Madame Proudfit and Miss Clementina and Delia were standing with us outside the threshold, where the outdoors had met us like something that had been waiting. There, with the light from the hall falling but dimly, I saw in Abel's face only the glow of his simple joy that this good thing had come to Delia--though, indeed, that very joy told much besides. And it was in his face when he bade Delia good night and, since he was expected somewhere among the hills for days to come, gave her God-speed. But we four fell momentarily silent, as if we meant things which we might not speak. It was almost a relief to hear tapping on the sidewalk the wooden leg of Peleg Bemus, while a familiar, thin little stream of melody from his flute made its way about. "Doesn't it seem as if Peleg were trying to tell one something?" said Madame Proudfit, lightly, as we went away. And down on the gravel of the drive Calliope demanded passionately of Abel and me:-- "Oh, don't some things make you want to pull the sky down an' _wrap up in it_!" But at this Abel laughed a little. "It's easier to pull down just the dreams," he said. XIII TOP FLOOR BACK One morning a few weeks after the Proudfits had left, I was sitting beside Calliope's cooking range, watching her at her baking, when the wooden leg of Peleg Bemus thumped across the threshold, and without ceremony he came in from the shed and stood by the fire, warming his axe handle. But Peleg's intrusions were never imputed to him. As I have said, his gifts and experiences had given him a certain authority. Perhaps, too, he reflected a kind of institutional dignity from his sign, which read:-- P. Bemus: Retail Saw Miller At the moment of his entrance Calliope was talking of Emerel Kitton, now Mrs. Abe Daniel: "There's them two," she said, "seems to hev married because they both use a good deal o' salt--'t least they ain't much else they're alike in. An' Emerel is just one-half workin' her head off for him. Little nervous thing she is--when I heard she was down with nervous prostration two years ago, I says, 'Land, land,' I says, 'but ain't she _always_ had it?' They's a strain o' good blood in that girl,--Al Kitton was New England,--but they don't none of it flow up through her head. She's great on sacrificin', but she don't sacrifice judicious. If folks is goin' to sacrifice, I think they'd ought to do it conscientious, the kind in the Bible, same as Abraham an' like that." Peleg Bemus rubbed one hand up and down his axe handle. "I reckon you can't always tell, Miss Marsh," he said meditatively. "I once knowed a man that done some sacrificin' that ain't called by that name when it gets into the newspapers." He turned to me, with a manner of pointing at me with his head, "You been in New York," he said; "ain't you ever heard o' Mr. Loneway--Mr. John Loneway?" I was sorry that I could not answer "yes." He was so expectant that I had the sensation of having failed him.