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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
87
"Yes,
and
a
little
unpainted
house,"
said
our
friend.
"That's
Parsons',"
put
in
Harriet,
with
a
mellow
laugh.
"I
wonder
if
he
ever
will
paint
that
house.
He
builds
bigger
barns
every
year
and
doesn't
touch
the
house.
Poor
Mrs.
Parsons----"
And
so
we
talked
of
barns
and
threshing
machines
in
the
way
we
farmers
love
to
do
and
I
lured
our
friend
slowly
into
talking
about
himself.
At
first
he
was
non-committal
enough
and
what
he
said
seemed
curiously
made
to
order;
he
used
certain
set
phrases
with
which
to
explain
simply
what
was
not
easy
to
explain--a
device
not
uncommon
to
all
of
us.
I
was
fearful
of
not
getting
within
this
outward
armouring,
but
gradually
as
we
talked
and
Harriet
poured
him
a
third
cup
of
hot
coffee
he
dropped
into
a
more
familiar
tone.
He
told
with
some
sprightliness
of
having
seen
threshings
in
Mexico,
how
the
grain
was
beaten
out
with
flails
in
the
patios,
and
afterwards
thrown
up
in
the
wind
to
winnow
out.
"You
must
have
seen
a
good
deal
of
life,"
remarked
Harriet
sympathetically.
At
this
remark
I
saw
one
of
our
Ruin's
long
hands
draw
up
and
clinch.
He
turned
his
head
toward
Harriet.
His
face
was
partly
in
the
shadow,
but
there
was
something
striking
and
strange
in
the
way
he
looked
at
her,
and
a
deepness
in
his
voice
when
he
spoke:
"Too
much!
I've
seen
too
much
of
life."
He
threw
out
one
arm
and
brought
it
back
with
a
shudder.
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