over old treasures, and they loitered about the garden and the barn with
no fear that it might be time to get dinner or to feed the stock.

Gradually, however, there came a change. A new restlessness entered
their lives, a restlessness that speedily became the worst kind of
homesickness--the homesickness of one who is already at home.

The extra half-hour was spent in bed as before--but now Hester lay with
one ear listening to make sure that Sarah Ellen did let the cat
in for her early breakfast; and Jeremiah lay with his ear listening for
the squeak of the barn door which would tell him whether William was
early or, late that morning. There were the same long hours in the attic
and the garden, too--but in the attic Hester discovered her treasured
wax wreath (late of the parlor wall); and in the garden Jeremiah found
more weeds than he had ever allowed to grow there, he was sure.

The farm had been in the hands of William and Sarah Ellen just six
months when the Huntersville Savings Bank closed its doors. It was the
old story of dishonesty and disaster, and when the smoke of Treasurer
Hilton's revolver cleared away there was found to be practically nothing
for the depositors. Perhaps on no one did the blow fall with more
staggering force than on Jeremiah Whipple.

"Why, Hester," he moaned, when he found himself alone with his wife,
"here I'm seventy-eight years old--an' no money! What am I goin' ter
do?"

"I know, dear," soothed Hester; "but 't ain't as bad for us as 'tis for
some. We've got the farm, you know; an'--"