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The gap that the old man’s death had made in the household was very slight indeed; not half the calamity that the drying up of the spring had been. Melissa acknowledged this to herself with the candor peculiar to the very wise and the very ignorant, who alone seem daring enough to look at things as they are.

“They hadn’t ought to do anything to ‘im; it ain’t fair,” she said to herself stoutly; “an’ he just stood up an’ told on hisself because he knowed he hadn’t done anything bad. I sh’d think they’d be ashamed of themselves to do anything to ‘im after that.”

“M’lissy!” Mrs. Sproul called from the foot of the stairs, her voice dying away in a prolonged sniffle. “I wish ‘t you’d come down and help Lysander hook up the team. He’s got to go down t’ the Mission, and it’ll be ‘way into the night before he gets back.”

The girl stood still a moment, biting her lip, and then hurried across the floor and down the staircase as if pursued. Minerva had left the kitchen, and there was no one to notice her unusual haste. Out at the barn, Lysander, almost disabled by the accession of a stiff white shirt and collar, was perspiring heavily in his haste to harness the mules.

“Minervy’s got ‘er heart set on havin’ the Odd Fellers conduct the funer’l,” he said apologetically. “Strikes me kind o’ onnecessary, but ‘t won’t do no harm, I s’pose. She says yer paw was an Odd Feller ‘way back, but he ain’t kep’ it up. I dunno if they’ll bury ‘im or not.”

The girl listened to him absently, straightening the mule’s long ear which was caught in the headstall, and fastening the buckles of the harness. Her face was hidden by her drooping sunbonnet, and Lysander could not see its pinched, quivering whiteness. They led the mules out of the stable and backed them toward the wagon standing under a live oak. Melissa bent over to fasten the tugs, and asked in a voice steadied to lifeless monotony,–

“Do you think they’ll do anything to him for it, Lysander?”

“I dunno, M’lissy,” said the man. “He told the men at the camp it was self-defense, and mebbe he can prove it; but bein’ no witnesses, they may lock ‘im up fer a year or two, just to give ‘im time to cool off. It’ll be good fer ‘im. He oughtn’t to be so previous with his firearms.”

“But paw was–they don’t know–mebbe”–panted the girl brokenly.

“Yes, yes, M’lissy, I don’t doubt yer paw was aggravatin’; but we don’t know, and we’d better not take sides. The young feller ain’t nothin’ to us, an’ yer paw was–well, he was yer paw, we’ve got to remember that.”

Lysander put his foot on the hub and mounted to the high seat, gathering up the reins and putting on the brake. The mules started forward, and then held back in a protesting way, and the wagon went creaking and scraping through the sand down the mountain road.

VII.

In the days that passed wearisomely enough before the trial, Melissa heard much that did not tend to soothe her harassed little soul. Lysander, having taken refuge behind the assertion that it “wasn’t becomin’ fer the fam’ly to take sides,” bore his mother-in-law’s stinging sarcasms in virtuous silence.

“Seems to me it depends on which side you take,” sneered the old woman. “I don’t see anything so very impullite in gettin’ mad when yer pap’s shot down like a dog.”

Lysander braced himself judicially.

“We don’t none of us know nothin’ about it,” he contended. “If I’d ‘a’ been there and ‘a’ seen the scrimmage, I’d ‘a’ knowed what to think. As ’tis, I dunno what to think, and there’s no law that kin make you think when you don’t hev no fax to base your thinkun’ on.”

“Some folks lacks other things besides fax to base their thinkun’ on,” the old woman jerked out sententiously.