The next day the labourers at the farm were busy taking in the hay from a large meadow just beyond the forest. The farmer's wife had a large piece of fine linen spread out on the grass a few steps from the house, and in the evening this was found to have disappeared. Unfortunately the young farmer's wife had heard the story of Mary and the ring from her husband, to whom it had been told by his father and mother. Instantly then she connected Mary with the disappearance of the linen, and saw in the circumstance a means of venting her spite upon the girl whom she had always disliked. When Mary was returning from her work in the evening with a rake on her shoulder and a pitcher in her hand, along with the other servants, this passionate woman came out of the kitchen and met her with a torrent of abuse, and ordered her to give up the linen immediately. At first Mary was too stunned to reply, but when she understood the charge, she answered meekly that it was impossible she could have taken the linen, as she had passed the whole day in the hay-field with the other servants; that a stranger might easily have taken advantage of a moment when there was no one in the kitchen to commit the theft. This conjecture turned out to be the true one, but the farmer's wife was not to be turned from her conviction. "Thief," she cried coarsely, "do you think I am ignorant of the theft of the ring, and what difficulty you had to escape the executioner's sword? Begone as soon as possible. There is no room in my house for creatures like you." "It is too late," said her husband, "to send Mary away now. Let her sup with us, as she has worked all day in the great heat. Let her but remain this one night." "Not even one hour," cried his wife passionately; and her husband, seeing that advice would only irritate her more, remained silent. Mary made no further attempt to defend herself against the unjust accusation. She immediately made her simple preparations for her departure, wrapping up all that she had in a clean napkin. When she had put the little bundle under her arm, thanked the servants of Pine Farm for their kindness to her and protested once more her innocence, she asked permission to take leave of her friends, the old farmer and his wife. "You may do that," said the young farmer's wife, with a scornful smile; "indeed, if you wish to take with you these two old people, it will give me great pleasure. It is evident death does not mean to rid me of them for some time." The good old people, who had heard the altercation, wept when Mary came to bid them good-bye. However, they consoled her as well as they could, and gave her a little money to assist her on her journey. "Go, good girl," said they to her, "and may God take care of you."