Now he was on his knees, weeding his cabbage plants. Another man would have done the work quickly with a hoe, but not so William. The delightful labor lasted longer if he pulled each weed by hand. Frequently he paused, to press down the soil a little more solidly about the roots of a plant or to say what sounded like an encouraging word. Thus had he been accustomed to talk to his chickens and his bees. When the squire and David approached, he looked up from his work with a frown. At David he merely glanced; at the squire he stared. When he recognized him, he smiled faintly and rose from his knees. "Well, William," said the squire, cheerfully. "Do you know me?" "To be sure I know you." "Come over here and sit down, William." "I am very busy this morning," objected William, uneasily. He answered the squire in Pennsylvania German. The years which had almost anglicized Millerstown had had no educating effect upon the residents of the county home. "But I want to talk to you a little." The squire took him in a friendly way by the arm, at which an expression of terror came into William's eyes, and he jerked away from the squire's grasp. "I will come," he promised. "But I will come myself." The squire led the way across the lawn to the shade of a great tree where two benches were placed at right angles. Upon one the squire and David sat down, upon the other William. The line between William's eyes deepened, his lips trembled, he pressed his hands, palm to palm, between his knees. The squire and David looked at each other. The squire, too, had grown pale; he shook his head involuntarily over the task which they were beginning. He, too, had had a share in William's condemnation, as had all Millerstown. The squire felt helpless. He remembered the mocking boys, the scornful, incredulous people; he recalled the gradual taking away of William's business by the new mason whom Millerstown imported and encouraged. The squire thought as David had of the years that could never be returned, of the reason which could never be restored. He took a long time to begin what he had to say. When William half rose as though to escape back to his garden, the squire came to himself and his duty with a start. "William, do you remember anything about the window that you plastered shut in the church and about the communion set?" William lifted his hands, then joined them on his breast. He shook now as with palsy. David, watching him, looked away to hide his tears. David was young, the wreck of William Koehler seemed a unique, horrible case. Presently William answered in a low voice. "God told me to be quiet. I prayed and prayed and God told me to be quiet. I am quiet now." "But, William, you must tell us what you can remember. It will be for your good." William opened his arms in a wild gesture, then clasped his hands again.