out in a
boat."

"She'll upset your craft and drown you."

"I'm goin' to take the scow."

He went out whistling a light tune, but dragging his feet heavily, for
he had worked hard all day, keeping pace with Milford's bounding
energy. Milford sat musing, and his brow was not clear. From behind the
clock on the mantel-piece, he took a newspaper, and strove to read it by
the smoky light, but his mind wandered off. He went out and sat on the
grass beneath the walnut tree. The night was hot. The slow air fumbled
among the leaves. Far in the sultry west was an occasional play of
lightning, the hot eye of day peeping back into the sweltering night. He
heard some one coming up the hill, talking. It was Mrs. Stuvic's voice.
She arose into the dim light, and he saw that she was alone. He called
to her, and she came forward at a faster gait, still talking. "Wouldn't
believe me--couldn't get him to believe me, but he does now--yes, you
bet!"

"What's the matter, ma'am?"

"Old Lewson--told him he was dyin'--wouldn't believe me. He's dead.
Conscience alive! and they were thumpin' on the piana all the time. The
hired man can't be found since I gave him the larrupin'. I hope he's
drowned himself. He's no account on the face of the earth, and I wish
now I'd kept Mitchell when I had him. He seems to work well enough for
you. But what I want you to do is to go to the old man's daughter and
tell her. She lives about two miles down the road, just beyant the
second corners--white house to the right. Come on with me. The buggy'll
be hitched up by the time we get to the house. Yes, set right there,
lookin' right at me, with his chin droppin' down. I says, 'Lewson, you
are dyin'.' And he mumbled that he wan't. But I reckon he knows now
whether he was or not."

She talked nearly all the way over, sobbing at times, and then hardening
herself with scolding. The buggy was ready in the road. Low tones came
from the veranda. Through the shrubbery along the fence could be seen
the ghost-like outlines of women dressed in white. A dog howled under
the old apple tree.

"Wait," said the old woman, as Milford gathered up the lines. "I want
you to kill that infernal dog before you go. Never set down under that
tree before in his life, and now that the poor old man's dead he goes
there to howl, as if everythin' wan't dismal enough anyway. Get out and
I'll fetch the gun."

"Oh, no. Don't kill him. He doesn't know any better. By the way, what's
the