One fine afternoon the following week Mrs. Sybert, looking through the geraniums in Maria’s kitchen window, saw her husband drive up to the gate. She did not look surprised. “Here’s father come to get me, Maria,” she said, lifting her voice. Maria came out of the pantry with flour on her hands and arms and stood waiting. Mr. Sybert came in, stamping, and holding his head high and stiffly. He had a lofty and condescending air. “Well, mother,” he said, “I’ve come after you.” “Well,” said Mrs. Sybert, “set down till I get on my things. I’ve had a right nice vis’t, but I’m glad to get home. Did you find the apple butter?” On the road home Mrs. Sybert talked cheerfully about John and Maria and their domestic affairs. Mr. Sybert listened silently. He held his body erect, looking neither to the right nor to the left. He did not speak until they approached Mr. Nesley’s gate. Then he said, with firmness and dignity: “Mother, I’ve b’en thinkin’ that you’d best go an’ see Mis’ Nesley, after all. I changed my mind down at the postoffice groc’ry store that same afternoon an’ went home, meanin’ to tell you I wanted you sh’u’d go an’ see ’er—but you was gone to John’s an’ Maria’s. I reckon you’d best stop right now an’ have it over.” “Well,” said Mrs. Sybert. She descended meekly over the front wheel. There was not the slightest air of triumph about her until she got inside the gate. Then a smile went slowly across her face. But her husband did not see it. He was looking out of the corners of his eyes at the house across the road. Mrs. Deacon, the druggist’s wife, and all her children had their faces flattened against the window. Mr. Sybert’s determination kept his head high, but not his spirit. “God A’mighty!” he groaned. “The whole town’ll know it to-morrow. I’d rather die than face that groc’ry store—after the way I’ve went on about people upholdin’ of her!” A POINT OF KNUCKLING-DOWN A POINT OF KNUCKLING-DOWN IN THREE PARTS PART I Emarine went along the narrow hall and passed through the open door. There was something in her carriage that suggested stubbornness. Her small body had a natural backward sway, and the decision with which she set her heels upon the floor had long ago caused the readers of character in the village to aver that “Emarine Endey was contrairier than any mule.” She wore a brown dress, a gray shawl folded primly around her shoulders, and a hat that tried in vain to make her small face plain. There was a frill of white, cheap lace at her slender throat, fastened in front with a cherry ribbon. Heavy gold earrings with long, shining pendants reached almost to her shoulders. They quivered and glittered with every movement.