"Would it be any use, grandpa, for me to jump down and run and
tell them you don't want them to take the butternuts? — I
shall have so few".

"No, dear — no," said her grandfather; "they have got ’em
about all by this time; the mischief's done. Didenhover meant
to let 'em have 'em unknown to me, and pocket the pay himself
Get up!"

Fleda drew a long breath, and gave a hard look at the distant
wagon, where her butternuts were going in by handfuls. She
said no more.

It was but a few fields further on, that the old gentleman
came to a sudden stop again.

"Ain't there some of my sheep over yonder there, Fleda — along
with Squire Thornton's?"

"I don't know, grandpa," said Fleda; "I can't see — yes, I do
see — yes, they are, grandpa; I see the mark."

"I thought so!" said Mr. Ringgan, bitterly; "I told
Didenhover, only three days ago, that if he didn't make up
that fence the sheep would be out, or Squire Thornton's would
be in; — only three days ago! Ah, well!" said he, shaking the
reins to make the mare move on again, — "it's all of a piece.
Everything goes — I can't help it."