“Why didn’t he come back?” demanded the old woman. “That was what finished him. There were some who couldn’t believe that he would do such a thing, but why didn’t he come back? He went away with them and having chosen his company he stayed. Even his friends gave up then.” “So he had friends?” “Of course he had friends. Everybody was his friend! But he was a traitor! He betrayed his own neighbors! My people lost everything but the actual ground of the farm. The crops were ruined, the barn was set afire, everything we had was taken, stock driven off. And this is a side road; they would never have known about it if they hadn’t been shown.” To Elizabeth’s astonishment the old lady was crying. “May I help you gather up the peas?” she asked. “I’m afraid that I’ve made you feel badly.” The old lady stooped and began to fumble about. “They can be washed,” said she. Then she straightened up. “He wasn’t an ordinary man. It was like it says in the Bible, he was a star fallen from heaven when he did wrong. That was what we couldn’t stand, that _John Baring_ should have done such a thing! Now the heathen back in the mountain, they would have done it and nobody would have been surprised. But _John Baring_!” Elizabeth was ready to go. “Did you know his wife?” “She was my companion!” said the old woman. “And I never spoke to her afterwards. _I never spoke to her!_” In the declaration was a rage as fresh as though its cause were of yesterday and--Elizabeth was certain of it--a wild remorse. “I didn’t even go to see her buried!” Elizabeth wiped her eyes. “Come again, if you want to,” said the old lady. Then Elizabeth smiled. Grudging as the invitation was, it gave her the first faint hope that whatever John Baring had done, his descendants might in time make their way here in his old home. She could see, as she left the yard, one more farmhouse and this she determined to visit. It was a mile away and was much smaller and less well-cared-for than the establishment she was leaving. There she found an old man, who stood leaning on the fence and chewing a straw. His working days were obviously over. Elizabeth bade him the time of day and asked him whether he remembered John Baring. “Yes, I remember him,” said he. “Everybody remembers him about here. He set Chambersburg on fire. Three million dollars was lost and thousands of people set out on the streets and animals driv’ off and all kinds of damage done. It was Baring done it. If he comes back, people will shoot him.” Elizabeth asked no more questions. He had become, it seemed, to some, a sort of legendary demon! But she saw him, reaching up to write on the attic beam, “I have built this house the best I know. God bless those who go in and out.” As she walked home, her body was weary, but her spirits were brighter than they had been. She imagined that he had gone to the attic on a quiet Sunday afternoon and had sat looking out over the rich and beautiful country.