nd certain. Mrs. Brenner snatched at the
shoes, gathered them up, and turned to run. But one of the lacings
caught on a nail on the shelf. She jerked desperately at the nail,
and the jerking loosened her hold of both the shoes. With a clatter
they fell at her feet.

In that moment Mart Brenner stood in the doorway. Poverty, avarice,
and evil passions had minted Mart Brenner like a devil's coin. His
shaggy head lowered in his powerful shoulders. His long arms, apelike,
hung almost to his knees. Behind him the fog pressed in, and his
rough, bristly hair was beaded with diamonds of moisture.

"Well?" he snapped. A sardonic smile twisted his face. "Caught you,
didn't I?"

He strode forward. His wife shrank back, but even in her shivering
terror she noticed, as one notices small details in a time of peril,
that his shoes were caked with red mud and that his every step left
a wet track on the rough floor.

"He didn't do 'em no harm," she babbled. "They're just wet. Please,
Mart, they ain't harmed a mite. Just wet. That's all. Tobey went on
the beach with 'em. It won't take but a little spell to dry 'em."

Her husband stooped and snatched up the shoes. She shrank into
herself, waiting the inevitable torrent of his passion and the
probable blow. Instead, as he stood up he was smiling. Bewildered,
she stared at him in a dull silence.

"No harm done," he said, almost amiably. Shaking with relief, she
stretched out her hand.

"I'll dry 'em," she said. "Give me your shoes and I'll get the mud
off."

Her husband shook his head. He was still smiling.

"Don't need to dry 'em. I'll put 'em away," he replied, and, still
tracking his wet mud, he went into Tobey's room.

Her fear flowed into another channel. She dreaded her husband in his
black rages, but she feared him more now in his unusual amiability.
Perhaps he would strike Tobey when he saw him. She strained her ears
to listen.

A long silence followed his exit. But there was no outcry from Tobey,
no muttering nor blows. After a few moments, moving quickly, her
husband came out. She raised her heavy eyes to stare at him. He
stopped and looked intently at his own muddy tracks.

"I'll get a rag and wipe up the mud right off."

As she started toward the nail where the rag hung, her husband put
out a long arm and detained her. "Leave it be," he said. He smiled
again.

She noticed, then, that he had removed his muddy shoes and wore the
wet ones. He had fully laced the