or pronounced; but they were
happy in being together in the world. Esther was untouched by the fret
and fury of life; she had lived in sunshine and rain among her silly
sheep, and been refined instead of coarsened, while her touching
patience with a ramping old mother, stung by the sense of defeat and
mourning her lost activities, had given back a lovely self-possession,
and habit of sweet temper. I had seen enough of old Mrs. Hight to know
that nothing a sheep might do could vex a person who was used to the
uncertainties and severities of her companionship.