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Updated: June 21, 2025
Besides, the Widow Steavens is a good talker, and she has a remarkable memory. The wheat harvest was over, and here and there along the horizon I could see black puffs of smoke from the steam threshing-machines. The old pasture land was now being broken up into wheatfields and cornfields, the red grass was disappearing, and the whole face of the country was changing.
"Poor old man, I didn't think he had any tears left. Seems as if his eyes would have gone dry long ago. At his age nothing cuts very deep," remarked the lawyer. Something in his tone made Steavens glance up.
Steavens looked at him earnestly, puzzled at the line of the chin, and wondering why a man should conceal a feature of such distinction under that disfiguring shock of beard. Suddenly, as though he felt the young sculptor's keen glance, he opened his eyes. "Was he always a good deal of an oyster?" he asked abruptly. "He was terribly shy as a boy."
She made Harvey's life a hell for him when he lived at home; he was so sick ashamed of it. I never could see how he kept himself so sweet." "He was wonderful," said Steavens slowly, "wonderful; but until tonight I have never known how wonderful."
I knew she could n’t talk free before her mother. She went out with me, bareheaded, and we walked up toward the garden. “‘I’m not married, Mrs. Steavens,’ she says to me very quiet and natural-like, ‘and I ought to be.’ “‘Oh, my child,’ says I, ‘what’s happened to you? Don’t be afraid to tell me!’
Steavens, sitting by the window, watched him turn down the glaring lamp, still its jangling pendants with an angry gesture, and then stand with his hands locked behind him, staring down into the master's face. He could not help wondering what link there had been between the porcelain vessel and so sooty a lump of potter's clay.
I found that I remembered the conformation of the land as one remembers the modelling of human faces. When I drew up to our old windmill, the Widow Steavens came out to meet me. She was brown as an Indian woman, tall, and very strong. When I was little, her massive head had always seemed to me like a Roman senator's. I told her at once why I had come. 'You'll stay the night with us, Jimmy?
Besides, the Widow Steavens is a good talker, and she has a remarkable memory.” ON the first or second day of August I got a horse and cart and set out for the high country, to visit the Widow Steavens. The wheat harvest was over, and here and there along the horizon I could see black puffs of smoke from the steam thrashing-machines.
"That is the true and eternal wonder of it, anyway; that it can come even from such a dung heap as this," the lawyer cried, with a sweeping gesture which seemed to indicate much more than the four walls within which they stood. "I think I'll see whether I can get a little air. The room is so close I am beginning to feel rather faint," murmured Steavens, struggling with one of the windows.
Steavens understood now the real tragedy of his master's life; neither love nor wine, as many had conjectured; but a blow which had fallen earlier and cut deeper than anything else could have done a shame not his, and yet so unescapably his, to bide in his heart from his very boyhood.
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