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At the beginning of this revelation, Amanda’s shoulders twitched eloquently, but she said nothing. She reached the gate of the farmyard, and wheeled in, panting painfully as she ascended the rise of the grassy driveway. She toiled round to the back door; and then Caleb saw that she had prepared for her return by leaving the doors of the cellar-case open, and laying down a board over the steps. She turned the wheelbarrow to descend; and Caleb, seeing his opportunity, ran before to hold back its weight. Amanda did not prevent him; she had no breath left for remonstrance. When the clock was safely in the cellar, she went up the steps again, hooked the bulkhead door, and turned, even in the darkness, unerringly to the flight of stairs.

“You wait till I open the door into the kitchen,” she said. “There’s a light up there.”

And Caleb plodded up the stairs after her with his head down, amazed and sorrowful.

“You can stay here,” said Amanda, opening the outside door without looking at him. “I’m goin’ back to Cap’n Blaisdell’s.”

She hurried out into the moonlit path across lots, and Caleb followed. They entered the yard, and Amanda walked up to the window belonging to the best bedroom. It was wide open, and she rapped on it loudly, and then turned her back.

“Hello!” came a sleepy voice from within.

“I’ve got to speak to you,” called Amanda. “You needn’t get up. Be you awake?”

“I guess so,” said the voice, this time several feet nearer the window. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been over an’ got our clock an’ the rest of our things,” said Amanda, steadily. “An’, you’ve got your money. I’ve carried the things home an’ fastened ’em up. They’re down cellar under the arch, an’ I’m goin’ to set over ’em till I drop afore anybody lays a finger on ’em again. An’ you can go to law if you’re a mind to; but I’ve got our things!”

There was a silence. Amanda felt that the stranger’s eyes were fastened upon her back, and she tried not to tremble. Caleb knew they were, for he and the man faced each other.

“Well, now, you know you’ve as good as stole my property,” began Chapman; but at that instant, Caleb’s voice broke roughly upon the air.

“You say that ag’in,” said he, “an’ I’ll horsewhip you within an inch of your life. You touch them things ag’in, an’ I’ll break every bone in your body. I dunno whose they be, accordin’ to rights, but by gum!–” and he stopped, for words will fail where a resolute heart need not.

There was again a silence, and the stranger spoke: “Well, well!” he said, good-naturedly. “I guess we’ll have to call it square. I don’t often do business this way; but if you’ll let me alone, I’ll let you alone. Good luck to you!”

Amanda’s heart melted. “You’re real good!” she cried, and turned impulsively; but when she faced the white-shirted form at the window, she ejaculated, “Oh, my!” and fled precipitately round the corner of the house.

Side by side, the two took their way across lots again. Amanda was shaking all over, with weariness and emotion spent. Suddenly a strange sound at her side startled her into scrutiny of Caleb’s face.

“Why, Caleb Rivers!” she exclaimed, in amazement, “you ain’t cryin’?”

“I dunno what I’m doin’,” said Caleb, brushing off two big tears with his jumper sleeve, “an’ I don’t much care. It ain’t your harnessin’ for yourself an’ feedin’ the pigs, an’ my not comin’ Saturday night, but it’s seein’ you wheelin’ that great thing all alone. An’ you’re so little, ‘Mandy! I never thought much o’ myself, an’ it al’ays seemed kind o’ queer you could think anything of me; but I al’ays s’posed you’d let me do the heft o’ the work, an’ not cast me off!”

“I ‘ain’t cast you off, Caleb,” said Amanda, faintly, and in spite of herself her slender figure turned slightly but still gratefully toward him. And that instant, for the first time in all their lives, Caleb’s arms were upholding her, and Amanda had received her crown. Caleb had kissed her.

“Say, ‘Mandy,” said he, when they parted, an hour later, by the syringa bush at the back door, “the world won’t come to an end if you don’t iron of a Tuesday. I was thinkin’ we could ketch Passon True about ten o’clock better’n we could in the arternoon.”