It was a speechless, unsmiling group that watched the vagabond women pass from the room. No one spoke until the front door closed with a bang. The crunching of snow on the porch followed, and then for a brief space, the loud ticking of the clock on the shelf. The sophisticated Mrs. Sage was bereft of all inclination to banter; she was wide-eyed and solemn. Even her husband was impressed; as for Baxter and the others one might have been justified in suspecting that they were already witnessing the horrible execution of the infant Oliver. A wild, prolonged shriek of the wind, yowling up from the black stretches of Death Swamp, caused more than one person in the room to shudder. The humane Mr. Link closed his eyes but opened them immediately, and said, with less conviction however than on former occasions: “It’s a tough night for horses.” Mr. Sikes bethought himself to poke up the fire. He did it with such vigor that every one was grateful to him; the prodigious noise and clatter he was making relieved the tension. Baxter screwed his face up into a wry grin, but for once forebore cackling. He drew a singularly boisterous and unanimous laugh by remarking dryly: “I wish we had a canary bird here, Ida, to cheer us up a bit.” “Keep that blanket up close around your neck and shoulders, Oliver Baxter,” ordered Serepta Grimes briskly. “You’ll be having croup if you ain’t careful. Mrs. Gooch, you and your husband can sleep in the spare room to-night. Mr. Baxter will take the back bedroom over the kitchen. It’s warmer than any other room in the house. Good night, everybody. I’ll go up the back way with the warm blanket for Oliver October.” With her departure, Mr. Baxter seemed suddenly to realize that something was expected of him as host. “Sit down, everybody,” he invited, and that was the extent of his hospitality. He lapsed into a brooding silence, pulling feebly at the drooping ends of his mustache. His mood was contagious. The company, one and all, appeared to be thinking profoundly. At last the Reverend Sage spoke. “There’s nothing in it—absolutely nothing.” Mrs. Sage came out of a dark reverie to inquire blandly of Mrs. Gooch if she was intending to spend the night. “I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Baxter’s sister. “I’ve had my things on and off three times.” Mr. Link pondered aloud. “If little Oliver grows up to be as wise as Solomon, as she seems to think, I’ll bet my last cent he’ll be able to get around any law that ever was made.” Suddenly Baxter startled them all by slapping his leg resoundingly. His face was beaming. “By ginger, I’ve thought of a way to upset that doggoned prophecy. I’ll wait till little Oliver is purty well grown up and then I’ll up and move to a state where they don’t have capital punishment. Gosh! I wish I’d thought of that before she got away. It would have taken a lot of wind out of her sails, wouldn’t it?”