off the county and away from the disgrace of pauperism, and
yourself as well."

"I ought to see Joe about it first, Mr. Chase, I ought to talk it over
with him. Let me think a minute."

She settled down to her pensive attitude, elbows on knees, chin in
hands, and looked over the homely scene of riotous shrubbery, racked
buildings, leaning well-curb, rotting fences. In one swift, painful
moment she pictured what that spot would be after Isom Chase had taken
possession.

He would uproot the lilacs; he would level the house and the chimney,
stone by stone; he would fill up the well and pull down the old barn
that Peter built, and drive his plow over the hearthstone where she had
suckled her babies in the years of her youth and hope. He would
obliterate the landmarks of her bridal days, and sow his grain in the
spot where Peter, fresh in the strong heat of youth, had anchored their
ambitions.

It was not so much for what it had been that her heart was tender to it,
for the years had been heavy there and toilsome, disappointing and full
of pain; not so much for what it had been, indeed, as what she and young
Peter, with the thick black hair upon his brow, had planned to make it.
It was for the romance unlived, the hope unrealized, that it was dear.
And then again it was poor and pitiful, wind-shaken and old, but it was
home. The thought of the desolation that waited it in the dread future
struck her breast like the pangs of bereavement. Tears coursed down her
face; sobs rose in her aching throat.

Joe, she thought, would do that much for her and the old home place; it
would be but a little more than two years of sacrifice for him, at the
most, with the bright hope of independence and redemption at the end.
Being bound out would not be so disgraceful as going to the poorhouse.
Joe would do it for her, she was sure of that. But it would be better to
wait until evening and ask him.

"Joe, he'll be along home from his work about dusk," said she, "and we
could let you know tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," said Isom Chase, rising stiffly, "I'll have to send the
sheriff here with the papers. Tomorrow, ma'am, will be too late."

That dreadful picture swept across her inner vision once more--the
chimney down, the house gone. She saw corn growing over the spot where
she sat that moment; she remembered that Isom Chase had plowed up a
burying-ground once and seeded it to timothy.

"What will I have to do to bind Joe over to you?" she