Addie, in her turn, said nothing. She scarcely smiled. She was inexpressibly pained by the thought of having to live among old friends and associates in the dismantled log cabin Jeff had reluctantly described. A reminiscent sob rose and died within her as she recalled the comfortable farm-house to which Ralph Rundel, who now seemed almost faultless, had taken her as a bride. To this another pang of memory was added. By her conduct, innocent though it was, she had driven her only child from her, and how many times had her tired heart gone back to the sturdy youth who had toiled so uncomplainingly, and, young as he was, borne so many burdens! Was Paul alive or dead? she often asked herself. If alive, how he must hate her! If dead, then the baby, which she now sometimes recalled with the awakening yearning of a mother's dry breast, was gone forever. Slowly the horse tugged up the slope. “Whoa!” Amanda cried out suddenly. “I'm goin' to jump out an' walk on to the top. I'm simply crazy to git a look at the valley. Somehow it seems like the Promised Land flowin' with milk an' honey.” Only too willingly the horse stopped, and she sprang down to the ground. “Don't you want to walk a little, Addie?” she asked. “You'd better limber up your legs. I'm as stiff as a pair o' tongs.” Mrs. Warren sadly shook her head and Jeff tossed the reins into her lap. “Well, you drive,” he said. “We'll walk on to the top an' take a peep. I agree with you, Mandy. I don't feel like I'll ever want to leave this country ag'in. I want to die an' be buried among my kin.” The two moved faster than the tired horse, and Addie saw them on the brow of the mountain, outlined against the blue expanse beyond. She noticed Jeff pointing here and there and waving his hand; even at that distance the glow of his animation was observable. Reaching the top, Mrs. Rundel caught their words, and in the depths of her despondency she wondered over their gratification. “Not a new buildin' of any sort that I kin make out,” she heard her husband saying. “Thar, you kin see Jim Hoag's house above the bunch o' trees. It's had a fresh coat o' paint lately; look how bright the window-blinds are!” “An' how green an' fresh everything seems!” commented the more poetic spinster. “Looks like thar's been plenty o' rain this summer. Oh, I love it--I love it! It's home--the only home I ever knowed.” The horse paused close by them. The cow mooed loudly, and the calf trotted briskly up to her and began to butt her flabby bag with his sleek head. “That looks like a different-shaped steeple on the Methodist meetin'-house,” Amanda commented, as she shaded her eyes from the sun and stared steadily off into the distance.