very awkward times, and to places where they were not wanted a bit,
and she also knew that sometimes, when they brought a baby, they had
been known to take the mother away. Mary had her own opinion of the
angels who did that, but it had been done. There was only one hope:
her father always knew what to do.

She thawed a hole in the frosted window and tried to see down the
trail, but the moon was foggy and it was impossible to see more than a
few yards.

Filled with a sense of fear and dread, she built up a good fire and
filled the kettle with water; she vigorously swept the floor and
tidied the few books on their home-made shelf.

It was ten o'clock when her father came in, pale and worried. Mary saw
that he knew, too.

He went past her into the bedroom and spoke hurriedly to his wife; but
Mary did not hear what they said.

Suddenly she heard her mother cry and instinctively she ran into the
room.

Her father stood beside the bed holding his head, as if in pain.
Mary's mother had turned her face into the pillow, and cried; and even
little Bobbie, who had been awakened by the unusual commotion, sat up,
rubbing his eyes, and cried softly to himself.

Mary's father explained it to Mary.

"Mrs. Roberts has gone away," he said. "I went over to see her to-day.
We were depending on her to come over and take care of your
mother--for a while--and now she has gone, and there is not another
woman between here and the Landing."

"It's no use trying, Robert," Mrs. Wood said between her sobs; "I
can't stay--I am so frightened. I am beginning to see things--and I
know what it means. There are black things in every corner--trying to
tell me something, grinning, jabbering things--that are waiting for
me; I see them everywhere I look."

Mr. Wood sat down beside her, and patted her hand.

"I know, dear," he said; "it's hell, this lonely life. It's too much
for any woman, and I'll give it all up. Better to live on two meals a
day in a city than face things like this. We wanted a home of our own,
Millie,--you remember how we used to talk,--and we thought we had
found it here--good land and a running stream. We have worked hard and
it is just beginning to pay, but we'll have to quit--and I'll have to
work for some one else all my life. It was too good to be true,
Millie."

He spoke without any bitterness in his voice, just a settled sadness,
and a great disappointment.

Suddenly the old dog began to bark with strong convict