With a quieter heart she went about her household affairs, while her husband busied himself nearby, weeding the garden and giving to his wife’s posy beds the awkward care of unaccustomed hands. He often stopped his employment to listen and intently scan the border of the woods. The shadows of the trees were stretching far across the clearing when an owl hooted solemnly in the nearest woods on the bank of the creek, and, presently, another answered farther away. “Do hear the owls hootin’, and it’s clear as a bell,” said Ruth at the door, looking up to the cloudless sky. “It can’t be it’s a-going to storm.” “I shouldn’t wonder if it did,” said Seth with a mirthless laugh. “Where was that nighest hoot?” As he spoke the solemn hollow notes were repeated, and some crows began to wheel and caw above the spot, marking it plainly enough to the eye and ear, and he set forth in the direction at a quick pace. “Why don’t Nathan come home?” little Martha asked. “I hain’t seen him all day. I wish he’d come. He’ll get ketched in the storm.” “Oh, don’t worry, deary,” said her mother after she had watched her husband disappear in the thickening shadow of the woods. “We might as well eat, for there’s no telling when father’ll be back.” They were not half through the meal before he came, and, as he took his seat at the table, he said with a deep sigh of relief: “I’m afeard our York friends won’t enjoy their lodgin’s overmuch. The owls are round pretty thick to-night.” “Well, I guess they’ve ben talking to you,” said Ruth, as her face lighted with a comprehension of his meaning. “Can owls talk?” Martha asked, agape with wonder. “Well, the old knowing ones. Owls are turrible knowing creatur’s,” her father said. The twilight possessing the woods had scarcely invaded the clearing when the surveyor and his party came to the house, bringing in blankets, provisions, guns, tools, and instruments, till the one small room was crowded with them and the uninvited guests. Felton and Graves made themselves offensively and officiously at home. The cook took possession of the fire, and set two frying-pans of pork sputtering grease upon the tidy hearth, to the disgust of the housewife, who sat with her husband and child in a dark corner. At last Felton brought forth a bottle of spirits from his leathern portmanteau and drank to Graves. “Here’s to your speedy installment in your rightful possessions. Now, help yourself, and give the men their tot.” Graves stood filling his measure of grog in the tin cup, grinning with satisfaction, when a loud knock came on the door. CHAPTER VII—THE “JUDGMENT SEAT” Without waiting to be bidden, a man of massive mould entered the room. He strode into the firelight, and, wheeling on the hearth, faced the company, his shadow filling half the room. “Good evening, gentlemen. Good evening, Mr. Felton and Graves.”