Esther rose from the chair. “Mr. Beech,” she declared, impressively; “they're coming up here to-night! That bonfire of yours made 'em mad. It's no matter how I learned it—it wasn't from father—I don't know that he knows anything about it, but they're coming _here_! and—and Heaven only knows what they're going to do when they get here!” The farmer rose also, his huge figure towering above that of the girl, as he looked down at her over his beard. He no longer dissembled his stockinged-feet. After a moment's pause he said: “So that's what you came to tell me, eh?” The school-ma'am nodded her head. “I couldn't bear not to,” she explained, simply. “Well, I'm obleeged to ye!” Abner remarked, with gravity. “Whatever comes of it, I'm obleeged to ye!” He turned at this, and walked slowly out into the kitchen, leaving the door open behind him. “Pull on your boots again!” we heard him say, presumably to Hurley. In a minute or two he returned, with his own boots on, and bearing over his arm the old double-barrelled shot-gun which always hung above the kitchen mantel-piece. In his hands he had two shot-flasks, the little tobacco-bag full of buckshot, and a powder-horn. He laid these on the open shelf of the bookcase, and, after fitting fresh caps on the nipples put the gun beside them. “I'd be all the more sot on your stayin' to supper,” he remarked, looking again at Esther, “only if there _should_ be any unpleasantness, why, I'd hate like sin to have you mixed up in it. You see how I'm placed.” Esther did not hesitate a moment. She walked over to where M'rye stood by the table replenishing the butter-plate. “I'd be very glad indeed to stay, Mr. Beech,” she said, with winning frankness, “if I may.” “There's the place laid for you,” commented M'rye, impassively. Then, catching her husband's eye, she added the perfunctory assurance “You're entirely welcome.” Hurley and the girls came in now, and all except me took their seats about the table. Both Abner and the Irishman had their coats on, out of compliment to company. M'rye brought over a thick slice of fresh buttered bread with brown sugar on it, and a cup of weak tea, and put them beside me on a chair. Then the evening meal went forward, the farmer talking in a fragmentary way about the crops and the weather. Save for an occasional response from our visitor, the rest maintained silence. The Underwood girl could not keep her fearful eyes from the gun lying on the bookcase, and protested that she had no appetite, but Hurley ate vigorously, and had a smile on his wrinkled and swarthy little face. The wind outside whistled shrilly at the windows, rattling the shutters, and trying its force in explosive blasts which seemed to rock the house on its stone foundations. Once or twice it shook the veranda-door with such violence that the folk at the table instinctively lifted their heads, thinking someone was there.