d expression in his eyes.

"The hills aren't empty," she told him impatiently. "They're just big
and quiet. This is--" She flung out a hand and did not try to find a
word for what she felt.

"Shall I go first? I thought you would rather--"

"I would." Billy Louise pulled herself together, angry at her sudden
impulse to run, as she had run from Ward's quiet cabin. She remembered
that unreasoning panic--was it really only yesterday?--and went
steadily up the path and across the little ditch which Marthy had dug.
Why must sordid trouble and dull misery hang over a beauty-spot like
this? she thought resentfully.

She stopped for a minute on the doorstep, hesitating before she opened
the door. Behind her, Seabeck drew close as if he would shield her
from something; perhaps he, too, felt the deadly quiet and emptiness of
the place.

Billy Louise opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. She stopped
and stood still, so that her slim figure would have hidden the interior
from the eyes of Seabeck had he not been so tall. As it was, she
barred his way so that he must stand on the step outside.

By the kitchen table, with her elbows on the soiled oilcloth, sat
Marthy. Her uncombed hair hung in wisps about her head; her hard old
face was lined and gray, her hard eyes dull with brooding. Billy
Louise, staring at her from the doorway, knew that Marthy had been
sitting like that for a long, long time.

She went over to her diffidently. Hesitatingly she laid her gauntleted
hand on Marthy's stooped shoulder. She did not say anything. Marthy
did not move under her touch, except to turn her dull glance upon
Seabeck, standing there on the doorstep.

"C'm in," she said stolidly. "What'd yuh come fer?"

"Miss MacDonald will perhaps explain--"

"She ain't got nothin' to explain," said hard old Marthy with grim
finality. "I'll do what explainin's to be done. C'm in. Don't stand
there like a stump. And shut the door. It's cold as a barn here,
anyway."

"Oh, Marthy!" cried Billy Louise, with the sound of tears in her voice.

"Don't oh Marthy me," said the harsh voice flatly. "I don't want no
Marthyin' nor no sympathy. Well, old man, you're here to colleck, I
s'pose. Take what's in sight; 'tain't none of it yourn, far's I know,
but anything you claim you kin have, fer all me. I've lived honest all
my days an' worked fer what I got. I've harbored thieves in my old age
and trusted them that wa'n't fit to