indeed on such a day, but at all, for
he knew her to be at enmity's edge with neighbors and frosty to every
relative. At the station he met Milford, walking up and down beneath the
shed. Milford remembered him, Steve Hardy, the man who had given him a
"lift" from the station on the day of his coming into the neighborhood.
And to his head-shakings, winks, nods, wise mutterings, the new-comer
owed much of his reputation for mystery.

"I see your old boss off down the road there goin' to a funeral," said
Hardy.

"Did you? It's one of the privileges granted by the constitution of the
State."

"Yes. They don't have to take out license to go to funerals, or I don't
guess the old woman would er went. Guess all her boarders have gone, or
I don't s'pose she'd found the time. Who's dead?"

"Her sister, I believe."

"That so? Then I wonder more than ever. Believe I did hear somethin'
about it t'uther evenin', but I was milkin' at the time and I didn't
think that she was the old woman's sister. They must have made it up."

"Made what up?"

"Why, the row they had over the line-fence a good while ago. Somebody
told me you wanted to buy some calves."

"Yes, I'd like to get a few good ones."

"Well, mine are as good as ever stood on four feet. I guess you mean to
settle here permanently. Well, folks that have stirred around a good bit
tell me that there ain't a purtier place on the earth. I've had my house
full all summer, and there ain't been a word of complaint. Goin' out my
way?"

"Not till after the mail comes."

The post office was in a weather-beaten cottage, in the midst of an
apple orchard, just across the railway tracks; and of late Milford had
become well-acquainted with the postmaster, calling on him early and
sitting with him till the last pouch had been thrown off for the day.
But not a word had he received from Gunhild. He strove to console
himself with the thought that it was too soon, that she had not gone to
the country, but a consolation that comes with strife, consoles but
poorly. The train came, the mail-pouch was thrown off, and he followed
the postmaster to the house, stood close in anxiety till the letters
were all put into the pigeon-holes, and then turned sadly away. He took
his course through the wet grass, across the fields. He halted at the
ditch, and in the rain and the gathering dark stood there to think, amid
the wind-tangled stems and the rain-shattered blooms of the wild
sunflowers. He st