and were stacked upon a chair. The pillows and the great feather
mattress were muffled and tumbled until they resembled great dumplings.
The picture of a man terribly leaden in complexion hung in an oval frame
on one white wall and steadily confronted the bureau.

From between the slats of the blinds she had a view of the road as it
wended across the meadow to the woods, and again where it reappeared
crossing the hill, half a mile away. It lay yellow and warm in the
summer sunshine. From the long grasses of the meadow came the rhythmic
click of the insects. Occasional frogs in the hidden brook made a
peculiar chug-chug sound, as if somebody throttled them. The leaves of
the wood swung in gentle winds. Through the dark-green branches of the
pines that grew in the front yard could be seen the mountains, far to
the south-east, and inexpressibly blue.

Mary's eyes were fastened upon the little streak of road that appeared
on the distant hill. Her face was flushed with excitement, and the hand
which stretched in a strained pose on the sill trembled because of the
nervous shaking of the wrist. The pines whisked their green needles with
a soft, hissing sound against the house.

At last the girl turned from the window and went to the head of the
stairs. "Well, I just know they're coming, anyhow," she cried
argumentatively to the depths.

A voice from below called to her angrily: "They ain't. We've never seen
one yet. They never come into this neighbourhood. You just come down
here and 'tend to your work insteader watching for soldiers."

"Well, ma, I just know they're coming."