with an air of mystery. "He's the one who has cured me."

Jan said good-bye, and left at once. For a long while the seine-maker
sat gazing out after him.

"I don't know what he can have meant by saying that I have cured
him," the old man remarked to his daughter-in-law. "It can't be
that he's--? No, no!"


HEIRLOOMS

One evening, toward the close of autumn, Jan was on his way home
from Falla, where he had been threshing all day. After his talk
with the seine-maker his desire for work had come back to him. He
felt now that he must do what he could to keep up so that the
little girl on her return would not be subjected to the humiliation
of finding her parents reduced to the condition of paupers.

When Jan was far enough away from the house not to be seen from the
windows he noticed a woman in the road coming toward him. Dusk had
already fallen, but he soon saw it was the mistress herself--not
the new one, but the old and rightful mistress of Falla. She had on
a big shawl that came down to the hem of her skirt. Jan had never
seen her so wrapped up, and wondered if she was ill. She had looked
poorly of late. In the spring, when her husband died, she had not a
gray hair on her head, and now, half a year afterward, she had not
a dark hair left.

The old mistress stopped and greeted Jan, after which the two stood