Anson said nothing, but waited to hear what Bert had brought him out here for. Bert speared away with his knife at a strip of board. Anson sat on a wagon-tongue, his elbows on his knees, looking intently at the grave face of his companion. The horses ground cheerily at the hay. "Ans, we've got to send Flaxen back to St. Peter; she's so homesick she don't know what to do." Ans' eyes fell. "I know it. I've be'n hopin' she'd git over that, but it's purty tough on her, after bein' with the young folks in the city f'r a year, to come back here on a farm." He did not finish for a moment. "But she can't stand it. I'd looked ahead to havin' her here till September, but I can't stand it to see her cryin' like she did to-day. We've got to give up the idee o' her livin' here. I don't see any other way but to sell out an' go back East somewhere." Bert saw that Anson was still ignorant of the real state of affairs, but thought he would say nothing for the present. "Yes: that's the best thing we can do. We'll send her right back, an' take our chances on the crops. We can git enough to live on an' keep her at school, I guess." They sat silent for a long time, while the wind tore round the shed, Bert spearing at the stick, and Anson watching the hens as they vainly tried to navigate in the wind. Finally Anson spoke: "The fact is, Bert, this ain't no place f'r a woman, anyway--such a woman as Flaxen's gittin' to be. They ain't nothin' goin' on, nothin' to see 'r hear. You can't expect a girl to be contented with this country after she's seen any other. No trees; no flowers; jest a lot o' little shanties full o' flies." "I knew all that, Ans, a year ago. I knew she'd never come back here, but I jest said it's the thing to do--give her a chance, if we don't have a cent; now let's go back to the house an' tell her she needn't stay here if she don't want to." "Wha' d' ye s'pose was in that letter?" "Couldn't say. Some girl's description of a pic-nic er somethin'." Bert was not yet ready to tell what he knew. When they returned to the house the girl was still invisible, in her room. Mrs. Green was busy clearing up the dinner-dishes. "I don't know's I ever see such a wind back to Michigan. Seems as if it 'u'd blow the hair off y'r head." "Oh, this ain't nothin'. This is a gentle zephyr. Wait till y' see a wind." "Wal, I hope to goodness I won't never see a wind. Zephyrs is all I can mortally stand." Anson went through the little sitting-room and knocked on Flaxen's door. "Flaxie, we want to talk to yeh." There was no answer, and he came back and sat down. Bert pointed to the letter which Flaxen had flung down on the table. The giant took it, folded it up, and called, "Here's y'r letter, babe." The door opened a little, and a faint, tearful voice said: "Read it, if ye want to, boys." Then the door closed tightly again, and they heard her fling herself on the bed. Anson handed the letter to Bert, who read it in a steady voice.