e declared presently. "A good deep one;
whatever can they be settin' out to do?"

For an interval she looked on with interest. Then suddenly she exclaimed
in an excited voice:

"They're goin' to bury somethin'! My land! What do you s'pose it is?
Somethin' all done up in a bag!" She forced the binoculars into Lucy's
hand. "You look and see if you can't make out."

Lucy scanned the scene with mild inquisitiveness.

"They have a canvas sack," she said, "and evidently they are trying to
bury it."

She handed the glass back to Ellen.

"They act as if they were in an almighty hurry," observed Ellen, as she
looked. "They keep watchin' to see if anybody's comin'. Likely they're
afraid Martin will catch 'em. I wish he would. What do you reckon is in
that bag? I'd give worlds to know."

"I can't imagine."

Lucy had returned to her cleaning and was busy wringing out the mop. The
doings of the women next door failed to interest her. But not so Ellen
who, tense with speculation, hovered at the casement.

"They've got the hole dug," she announced triumphantly, "an' they're
lowerin' the bag into it. It must be heavy 'cause they seem to be havin' a
hard time lettin' it down in. They act as if they were afraid to touch the
thing. What can it be?" she repeated for the twentieth time.

"I don't know," Lucy replied wearily.

She was tired and hungry and wished Ellen would abandon spying on her
neighbors and give her a helping hand.

"Yes," commented Ellen from the window, "those women handle that bag as if
they had a chiny image in it. I can't for the life of me figger out what
can be in it."

For an interval there was silence. Lucy set the mop and pail out in the
hall and began to clean the paint.

"They've started to cover it up," chronicled Ellen, after a pause.
"They're shovelin' in the dirt--at least Mary and Jane are; Eliza's
stopped helpin' 'em an' gone to see if anybody's comin'. There's somethin'
dretful queer about it all. Don't you think so?"

"I don't know," answered Lucy a trifle impatiently.

Again Ellen studied the distance.

"Look!" she cried an instant later. "Look! 'Liza's callin' an' motionin'
to 'em. They're droppin' their shovels and runnin' for the house like a
lot of scared sheep. Probably Martin's comin', an' they don't want him to
catch 'em. There! What did I tell you? It _is_ Martin. I can see him
drivin' over the hill. Watch 'em skitter!"

Lured more by the desire to see Martin than to obse