r also had been wild.

Suddenly something roused her. It was not so much a thought as a touch
upon her heart, and she sat up straight, as full of fire and purpose as
Mrs. John C. herself, only it was purpose of another kind. Mrs. John C.
had the force of weight, and in Ann there were tense fibres of youth,
not yet done thrilling. She threw her little shawl over her head and
hurried out of the house. For an instant she paused, with a new impulse
of caution, to lock the door. Then with a scorn of her present
possessions, her one treasure gone, she latched it only, and took the
wood-path to the swamp. Ann walked with a trained delicacy and caution
suited to the woods. The thrilling of the frogs grew louder, and shortly
she was at the old lightning oak that served her for a landmark. Before
her lay the boggy place where she came in all warm seasons of the year
for one thing or another: the wild marsh-marigold,--good for
greens,--thoroughwort, and the root of the sweet-flag. P'ison flag grew
here, too, the sturdy, delicate iris that made the swamp so gay.

Ann stayed a moment for breath. Haste had driven the blood to her face,
and the cool spring air seemed to generate in her the heat of summer.
Until now she had loved the sound of the frogs, piping in the spring,
but in the irritation of her trouble she spoke aloud to them: "Can't
anybody be allowed to hear themselves think?" The haste of her errand
tapped her again upon the arm, and she picked up the board which was one
of the tools of her trade, left always at the foot of the lightning oak,
and with it skirted the swamp to the east where the tussocks were large.
Then, throwing her board before her from one foothold to another, she
crossed the swamp. Twice she had fallen, and her dress was wet. She was
muddy to the knees, but she wrung out her heavy skirts and ran along the
path she knew to the door of the deserted house.

Ann thought she had never seen a place so still. It had the desolation
of a spot where life has been and where it is no more. She listened a
moment, her eyes searching the dark bulk of the house, her hand upon her
racing heart. She smelled smoke. Then she called:--

"You there? I know ye be. Open the door."

There was no sound. She tried the door, and, finding it bolted, shook
the handle with all the force of her strong arms.

"You let me in," she called again. "I've got suthin' to say to ye. It's
suthin' you'll be glad to hear."

But after she ha