For what had I to
offer her? The love of a crippled veteran; the wealth of a petty
farmer; the companionship of a crotchety pedagogue. What joy it would
give her ambitious soul as the years went on to watch her husband
develop; to see him growing in the learning of the store; to have him
ranking first among the worthies of the bench; to greet him as he
hobbled home at night after a busy day at nothing! It was better as it
was--aye--a thousand times.
But there was Tim. What a man Tim was, and how blind I had been and
selfish! He stood before me tall and strong, watching me with his
quiet eyes, and as I looked at him I thought of Weston, the lanky
cynic, with his thin, homely face and loose-jointed, shambling walk.
Then I wondered at it all. Then I said to myself, "Is it best?"
"What makes you so quiet, Mark?" asked Tim.
"I was wishing, Tim," I answered, laying a hand on each of his broad
shoulders, "I was wishing you had kept her when you had her."
Tim laughed. It was his clear, honest laugh.
"It is best as it is," he said.
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