Anyway, it has all happened as I knew it would. And what'll he do now?
that's what I'd like to know. All that corn lost and the fences--he jest
worked himself to death on those logs--all lost now. We shall be bare
poor again. It's too bad. I've never had any money since I left home."
And here Mrs. Conklin's face puckered itself up as if she were about to
cry, but the impulse of vanity being stronger, she burst out angrily: "I
think it's real wicked of the Elder. I told him so. If he'd ask that
young man to let him cut the corn, I'm sure he wouldn't refuse. But
he'll never take my advice, or even answer me. It's too aggravatin' when
I know I'm right."

He looked at her in astonishment. She had evidently no inkling of what
might occur, no vivid understanding of her husband's character.
Preferring to leave her in ignorance, he said lightly, "I hope it'll be
all right," and, in order to change the subject, added, "I've not seen
Miss Loo, and Jake wasn't in school this morning."

"Oh, Mr. Bancroft, if anythin' has happened to Jake!" and Mrs. Conklin
sank weakly into the nearest chair; "but thar ain't no swimmin' nor
skatin' now. When he comes in I'll frighten him; I'll threaten to tell
the Elder. He mustn't miss his schoolin', for he's real bright, ain't
he?--Loo? Her father sent her to the Morrises, about somethin'--I don't
know what."

When Bancroft came downstairs, taking with him a small revolver, his
only weapon, he could not find the Elder either in the outbuildings or
in the stable. Remembering, however, that the soldiers could only get to
the threatened cornfield by crossing the bridge, which lay a few hundred
yards higher up the creek, he made his way thither with all speed. When
he reached the descent, he saw the Elder in the inevitable, long,