field, munched his crust of bread, and gazed
fixedly at the ball of burning gold in the sky. But even then, he said,
he did not get warm enough. The whole day she had to keep the fire
burning on the hearth, and in the hardest winter she had never had to
collect so much brushwood and so many fir-cones as now.

Wiping the profuse sweat from her brow and loosening a little the
cotton kerchief about her lean and wrinkled throat, Katherine Driesch
picked up another armful of brushwood from the chimney-corner, broke it
in pieces over her knee, and stuffed all the pieces together into the
jaws of the fireplace. It was almost ready to burst.

But with a groan and shiver her son rubbed his hands, saying slowly and
hesitatingly, as though every word cost him pain, and yet as though in
haste to speak it, "Mother--go--to--bed."

"All right," said she, already reaching for her cap; for she knew that
when William had not had one of his "good days" he was apt to be
impatient. And so she meant to do quickly what he wished and draw the
coverlet over her ears, though people were still stirring outside. From
a distance the shrill cries of maidens could be heard, and the
hammering of scythes.

William listened also. He had now stood up. Craning his neck, so that
the cords were tense and rigid, he remained motionless. His knees were
bent, his underlip protruding. Only the eyes in his sombre countenance
moved incessantly, peering in terror, like those of a hunted wild beast
that itself is impatient to hunt its prey. The nostrils in his bull-dog
face quivered, as if eager to catch a scent.

Through the deepening darkness of the room the old woman's mumbled
prayer was heard:

"Hail to thee, Mary, that art highly favored,
The Lord is with thee,
Blessed art thou among women
And blessed is the fruit of thy----"

She stopped, thinking of her son. "William!" And when he did not
come, she climbed out of bed again, and crept barefoot to him, and on
the forehead of the man of forty made the sign of the cross as once she
had done on the forehead of the boy of four, and contentedly crept back
to bed. A moment later and she was sleeping in peace.

A strange smile passed over the gloomy face of her son: now she was
asleep--now she was asleep--and now he was going--to light the fire in
his furnaces--brr! he was cold--but soon he should be warm again--hi!
when the sparks danced and the red glow spread