It was at about this time that Hester began to make frequent visits to the half-dozen farmhouses in the settlement about them. She began to be wonderfully busy these days, too, knitting socks and mittens, or piecing up quilts. Sarah Ellen asked her sometimes what she was doing, but Hester's answers were always so cheery and bright that Sarah Ellen did not realize that the point was always evaded and the subject changed. It was in May that the inevitable happened. William came home one day to find an excited, weeping wife who hurried him into the seclusion of their own room. "William, William," she moaned, "what shall we do? It's father and mother; they've--oh, William, how can I tell you!" and she covered her face with her hands. William paled under his coat of tan. He gripped his wife's arm with fingers that hurt. "What is it--what's happened?" he asked hoarsely. "They aren't hurt or--dead?" "No, no," choked Sarah Ellen. "I didn't mean to frighten you. They're all right that way. They--they've _gone to work_! William, what _shall_ we do?" Again William Whipple gripped his wife's arm with fingers that hurt. "Sarah Ellen, quit that crying, for Heaven's sake! What does this mean? What are you talking about?" he demanded. Sarah Ellen sopped her eyes with her handkerchief and lifted her head. "It was this morning. I was over to Maria Weston's," she explained brokenly. "Maria dropped something about a quilt mother was piecing for her, and when I asked her what in the world she meant, she looked queer, and said she supposed I knew. Then she tried to change the subject; but I wouldn't let her, and finally I got the whole story out of her." "Yes, yes, go on," urged William impatiently, as Sarah Ellen paused for breath. "It seems mother came to her a while ago, and--and she went to others, too. She asked if there wasn't some knitting or patchwork she could do for them. She said she--she wanted to earn some money." Sarah Ellen's voice broke over the last word, and William muttered something under his breath. "She said they'd lost all they had in the bank," went on Sarah Ellen hurriedly, "and that they didn't like to ask you for money." "Why, I always let them have--" began William defensively; then he stopped short, a slow red staining his face. "Yes, I know you have," interposed Sarah Ellen eagerly; "and I said so to Maria. But mother had already told her that, it seems. She said that mother said you were always glad to give it to them when they asked for it, but that it hurt father's pride to beg, so he'd gone to work to earn some of his own." "Father!" exclaimed William. "But I thought you said 'twas mother. Surely father isn't knitting socks and mittens, is he?"