asses and loud, cheerful conversation.

When Schwitter turned the horse's head back toward Hillfoot, his
mind was made up. He would furnish the upper rooms; he would bring a
barkeeper from town--these people wanted mixed drinks; he could get a
second-hand piano somewhere.

Tillie's rebellion was instant and complete. When she found him
determined, she made the compromise that her condition necessitated. She
could not leave him, but she would not stay in the rehabilitated little
house. When, a week after Schwitter's visit to the "Climbing Rose," an
installment van arrived from town with the new furniture, Tillie
moved out to what had been the harness-room of the old barn and there
established herself.

"I am not leaving you," she told him. "I don't even know that I am
blaming you. But I am not going to have anything to do with it, and
that's flat."

So it happened that K., making a spring pilgrimage to see Tillie,
stopped astounded in the road. The weather was warm, and he carried
his Norfolk coat over his arm. The little house was bustling; a dozen
automobiles were parked in the barnyard. The bar was crowded, and a
barkeeper in a white coat was mixing drinks with the casual indifference
of his kind. There were tables under the trees on the lawn, and a new
sign on the gate.

Even Schwitter bore a new look of prosperity. Over his schooner of beer
K. gathered something of the story.

"I'm not proud of it, Mr. Le Moyne. I've come to do a good many things
the last year or so that I never thought I would do. But one thing leads
to another. First I took Tillie away from her good position, and after
that nothing went right. Then there were things coming on"--he looked at
K. anxiously--"that meant more expense. I would be glad if you wouldn't
say anything about it at Mrs. McKee's."

"I'll not speak of it, of course."

It was then, when K. asked for Tillie, that Mr. Schwitter's unhappiness
became more apparent.

"She wouldn't stand for it," he said. "She moved out the day I furnished
the rooms upstairs and got the piano."

"Do you mean she has gone?"

"As far as the barn. She wouldn't stay in the house. I--I'll take you
out there, if you would like to see her."

K. shrewdly surmised that Tillie would prefer to see him alone, under
the circumstances.

"I guess I can find her," he said, and rose from the little table.

"If you--if you can say anything to help me out, sir, I'd appreciate it.
Of course, she underst