seat and struggled against the sickness
of it.

"I might stand it for myself," she thought. "I might stand it for
myself; but I'm not going to stand it for my baby. I'll do
something--I'll take him away."

Her thoughts ran on hysterically, round and round in a coil that had
no end and no beginning.

The silent fit was on Wes now. Presently, she knew, he would get up
and stalk away to bed without a word. And in the morning----

It was as she expected. Without a word to her he got up and went
inside, and she heard him going up the stairs. She sat then a little
longer, for the night was still and warm and beautiful, the stars very
near, and the soft hush-h of the country solitude comforting to her
distress.

Then she heard Unc' Zenas and Dolcey talking at the kitchen door,
their voices a faint cadenced murmur; and this reminded her that she
was not quite alone. She slipped round to them.

"Unc' Zenas, Wes says he's not going to cut the wheat; he'll let it
rot in the fields. Seems Harrison won't send his thresher up this far;
wants us to haul to him instead."

"Marse Wes say he ain' gwine cut dat good wheat? Oh, no Miss Annie, he
cain' mean dat, sholy, sholy!"

"He said it. He's got an awful spell this time. Unc'
Zenas--look--couldn't you ride the reaper if he wouldn't? Couldn't
you? Once the wheat gets cut there's some chance."

"Befo' my God, Miss Annie, wid deseyer wuffless ole han's I cain'
ha'dly hol' one hawss, let alone three. Oh, if I had back my stren'th
lak I useter!"

The three fell into hopeless silence.

"Are the bridges so bad? Is it too hard to get the thresher up here?"
asked Annie at last. "Or was that just Harrison's excuse?"

"No, ma'am; he's got de rights. Dem ole bridges might go down mos' any
time. An' dishyer road up yere, it mighty hard to navigate foh er
grea' big hebby contraption lak er threshin' machine en er engine.
Mos' eve'y year he gits stuck. Las' year tuk er day en er ha'f to git
him out. No'm; he's got de rights."

"Yes, but, Unc' Zenas, that wheat mustn't be left go to waste."

Aunt Dolcey spoke up. "Miss Annie, honey, go git your res'--mawnin'
brings light. Maybe Marse Wes'll come to his solid senses een de
mawnin'. You cain' do nuffin' ternight noway."

"No, that's so." She sighed hopelessly. "Unc' Zenas, maybe we could
hire somebody else to cut the wheat if he won't."

"Miss Annie, honey, eve'ybody busy wid his own wheat--an', moreover,
Marse Wes ain' gwi' let any