was crackling in a large kitchen range, suggesting, by
its brightness and snapping, pine-knots full of pitch and resin. The
front doors of the stove were open and the firelight danced across the
room, filling it with cheer. It was one of those homelike kitchens
where everything is spick and span, and the nickel on the stove shines
like silver.

A young farmer of perhaps thirty years was sitting with his shoes off
and his heels toasting upon the hearth, while his wife, a pretty,
rosy-cheeked country girl, of about his own age, sat in a large
splint-bottom chair, sewing. If it needed one more thing to complete
the cozy picture of simple, wholesome country life, it was not wanting,
for just at the wife's elbow was a cradle, which she occasionally
jogged with her foot, giving it just enough motion to keep it swaying
gently. In the cradle slumbered the heir of the household and the link
of pure gold that bound these two lives together.

Everything in the room breathed contentment. The kettle hummed and
sputtered, sending forth its white cloud of steam, while the kitchen
clock ticked off the pleasant moments.

The man was deeply interested in the weekly paper for which he had just
driven to the office, but he occasionally stopped to take a bite out of
a large red Baldwin apple that he found in a dish on the table near by.

He was so engrossed in local items that he did not hear his wife's
excited question until it was repeated for the second time.

"John, what is that?" she asked.

"What is what?" he replied, laying down his paper that he might give
his full attention to her inquiry.

"That noise on the piazza," she answered in a low tone.

"I don't hear any noise," returned the man; but almost as he spoke a
slow shambling step made the floor-boards of the old piazza creak and a
heavy hand was laid upon the door.

"Hello, who's there?" asked the man, for he could think of no one who
would be calling at the hour of nine, which is really late in a farming
community.

But there was no reply to his inquiry, only the sound of a heavy step
moving up and down in front of the door.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" repeated the young farmer in an
irritated tone, for he was both surprised and annoyed by the intrusion.

For answer, the kitchen door began creaking and straining as though
great force was being exerted on it from the outside, and before the
astonished couple could exchange glances of amazement and