When Ethel Thompson arrived in the early morning that followed her
interview with McNutt she rode her pony through the gap in the rail
fence, across the June grass, and around to the back door. On a bench
beside the pump an old woman sat shelling peas. Her form was thin but
erect and her hair snowy white. She moved with alertness, and as the
girl dismounted and approached her she raised her head and turned a
pleasant face with deep-set, sightless gray eyes upon her visitor.

"Good morning, Ethel, dear," she said. "I knew the pony's whinney.
You're up early today."

"Good morning, Nora," responded the schoolteacher, advancing to kiss the
withered cheek. "Are you pretty well?"

"In body, dear. In mind both Tom 'n' me's pretty bad. I s'pose we
couldn't 'a 'spected to stay here in peace forever; but the blow's come
suddin-like, an' it hurts us."

"Where is Tom?"

"In the barn, lookin' over all the won'erful things the rich nabob has
sent here. He says most things has strips o' wood nailed over 'em; but
some hasn't; an' Tom looks 'em over keerful an' then tells me 'bout 'em.
He's gone to take another look at a won'erful new cook-stove, so's he
kin describe it to me right pertickler."

"Is he worried, Nora?"

"We's both worried, Ethel. Our time's come, an' no mistake. Peggy McNutt
says as he had real orders to turn Hucks out if he was a married man;