. There he stopped. Under the chestnut-trees, before the
door, the farmer sat. The doctor walked in, and towards him like a man
at home, and said, "Good evening, Uncle."

The wrinkled old farmer looked up from his drowse. He had hardly heard
the words spoken; but the voice that spoke had in it a tone that was
familiar, were it not for the cheeriness of it; and--but no! one glance
at the figure before him assured him of anything rather than Saunders!
Yet the old man, either because of his vague expectation or because of
the confusion of his half-awake condition, said something audibly, of
which the name of Nancy, and her name alone, was intelligible.

"Well, where _is_ Nancy," said the other, laying his hand on the
farmer's shoulder in a manner calculated to dissipate his dream.

The old man looked at the doctor with serious, suspicious eyes, scanned
him from head to foot, and there was a dash of anger, of unbelief, of
awe, and of deference in the spirit with which he said, "If you're
Saunders, I'm glad you've come, but you might 'a' come sooner."

"You're right, and you're wrong, Uncle. I'm Saunders, true enough. But I
couldn't come before,--this is my first furlough."

"Did you get the letter?"

"No, what letter? Who wrote to me?"

The judge and the jury looked down from the awful circle, in the midst
of which stood Saunders, and surveyed the little hard-faced,
yellow-haired farmer, with eyes which seemed intent on searching him
through all his shadowy ambiguity. If only he would make such answer as
any other man in all the land might expect,--thought the
prisoner,--"Why, your wife, of course." The doctor was prepared to
believe in a miracle. Since he went away his wife might have been
spurred on by the ambition to rival her daughter, who was being
educated. She perhaps had learned to write, and in her pride had written
to her husband!

The answer Elkins gave was the only one of which the doctor's mind had
taken no thought.

"Nancy died a month ago." There the old man paused. But as the doctor
made no answer, merely stood looking at him, he went on. "She got your
letter first, though, Nancy did. I think, if anything could a-hindered
her dying, that would. She came out here to read your letter," (he did
not say to hear it read, and Saunders noticed that,) "and my folks, she
found, was busy, and nobody was round to talk it over with her, so
nothing could stop her, but she put right in and worked till night, and