Life is so full of changes, and people change, oh, so much!"
In spite of the vanity of my soul, I comforted myself with the reflection
that Luther would not care long. I did not really believe that he would
go to sea. I stood with him a moment in the door of Grandma's kitchen.
He looked over to the woods, behind which the water lay, and the fire and
impatience had all gone out of his manner. His gentleness touched me
deeply, yet I was determined not to feel his hurt, nor--"if only the
circumstances of his life had been different"--what might have been mine
also!
"Hark! It's high tide. It's making quite a fuss over there," he said. "I
think a man feels more quiet somehow, when he's out there, teacher.
Father says I'm a wild chap and uneasy. I guess that's so. I can take
care of them just as well too if I go, and better. Only if I should
die--" there was nothing affected or forlorn in the Cradlebow's tone--"I
should like to be buried on the hill, with father's folks. You've been
across there. You look one way and there's the river, oftenest still--and
the other way, you hear the old Bay scooting along the sand. I like it,
being used to hearing it go always.
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