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The will was simple and not a surprise to any one. It gave equal division of all the property to the nieces.

“Well, now, when’ll we have the settlement?” asked the Deacon.

“Just’s you say, Deacon,” said Emma, meekly.

“Suit yourself,” said Harkey; “only it ‘ad better come soon. Sooner the better–seedin’s coming on.”

“Well, to-morrow is Friday, why not Saturday?”

“All right, Saturday.” All agreed.

As Harkey drove off down the road he said to his wife: “The sooner we have it, the fewer things ‘ll git carried off. The Deacon don’t favor me none, and Bill Gray is sweet on Serry, and he’ll bear watchin’.”

The Deacon on his part took his chin in his fist and looked after Harkey. “Seemed a little bit anxious, ‘cordin’ to my notion,” he said, with a smile.

II

Saturday was deliciously warm and springlike, the hens woke in the early dawn with a jocund note in their throats, and the young cattle frisked about the barn-yard, moved to action by the electrical influences of the south wind.

“Clear as a bell overhead,” Deacon Williams said.

But Jack Dunlap, Sarah’s hand, said, “Nobody travels that way.”

Long before dawn the noise of the melting water could be heard running with musical tinkle under the ice. The ponds crashed and boomed in long reverberating explosions, as the sinking water heaved it up and let it fall with crackling roar; flights of ducks flashed over, cackling breathlessly as they scurried straight into the north.

Deacon and Sarah arrived early and took possession, for Sarah was to have the eighty which included the house. They were busy getting things ready for the partition. The Deacon, assisted by Jack, the hired man, was busy hauling the machinery out of the shed into the open air, while Sarah and a couple of neighbors’ girls, with skirts tucked up and towels on their heads, were scouring up pots and pans and dusting furniture in the kitchen.

The girls, strong and handsome in their unsapped animal vigor, enjoyed the innocent display of their bare arms and petticoats.

People from Sand Lake passing by wondered what was going on. Gideon Turner had the courage to pull up and call out, for the satisfaction of his wife:–

“What’s going on here this fine morning?”

“Oh, we’re goin’ to settle up the estate!” said Sarah. “Why! how de do, Mrs. Turner?”

“W’y, it’s you, is it, Serry?”

“Yes; it’s me,–what they is left of me. I been here sence six o’clock. I’m getting things ready for the division. Deacon Williams is the ex-ecutor, you know.”

“Aha! Less see, you divide equally, I hear.”

“Near’s we can get at it. Uncle left me the house eighty, and the valley eighty to Emmy. Deacon’s goin’ to parcel out the belongin’s.”

Turner looked sly. “How’d Harkey feel?”

Sarah smiled. “I don’t know and care less. He’ll make trouble if he can, but I don’t see how he can. He agreed to have the Deacon do the dividin’, and he’ll have to stand by it so far as I can see.”

Mrs. Turner looked dubious. “Well, you know Ike Harkey. He looks as though sugar wouldn’t melt in his mouth, but I tell you I’d hate to have dealin’s with him.”

Turner broke in: “Well, we must be movin’. I s’pose you’ll move right in?”

“Yes. Just as soon’s as this thing’s settled.”

“Well, good-by. Come up.”

“You come down.”

Sarah was a heavy, good-natured woman, a widow with “a raft of children.” Probably for that reason her uncle had left her the house, which was large and comfortable. As she stood looking down the road, one of the girls came out to the gate. She was a plump, strong creature, a neighbor’s girl who had volunteered to help.

“Anybody coming?”

“Yes. I guess–no, it’s going the other way. Ain’t it a nice day?”

That was as far as she could carry the utterance of her feeling, but all the morning she had felt the wonderful power of the air. The sun had risen incredibly warm. The wind was in the south, and the crackling, booming roar of ice in the ponds and along the river was like winter letting go its iron grip upon the land. Even the old cows shook their horns, and made comical attempts to frisk with the yearlings. Sarah knew it was foolish, but she felt like a girl that morning–and Bill was coming up the road.