it for good, if for good was in the girl's heart, Robert. There
seems," he hesitated; "eh, Robert, there seems a something upon us all.
There's a something to be done, is there? But if I've got my flesh and
blood, and none can spit on her, why should I be asking 'whats' and
'whys'? I bow my head; and God forgive me, if ever I complained. And you
will bring Rhoda to us on Monday?"

"Yes; and try and help to make the farm look up again, if Gammon'll do
the ordering about."

"Poor old Mas' Gammon! He's a rare old man. Is he changed by adversity,
Robert? Though he's awful secret, that old man! Do you consider a bit
Gammon's faithfulness, Robert!"

"Ay, he's above most men in that," Robert agreed.

"On with Dahlia's bonnet--sharp!" the farmer gave command. He felt, now
that he was growing accustomed to the common observation of things,
that the faces and voices around him were different from such as the
day brings in its usual course. "We're all as slow as Mas' Gammon, I
reckon."

"Father," said Rhoda, "she is weak. She has been very unwell. Do not
trouble her with any questions. Do not let any questions be asked of her
at hone. Any talking fatigues; it may be dangerous to her."

The farmer stared. "Ay, and about her hair....I'm beginning to remember.
She wears a cap, and her hair's cut off like an oakum-picker's. That's
more gossip for neighbours!"

"Mad people! will they listen to truth?" Rhoda flamed out in her dark
fashion. "We speak truth, nothing but truth. She has had a brain fever.
That makes her very weak, and every one must be silent at home. Father,
stop the sale of the farm, for Robert will work it into order. He has
promised to be our friend, and Dahlia will get her health there, and be
near mother's grave."

The farmer replied, as from a far thought, "There's money in my pocket
to take down two."

He continued: "But there's not money there to feed our family a week on;
I leave it to the Lord. I sow; I dig, and I sow, and when bread fails
to us the land must go; and let it go, and no crying about it. I'm
astonishing easy at heart, though if I must sell, and do sell, I shan't
help thinking of my father, and his father, and the father before
him--mayhap, and in most likelihood, artfuller men 'n me--for what they
was born to they made to flourish. They'll cry in their graves. A man's
heart sticks to land, Robert; that you'll find, some day. I thought I
cared none but about land till that poor, weak, whit