"
"I said: 'Look here! How many lives have we?' 'One,' replied father.
'What are we alive for?' 'I don't know,' replied father. 'Neither do
I; only I know that life's not worth living as we live it. Let's go
into the country.'"
"I beg your pardon, Gabriel," interrupted his father again; "it was
not quite so, it was better than that. The boy lectured me, Miss
Fletcher,--pitched into me, and I deserved it. He told me I was
fifty-five and a fool for my years. So I was. There was I, grinding
away,--what for? We never saw each other, we never saw the fields,
we were selling all the joys of life for three farthings. So we
decided to drudge no more. Gabriel would have continued, but I could
not allow that; I wanted him here. We found we should have just
enough money to rent a cottage, buy body-covering and plain food. So
here we are. And we are happy. As Gabriel said, What is the use of
toiling for more, when the unprofitable work that brings us a few
extra shillings takes away our capacities for enjoying life? Here we
are, happy all day, eh, Gabriel? He writes his poetry and devours
his books, I devour mine, Jane devours hers; we are learning now all
the beauties of Nature, and man's best thoughts.
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