the same place he had left it that rainy afternoon
over a year ago.

"She looked that peert with 'er red lips an' bright eyes, a askin' if th'
school board was t' meet. Pore little woman--she ain't a goslin' any more,
an' 'er new feathers ain't turnin' th' rain very good neither," he
reflected, shaking his head.

The long day ended at last and John came to the house after the evening
chores were finished. Elizabeth waited for him in her bedroom. Throughout
the entire evening she had been telling herself that she must make this
thing right. For the sake of the expected child she must not let her mind
be disturbed with the hurt feeling she had been unable to put away since
John had gone out without letting her explain about the morning's baking.
She allowed herself no angry or resentful thought for the prolonged and
cruel reproach. Dry-eyed, she sat by the open window in her nightdress,
making buttonholes in a tiny slip as she waited. She heard him deposit the
basket of cobs beside the kitchen stove, which he never forgot to bring in
at night, and by the rattle of the dipper which followed and the chug,
chug, chug of the pump knew that he was filling the reservoir. Breakfast
on the farm was an early meal and greatly facilitated by small
preparations. John never forgot nor neglected his part of the household
duties. Elizabeth sighed. John had the appearance of right on his side
when he demanded her highest efforts at the household altar. She put away
the little slip as she heard him coming toward the bedroom and rose to
meet him. The tears came in spite of every effort to stay them, and to
hide her face she dug it deep into his shoulder while she sobbed out her
story. It was a full minute before John's arm went about her, but at last
reflecting that something was due one in her condition, he patted her
heaving shoulders and said as if addressing a child:

"There, there now, I never thought of you feeling so bad," and after a
minute's thought added, "but you see, dear, the part of the dinner you saw
to yourself was all right, and the pies had to be apologized for."

CHAPTER XII

"PORE LITTLE WOMAN"

Silas Chamberlain answered to a loud knock on his door at the midnight
hour. It was the first week of August.

"From Hunter's, you say?"

There was a mumbled conversation at the door.

"Why, yes, of course. Come right in--glad t' have you. When was you
called--an hour an' a half ago? Now you come right upstairs