It was absolutely still, within and without, for a full minute. Then Alida heard the shoving of shoulders against the door. Once, twice, thrice the lock resisted them. The brown bureau spun across the room like a child’s toy. The lynchers, bursting in, saw Alida with her arms around Jim. When the last hope had gone it was instinct with her to protect him with her own body. “Go into the kids, old girl, this is no place for you.” And there was that in his voice that made her obey. Something of the glory of old Chief Flying Hawk, riding to battle, was in the face of his grandson. “Remember, the children ain’t to know,” he said to his wife; and to the lynchers, “Gentlemen, I’m ready.” XIX. “Rocked By A Hempen String” Alida heard the mingled sounds of footsteps and hoofs grow fainter on the trail. The children looked at her to tell them why this night was different from all others—what was happening. But she could only cower among them, more terrified than they. She seemed to be shrunken from the happenings of that day. They hardly knew the little, shrivelled, gray woman who looked at them with unfamiliar eyes. Alida gazed at the little Judith, and there was something in her mother’s glance that made the little one hide her face in her sister’s shoulder. Young Judith it was who all unwittingly had told the lynchers that her father was at home, and in Alida’s heart there was towards this child a blind, unreasoning hate. Better had she never been born than live to do this thing! It was the wee man, Jim, who first began to reflect resentfully on this intrusion on his slumbers. He had been sleeping well and comfortably when some grown-ups came with a lot of noise, and his father had gone away with them. It had frightened him, but his mother was here, and why should she not put him to sleep again? “Muvvy, sing ‘Dway Wolf.’” And as she paid no heed, but looked at him, white-faced and strange, he again repeated, with his most insinuating and beguiling tricks of eye and smile: “Muvvy, sing ‘Dway Wolf’ for Dimmy.” The child put his head in his mother’s lap, and Alida began, scarce knowing what she did: “‘The gray wolves are coming fast over the hill, Run fast, little lamb, do not baa, do not bleat, For the gray wolves are hungry, they come here to kill, And the lambs shall be scattered—’ No, no, Jimmy, muvvy cannot sing. Oh, can’t you feel, child? Judith, Judith, why were you ever born?”