a nice bunch of money. Who built it? When did who build it? What did it
cost? Where did it begin? Where did it start to? Was it ever finished?
Was it ever used? What was the name of it? Nobody seems to know."

"I can't answer one of those questions, Mr. Boland."

"And you a schoolmistress! Come now! I'll give you one more chance. What
are the principal exports of Abingdon?"

"That's easy. Let me see: potatoes, milk, eggs, butter, cheese. And hay,
lumber, lath and bark--chickens and--and apples, apple cider--rye,
buckwheat, buckwheat flour, maple sirup; pork and veal and beef; and--and
that's all, I guess."

"Wrong! I'll mark you fifty per cent. You've omitted the most important
item. Abingdon--and every country town, I suppose--ships off her young
people--to New York; to the factories; a few to the West. That is why
Abingdon is the saddest place I've ever seen. Every farmhouse holds a
tragedy. The young folk--

"They are all gone away;
The house is shut and still.
There is nothing more to say."

Mary Selden stopped; she looked up at her companion thoughtfully.
Seashell colors ebbed from her face and left it almost pale.

"Thank you for reminding me," she said. "There is another bit of
information I think you should have. You'll probably think me bold,
forward, and the rest of it; I can't help that; you need the knowledge."