For a moment the man was crushed with the enormity of his crime; then he
caught sight of his wife's dirt-stained fingers.

"Well, I guess I ain't doin' no worse than you be!" And he turned his
back and began to hoe vigorously.

Emily dropped the weeds where she stood, turned about, and walked
through the garden and up the hill, pondering many things.

Supper was strangely quiet that night. Mrs. Gray had asked a single
question: "Reuben, do you want the little house back?"

A glad light leaped into the old man's eyes.

"Em'ly--would you be willin' to?"

After the supper dishes were put away, Mrs. Gray, with a light shawl
over her head, came to her husband on the back stoop.

"Come, dear; I think we'd better go down to-night."

A few minutes later they sat stiffly in the best room of the farmhouse,
while the buxom woman and her husband looked wonderingly at them.

"You wan't thinkin' of sellin', was ye?" began Reuben insinuatingly.

The younger man's eyelid quivered a little. "Well, no,--I can't hardly
say that I was. I hain't but just bought."

Reuben hitched his chair a bit and glanced at Emily.