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She hurried down the stairs and out into the fragrant night. The katydids were singing in infinite peace under the solemn splendor of the moon. The cattle sniffed and sighed, jangling their bells now and then, and the chickens in the coops stirred uneasily as if overheated. The old woman stood there in her bare feet and long nightgown, horror-stricken. The ghastly story of a man who had hung himself in his barn because his wife deserted him came into her mind and stayed there with frightful persistency. Her throat filled chokingly.

She felt a wild rush of loneliness. She had a sudden realization of how dear that gaunt old figure was, with its grizzled face and ready smile. Her breath came quick and quicker, and she was at the point of bursting into a wild cry to Tewksbury, when she heard a strange noise. It came from the barn, a creaking noise. She looked that way, and saw in the shadowed side a deeper shadow moving to and fro. A revulsion to astonishment and anger took place in her.

“Land o’ Bungay! If he ain’t paintin’ that barn, like a perfect old idiot, in the night.”

Uncle Ethan, working desperately, did not hear her feet pattering down the path, and was startled by her shrill voice.

“Well, Ethan Ripley, whaddy y’ think you’re doin’ now?”

He made two or three slapping passes with the brush, and then snapped, “I’m a-paintin’ this barn–whaddy ye s’pose? If ye had eyes y’ wouldn’t ask.”

“Well, you come right straight to bed. What d’you mean by actin’ so?”

“You go back into the house an’ let me be. I know what I’m a-doin’. You’ve pestered me about this sign jest about enough.” He dabbed his brush to and fro as he spoke. His gaunt figure towered above her in shadow. His slapping brush had a vicious sound.

Neither spoke for some time. At length she said more gently, “Ain’t you comin’ in?”

“No–not till I get a-ready. You go ‘long an’ tend to y’r own business. Don’t stan’ there an’ ketch cold.”

She moved off slowly toward the house. His voice subdued her. Working alone out there had rendered him savage; he was not to be pushed any farther. She knew by the tone of his voice that he must not be assaulted. She slipped on her shoes and a shawl, and came back where he was working, and took a seat on a saw-horse.

“I’m a-goin’ to set right here till you come in, Ethan Ripley,” she said, in a firm voice, but gentler than usual.

“Waal, you’ll set a good while,” was his ungracious reply. But each felt a furtive tenderness for the other. He worked on in silence. The boards creaked heavily as he walked to and fro, and the slapping sound of the paint-brush sounded loud in the sweet harmony of the night. The majestic moon swung slowly round the corner of the barn, and fell upon the old man’s grizzled head and bent shoulders. The horses inside could be heard stamping the mosquitoes away, and chewing their hay in pleasant chorus.

The little figure seated on the saw-horse drew the shawl closer about her thin shoulders. Her eyes were in shadow, and her hands were wrapped in her shawl. At last she spoke in a curious tone.

“Well, I don’t know as you was so very much to blame. I didn’t want that Bible myself–I held out I did, but I didn’t.”

Ethan worked on until the full meaning of this unprecedented surrender penetrated his head, and then he threw down his brush.

“Waal, I guess I’ll let ‘er go at that. I’ve covered up the most of it, anyhow. Guess we’d better go in.”