"Yes, mother. 'Tis just beyond the village a short distance, though I know not in which direction the farm lies. I will have to inquire at the tavern." The amber light of dusk was tipping the trees when the youth turned from the highway into the wooded road leading to his uncle's dwelling. The farmhouse was gray and weather-beaten, set in a circle of cleared land, and ringed by the forest. There was something about the well-sweep, the orchard, the gardens, that spoke of neglect and desolation, and Peggy felt a chill go through her as she noted no stir of life about the place. From the open doors of the barn came no movement of restless horse, or low of cattle. Not a twitter nor cheep from the hen-house broke the quiet that brooded over everything. Though it was still early twilight the wooden shutters were tightly closed, and had it not been for the light which streamed through their crescentic openings the house would have been deemed deserted. The girl started nervously as a night-owl hooted suddenly from a near-by thicket. "I wonder if they are at home?" she mused aloud. "Why, of course they are, Peggy," answered Sally. "Does thee not see the light?" "Yes; but----" began Peggy, and paused expectantly as Fairfax, who had alighted, knocked loudly upon the door. It was a full moment before a reply came; then a man's voice demanded sharply: "What's wanted?" "'Tis your nephew, Uncle Tom," answered the lad cheerily. "Nephew, heigh? I haven't any in this part of the country. You can't put in a take-off like that on Tom Ashley. Clear out! My firelock's ready." "Well, this is a fine welcome, I must say," cried Nurse Johnson indignantly. "Write for us to come all the way from Virginia to visit you, and then find a firelock ready for us. I don't think much of such doings, Tom Ashley!" "Why a pox on me!" came in excited accents from behind the closed door. "Didst hear that, Mary? That's Hannah Johnson's voice as sure as preaching. It must be Hannah and her boy." There followed the rattle of a chain, the drawing of bolts, then the door was flung wide, and the light from a blazing fire in the fireplace threw into strong relief the forms of a man and a woman standing on the threshold. "Have in, have in," cried the man genially. "Mary, see to the opening of the stable while I bring the folks in. Ye are as welcome as the spring would be, though ye did give us a great scare. 'Twas a most unmannerly greeting, but 'twas not meant for ye. The times are such that no man dares to open his door to a visitor when dark is coming on without he knows who 'tis. This is a surprise. I had writ ye not to come." "You had, uncle?" queried Fairfax as they shook hands. Thomas Ashley had left the door by this time, and now stood beside the sleigh. "When? We did not get it."