nd when she
reached home her anger and jealousy found expression in very vigorous
terms.

Her brother visited the Reinfelters a short time afterward. His interest
in the Englishman was evidently very strong, but if he shared his
sister's feelings toward him they did not prevent his treating him with
perfect courtesy.

"Helfenstein is right," thought Brent, as the young farmer rode away.
"He's as handsome a fellow as I ever saw. I wonder whether he's Sister
Rena's lover so bold."

But although Melchior Barndollar was far superior to the Reinfelters in
culture and in knowledge of the world, he did not interest Brent as much
as they did. The positiveness of their beliefs was a special source of
wonder to him. From the father, who had no doubt about the existence of
ghosts, to the little boy, who firmly believed in the reality of
_Belsnickel_,--hides, horns, and all,--they were the most frankly
credulous people he had ever known. But the superstition and
anthropomorphism mingled with their faith did not make him think it
less enviable. He would have been glad to believe anything as firmly as
they did the traditions which had come down to them from their
ancestors, unchallenged by doubt and unchanged by time.

One evening, after Rena had, as usual, sat beside her little brother's
bed until he was sound asleep, she joined her parents and Brent, who
were sitting in the garden behind the house.

The full moon was high above the mountains, and the whole landscape was
almost as distinct as it had been before the sun went down. A
whippoorwill's notes, mellowed by distance, resounded from the farthest
part of the orchard, and a tinkling chorus arose from the leaves and
blades of grass, where the myriads of nocturnal musicians were
disporting themselves after the heat and glare of the day. But the
sounds made by these performers were so regular and monotonous that they
seemed merely a part of the calm summer night.

Suddenly another sound came down from the lower part of the mountains.
It began with a deep, long-drawn, hollow cry, between a howl and a moan,
and then broke into a wild, piercing shriek.

The farmer started to his feet, and stood gazing in the direction from
which the cry had come.

"It's only a stray dog howling," said Brent.

Reinfelter turned toward his wife, and the moonlight showed that his
face was white with terror.

"_De warnoong!_" he said, in a low voice. "_D'r geishter-shray foon de
bairga!_"