busy on the estate, it was Battiste's habit to walk round from time to
time through the stalls, to make sure that all was as it should be. For he
knew all about the right management of horses and cattle, having been in
the service of Mr. Birkenfeld's father when he was a mere lad. Now that he
was well on in years, he had been advanced to the position of
house-servant, but he still had an eye upon the stable and over the whole
farm. The mows were neatly filled with sweet-smelling hay, and the bins
were piled full of wheat and oats and barley, all the product of the farm,
which extended over the hill-side far away into the valley below. On the
side of the house opposite the barnyards stood the wash-house with its
spacious drying-ground, and not far away, but quite concealed by a high
hedge from the house and garden, was the tiny cottage which the owner had
kindly allowed the school-master's widow to occupy for several years past.

On the evening of which we write, the warm sunlight lay softly on the
hillside, revealing the red and white daisies which nestled everywhere in
the rich green grass. A shaggy dog was basking in the open space before
the house door, lazily glancing about now and then to see what was
stirring. All was quiet, however, and he peacefully dozed again after each
survey. Occasionally a young, gray cat peeped slily forth from beneath the
door-step, stared at the motionless sleeper and cautiously withdrew again.
Everything denoted peace and quiet except certain sounds of voices and of
great activity which proceeded from the back of the house, where the door
leading into the garden, stood open.

Presently wheels were heard, and a wagon drove up and stopped before the
door of the widow's cottage. The dog opened his eyes and pointed his ears,
but it was evidently not worth while to growl at something in the next
place, so he dozed off again at once. The newly-arrived guests descended
from the carriage, and entered the cottage in silence. There they were