was over, there was a distinct coldness between us and the Shimerdas. It
came about in this way.

One Sunday I rode over there with Jake to get a horse-collar which
Ambrosch had borrowed from him and had not returned. It was a beautiful
blue morning. The buffalo-peas were blooming in pink and purple
masses along the roadside, and the larks, perched on last year's dried
sunflower stalks, were singing straight at the sun, their heads thrown
back and their yellow breasts a-quiver. The wind blew about us in warm,
sweet gusts. We rode slowly, with a pleasant sense of Sunday indolence.

We found the Shimerdas working just as if it were a week-day. Marek was
cleaning out the stable, and Antonia and her mother were making garden,
off across the pond in the draw-head. Ambrosch was up on the windmill
tower, oiling the wheel. He came down, not very cordially. When Jake
asked for the collar, he grunted and scratched his head. The collar
belonged to grandfather, of course, and Jake, feeling responsible for
it, flared up. 'Now, don't you say you haven't got it, Ambrosch, because
I know you have, and if you ain't a-going to look for it, I will.'

Ambrosch shrugged his shoulders and sauntered down the hill toward
the stable. I could see that it was one of his mean days. Presently he
returned, carrying a collar that had been badly used--trampled in the
dirt and gnawed by rats until the hair was sticking out of it.

'This what you want?' he asked surlily.

Jake jumped off his horse. I saw a wave of red come up under the rough
stubble on his face. 'That ain't the piece of harness I loaned you,
Ambrosch; or, if it is, you've used it shameful. I ain't a-going to
carry such a looking thing back to Mr. Burden.'

Ambrosch dropped the collar on the ground. 'All right,' he said coolly,
took up his oil-can, and began to climb the mill. Jake caught him by the
belt of his trousers and yanked him back. Ambrosch's feet had scarcely
touched the ground when he lunged out with a vicious kick at Jake's
stomach. Fortunately, Jake was in such a position that he could dodge
it. This was not the sort of thing country boys did when they played
at fisticuffs, and Jake was furious. He landed Ambrosch a blow on the
head--it sounded like the crack of an axe on a cow-pumpkin. Ambrosch
dropped over, stunned.

We heard squeals, and looking up saw Antonia and her mother coming on
the run. They did not take the path around the pond, but plunged through
the m