n, sprung together like the pieces of a puzzle since
she had known he was to send her away. There was a sawmill over the
other side of the mountain and the men's boarding house. She could get
work there. It would be strange if a woman so strong and capable could
not get work.

Tenney stirred in his chair, roused himself from his huddled posture and
got up. Was he going to tell her now?

"I guess mebbe I'll poke off to bed," he said, in his commonplace manner
of that noon. "I've got to be up bright an' early."

"Ain't you finished on the knoll?" she ventured.

"Yes, or next to it. But I've got quite a number o' jobs to do round
home."

He went up the stairs without a light, carrying his shoes in his hand,
and Tira shivered once, thinking how horrible it was to go so softly in
stockinged feet. She was not afraid of him. Only she did wish his feet
would sound. She did not sleep that night. She brought in the cradle,
put the baby in it, and drew it to the window and there she sat beside
it, the night through, her hand on the broken hood. She had chosen a
high, straight chair, so that she might be too uncomfortable to sleep,
but she had no temptation to drop off. All her nerves were taut, her
senses broad awake. She was ready, she knew, for anything. The night was
peaceful, thrilled by little sounds of stirring life, and the house,
whatever it guessed, had forgotten all about her. Toward three o'clock
she suddenly lost her sense of vitality. She was cold, and so sleepy now
that the thought of bed was an ache of longing. She got up, found
herself stiff and heavy-footed, lifted the child from his cradle and
went into the bedroom with him. There she put him inside the sheets, and
lay down beside him on the outside of the bed. She slept at once, but
almost at once she was recalled. Tenney was standing in the bedroom
door, looking at her.

"Wake up," he was saying, not unkindly. "Wake up."

She came drowsily awake, but before she was fully herself her feet were
on the floor and she was rubbing her heavy eyes. The sun was streaming
in.

"I've blazed the fire an' het me up some coffee," he said, still in that
impersonal way which was so disturbing only because it was not his way.
"I've harnessed up. I'm goin' to the street. You remember where that
Brahma stole her nest? I've got to have two eggs for even dozens."

"Up in the high mow," said Tira. "Right under the beam."

She heard him go out through the shed, and she fo