nd the crackling of the brush-fire on her hearth. She
kept the fire going as always; for when he came home she wished him to
find things to his liking. And as she sat there, her idle hands in
her lap--she could not work; what should she do, why should she do
anything?--he was not there--the thoughts passed through her mind,
merciful heaven, what if they did something to William! How long were
they going to keep him in jail? She no longer put faith in Nicholas--he
was deceiving her, in spite of his gray hair. He avoided her; yesterday
evening she had plainly seen it.

She had run up to him as he was striding home in front of his loaded
harvest wagon with his pitchfork over his shoulder.

"When is William coming home?"

But he had turned his head and said something about the weather to
Matt, his son, who was walking behind him.

"Hi, Nicholas!" Was he deaf? She had seized him by the bosom of his
shirt and shouted into his face, "When is he coming?" He must have
heard!

But instead of giving any answer he had grown angry. "Let me alone!"
And had lashed his oxen which, head down under the yoke, were toiling
and panting along; "Hey, you beasts, get up, get up!" Then quickening
his pace, he had passed on with his son and his farm-hand, and his
little grandson high up on the sheaves of golden grain.

And she had stood there unanswered and had stared like a simpleton at
the bits of white foam which had dripped from the mouths of the
laboring oxen.

Why had Nicholas not stayed to answer her question? All night she
could not sleep for wondering; and though she had been diligent in
prayer, she had been able to find no peace. In the old days Nicholas
had been glad to exchange greetings with her--he never had passed her
by! Like a flash it dawned upon her that other people too avoided her!
Her neighbor on the left, Joseph Heid, whose house leaned so close upon
hers that the two seemed to be but one, used never to see her weed her
garden or water her cabbage without having a little chat with her. And
her neighbor on the right, Mrs. Schneider, a widow like herself, who
needed but to reach out in order to tap on her window, had not knocked
at her door for days. What ailed them? She was not conscious of any
unfriendliness, nor had she started any gossip. Could it be because of
William? Mercy, the poor boy; what did they have against him? He had
tended the cattle so carefully; he was fond of every cow, and if a
little pig grew w