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the locality and the life。
〃I hope you're good an' satisfied now；〃 she repeated in endless
reproach。 〃I hope you're good an' satisfied。 You was bound you'd make a
farmer out of him； an' now you finished the job。 You better try your hand
at Dike now for a change。〃
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Dike was young Ben； sixteen； and old Ben had no need to try his hand
at him。 Young Ben was a born farmer； as was his father。 He had come
honestly by his nickname。 In face； figure； expression； and manner he
was a five…hundred…year throwback to his Holland ancestors。 Apple…
cheeked； stocky； merry of eye； and somewhat phlegmatic。 When； at
school； they had come to the story of the Dutch boy who saved his town
from flood by thrusting his finger into the hole in the dike and holding it
there until help came； the class； after one look at the accompanying picture
in the reader； dubbed young Ben 〃Dike〃 Westerveld。 And Dike he
remained。
Between Dike and his father there was a strong but unspoken feeling。
The boy was cropwise； as his father had been at his age。 On Sundays
you might see the two walking about the farm； looking at the pigsgreat
black fellows worth almost their weight in silver； eying the stock；
speculating on the winter wheat showing dark green in April； with rich
patches that were almost black。 Young Dike smoked a solemn and
judicious pipe； spat expertly； and voiced the opinion that the winter wheat
was a fine prospect Ben Westerveld； listening tolerantly to the boy's
opinions； felt a great surge of joy that he did not show。 Here； at last； was
compensation for all the misery and sordidness and bitter disappointment
of his married life。
That married life had endured now for more than thirty years。 Ben
Westerveld still walked with a light； quick stepfor his years。 The
stocky； broad…shouldered figure was a little shrunken。 He was as neat
and clean at fifty…five as he had been at twenty…five…a habit that； on a farm；
is fraught with difficulties。 The community knew and respected him。
He was a man of standing。 When he drove into town on a bright winter
morning； in his big sheepskin coat and his shaggy cap and his great boots；
and entered the First National Bank； even Shumway； the cashier； would
look up from his desk to say：
〃Hello； Westerveld！ Hello！ Well； how goes it？〃
When Shumway greeted a farmer in that way you knew that there
were no unpaid notes to his discredit。
All about Ben Westerveld stretched the fruit of his toil； the work of his
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hands。 Orchards； fields； cattle； barns； silos。 All these things were
dependent on him for their future well…beingon him and on Dike after
him。 His days were full and running over。 Much of the work was
drudgery； most of it was backbreaking and laborious。 But it was his
place。 It was his reason for being。 And he felt that the reason was good；
though he never put that thought into words； mental or spoken。 He only
knew that he was part of the great scheme of things and that he was
functioning ably。 If he had expressed himself at all； he might have said：
〃Well； I got my work cut out for me； and I do it； and do it right。〃
There was a tractor； now； of course； and a sturdy； middle…class
automobile in which Bella lolled red…faced when they drove into town。
As Ben Westerveld had prospered； his shrewish wife had reaped her
benefits。 Ben was not the selfish type of farmer who insists on twentieth…
century farm implements and medieval household equipment。 He had
added a bedroom here； a cool summer kitchen there； an icehouse； a
commodious porch； a washing machine； even a bathroom。 But Bella
remained unplacated。 Her face was set toward the city。 And slowly；
surely； the effect of thirty years of nagging was beginning to tell on Ben
Westerveld。 He was the finer metal； but she was the heavier； the coarser。
She beat him and molded him as iron beats upon gold。
Minnie was living in Chicago nowa good…natured creature； but slack
like her mother。 Her surly husband was still talking of his rights and
crying down with the rich。 They had two children。
Minnie wrote of them； and of the delights of city life。 Movies every
night。 Halsted Street just around the corner。 The big stores。 State
Street。 The el took you downtown in no time。 Something going on all
the while。 Bella Westerveld； after one of those letters； was more than a
chronic shrew； she became a terrible termagant。
When Ben Westerveld decided to concentrate on hogs and wheat he
didn't dream that a world would be clamoring for hogs and wheat for four
long years。 When the time came； he had them； and sold them fabulously。
But wheat and hogs and markets became negligible things on the day that
Dike； with seven other farm boys from the district； left for the nearest
training camp that was to fit them for France and war。
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Bella made the real fuss； wailing and mouthing and going into
hysterics。 Old Ben took it like a stoic。 He drove the boy to town that day。
When the train pulled out； you might have seen； if you had looked close；
how the veins and cords swelled in the lean brown neck above the clean
blue shirt。 But that was all。 As the weeks went on； the quick； light step
began to lag a little。 He had lost more than a son； his right…hand helper
was gone。 There were no farm helpers to be had。 Old Ben couldn't do
it all。 A touch of rheumatism that winter half crippled him for eight
weeks。 Bella's voice seemed never to stop its plaint。
〃There ain't no sense in you trying to make out alone。 Next thing
you'll die on me； and then I'll have the whole shebang on my hands。〃 At
that he eyed her dumbly from his chair by the stove。 His resistance was
wearing down。 He knew it。 He wasn't dying。 He knew that； too。
But something in him was。 Something that had resisted her all these
years。 Something that had made him master and superior in spite of
everything。
In those days of illness； as he sat by the stove； the memory of Emma
Byers came to him often。 She had left that district twenty…eight years ago；
and had married； and lived in Chicago somewhere； he had heard； and was
prosperous。 He wasted no time in idle regrets。 He had been a fool； and
he paid the price of fools。 Bella； slamming noisily about the room； never
suspected the presence in the untidy place of a third persona sturdy girl
of twenty…two or …three； very wholesome to look at； and with honest；
intelligent eyes and a serene brow。
〃It'll get worse an' worse all the time；〃 Bella's whine went on。
〃Everybody says the war'll last prob'ly for years an' years。 You can't
make out alone。 Everything's goin' to rack and ruin。 You could rent out
the farm for a year； on trial。 The Burdickers'd take it； and glad。 They
got those three strappin' louts that's all flat…footed or slab…sided or cross…
eyed or somethin'； and no good for the army。 Let them run it on shares。
Maybe they'll even buy； if things turn out。 Maybe Dike'll never come b
〃
But at the look on his face then； and at the low growl of unaccustomed
rage that broke from him； even she ceased her clatter。
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They moved to Chicago in the early spri