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Letty had taken a few hasty steps toward the house. “Yes, I do,” owned she, turning about. “Where was it?”

“Well, Sammy was in swimmin’, an’ he dove into the Old Hole, to see ‘f ‘t had any bottom to ‘t. Vianna made him vow he wouldn’t go in whilst he had that rash; but he come home with his shirt wrong side out, an’ she made him own up. But he’d ha’ told anyway, he was so possessed to show that ring. He see suthin’ gleamin’ on a willer root nigh the bank, an’ he dove, an’ there ‘t was. I told Sammy mebbe you’d give him suthin’ for ‘t, an’ he said there wa’n’t nothin’ in the world he wanted but a mite o’ David’s solder, out in the shed-chamber.”

“He shall have it,” said Letty hastily. “I’ll get it now. Don’t you say anything!” And then she knew she had used the formula she detested, and that she was no better than Mrs. Peleg Chase, or the wife of Squire Hill.

She ran frowning into the house, and down and up from kitchen to cellar. Presently she reappeared, panting, with a great tin pan borne before her like a laden salver. She set it down at Debby’s feet, and began packing its contents into the yawning bag.

“There!” she said, working with haste. “There’s the solder, all of it. And here’s some of our sweet corn. We planted late.”

Debby took an ear from the pan, and, tearing open the husk, tried a kernel with a critical thumb.

“Tough, ain’t it?” she remarked, disparagingly. “Likely to be, this time o’ year. Is that the pork?”

It was a generous cube, swathed in a fresh white cloth.

“Yes, it is,” said Letty breathlessly, thrusting it in and shutting the bag. “There!”

“Streak o’ fat an’ streak o’ lean?” inquired Debby remorselessly.

“It’s the best we’ve got; that’s all I can say. Now I’ve got to speak to David before he harnesses. Good-by!”

In a fever of impatience, she fled away to the barn.

“Well, if ever!” ejaculated Debby, lifting the bag and turning slowly about, to take her homeward path. “Great doin’s I say!” And she made no reply when Letty, prompted by a tardy conscience, stopped in the barn doorway and called to her, “Tell Sammy I’m much obliged. Tell him I shall make turnovers to-morrow.” Debby was thinking of the pork, and the likelihood of its being properly diversified.

Letty swept into the barn like a hurrying wind. The horses backed, and laid their ears flat, and David, grooming one of them, gentled him and inquired of him confidentially what was the matter.

“Oh, David, come out here! please come out!” called Letty breathlessly. “I’ve got to see you.”

David appeared, with some wonderment on his face, and Letty precipitated herself upon him, mindless of curry-comb and horse-hairs and the fact that she was presently to do butter. “David,” she cried, “I can’t stand it. I’ve got to tell you. You know this ring?”

David looked at it, interested and yet perplexed.

“Seems if I’d seen you wear it,” said he.

Letty gave way, and laughed hysterically.

“Seems if you had!” she repeated. “I’ve wore it over a year. There ain’t a girl in town but knows it. I showed it to ’em all. I told ’em ’twas my engagement ring.”

David looked at it, and then at her. She seemed to him a little mad. He could quiet the horses, but not a woman, in so vague an exigency.

“What made you tell ’em that?” he asked, at a venture.

“Don’t you see? There wasn’t one of ’em that was engaged but had a ring–and presents, David–and they knew I never had anything, or I’d have showed ’em.”

David was not a dull man; he had very sound views on the tariff, and, though social questions might thrive outside his world, the town blessed him for an able citizen. But he felt troubled; he was condemned, and it was the world’s voice which had condemned him.