ground. The fear of her superhuman enemies had forsaken her, and her
only desire was to reach the light that shone from the looming shadow
of the house.

At last she was close to it; at last she gave one great sigh, and the
child fell from her grasp; at last she clutched the edge of the worn
doorstep with both hands, and lay still.




II

THE FARM-HOUSE KITCHEN


Indoors there was a cheerful company; the mildness of the evening had
enticed two neighbors of Mrs. Thacher, the mistress of the house, into
taking their walks abroad, and so, with their heads well protected by
large gingham handkerchiefs, they had stepped along the road and up
the lane to spend a social hour or two. John Thacher, their old
neighbor's son, was known to be away serving on a jury in the county
town, and they thought it likely that his mother would enjoy company.
Their own houses stood side by side. Mrs. Jacob Dyer and Mrs. Martin
Dyer were their names, and excellent women they were. Their husbands
were twin-brothers, curiously alike and amazingly fond of each other,
though either would have scorned to make any special outward
demonstration of it. They were spending the evening together in
brother Martin's house, and were talking over the purchase of a bit
of woodland, and the profit of clearing it, when their wives had left