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Amanda stood looking him in the face. For the first time in all her gentle life she was questioning masculine superiority, and its present embodiment in Caleb Rivers.

“Then you don’t see’s anything can be done?” she asked, steadily.

“Why, no,” answered Caleb, still reflecting. “Not unless you should go to law.”

“You’d better give the pigs some shorts,” said Amanda, abruptly. “I sha’n’t bile any taters, to-night.”

She walked into the house; and as Caleb watched her, it crossed his mind that she looked very tall. He had always thought of her as a little body.

Amanda set her lips, and went about her work. From time to time, she smiled mechanically at her mother; and the old lady, forgetful of her grief now that she was no longer reproached by the empty space on, the wall, sat content and sleepy after her emotion. She was willing to go to bed early; and when Amanda heard her breathing peacefully, she sat down by the kitchen window to wait. The dusk came slowly, and the whippoorwill sang from the deep woods behind the house.

That night at ten o’clock, Caleb Rivers was walking stolidly along the country road, when his ear became aware of a strangely familiar sound,–a steadily recurrent creak. It was advancing, though intermittently. Sometimes it ceased altogether, as if the machinery stopped to rest, and again it began fast and shrill. He rounded a bend of the road, and came full upon a remarkable vision. Approaching him was a wheelbarrow, with a long object balanced across it, and, wheeling it, walked a woman. Caleb was nearly opposite her before his brain translated the scene. Then he stopped short and opened his lips.

“‘Mandy,” he cried, “what under the heavens be you a-doin’?”

But Amanda did not pause. Whatever emotion the meeting caused in her was swiftly vanquished, and she wheeled on. Caleb turned and walked by her side. When he had recovered sufficiently from his surprise, he laid a hand upon her wrist.

“You set it down, an’ let me wheel a spell,” he said.

But Amanda’s small hands only grasped the handles more tightly, and she went on. Caleb had never in his life seen a necessity for passionate remonstrance, but now the moment had come.

“‘Mandy,” he kept repeating, at every step, “you give me holt o’ them handles! Why, ‘Mandy, I should think you was crazy!”

At length, Amanda dropped the handles with a jerk, and turning about, sat down on the edge of the wheelbarrow, evidently to keep the right of possession. Then she began to speak in a high, strained voice, that echoed sharply through the country stillness.

“If you’ve got to know, I’ll tell you, an’ you can be a witness, if you want to. It won’t do no hurt in a court o’ law, because I shall tell myself. I’ve gone an’ got our clock an’ our coverlids from where they were stored in the Blaisdells’ barn. The man’s got his money, an’ I’ve took our things. That’s all I’ve done, an’ anybody can know it that’s a mind to.”

Then she rose, lifted the handles, and went on, panting. Caleb walked by her side.

“But you ain’t afraid o’ me, ‘Mandy?” he said, imploringly. “Jest you let me wheel it, an’ I won’t say a word if I never set eyes on you ag’in. Jest you let me wheel, ‘Mandy.”

“There ain’t anybody goin’ to touch a finger to it but me,” said Amanda, shortly. “If anybody’s got to be sent to jail for it, it’ll be me. I can’t talk no more. I ‘ain’t got any breath to spare.”

But the silence of years had been broken, and Caleb kept on.

“Why, I was goin’ over to Blaisdell’s myself to buy ’em back. Here’s my wallet an’ my bank-book. Don’t that prove it? I was goin’ to pay any price he asked. I set an’ mulled over it all the evenin’. It got late, an’ then I started. It al’ays has took me a good long spell to make up my mind to things. I wa’n’t to blame this arternoon because I couldn’t tell what was best to do all of a whew!”