“It isn't _that_ they're trying to show at all,” said Esther. “They feel that other things are more important. They're all wrought up over the war. How could it be otherwise when almost everyone of them has got a brother, or a father, or—or—_a son_—down there in the South, and every day brings news that some of these have been shot dead, and more still wounded and crippled, and others—_others_, that God only knows _what_ has become of them—oh, how can they help feeling that way? I don't know that I ought to say it—” the school-ma'am stopped to catch her breath, and hesitated, then went on—“but yes, you'll understand me _now_—there was a time here, not so long ago, Mr. Beech, when I downright hated you—you and M'rye both!” This was important enough to turn over for. I flopped as unostentatiously as possible, and neither of them gave any sign of having noted my presence. The farmer sat with his back against the door, the quilt drawn up to his waist, his head bent in silent meditation. His whole profile was in deep shadow from where I lay—darkly massive and powerful and solemn. Esther was watching him with all her eyes, leaning forward from her chair, the lantern-light full upon her eager face. “M'rye an' I don't lay ourselves out to be specially bad folks, as folks go,” the farmer said at last, by way of deprecation. “We've got our faults, of course, like the rest, but—” “No,” interrupted Esther, with a half-tearful smile in her eyes. “You only pretend to have faults. You really haven't got any at all.” The shadowed outline of Abner's face softened. “Why, that _is_ a fault itself, ain't it?” he said, as if pleased with his logical acuteness. The crowing of some foolish rooster, grown tired of waiting for the belated November daylight, fell upon the silence from one of the buildings near by. Abner Beech rose to his feet with ponderous slowness, pushing the bedclothes aside with his boot, and stood beside Esther's chair. He laid his big hand on her shoulder with a patriarchal gesture. “Come now,” he said, gently, “you go back to bed, like a good girl, an' get some sleep. It'll be all right.” The girl rose in turn, bearing her shoulder so that the fatherly hand might still remain upon it. “Truly?” she asked, with a new light upon her pale face. “Yes—truly!” Abner replied, gravely nodding his head. Esther took the hand from her shoulder, and shook it in both of hers. “Good-night again, then,” she said, and turned to go. Suddenly there resounded the loud rapping of a stick on the barn-door, close by my head. Abner squared his huge shoulders and threw a downright glance at the gun on the floor. “Well?” he called out. “_Is my da'ater inside there?_” We all knew that thin, high-pitched, querulous voice. It was old “Jee” Hagadorn who was outside. CHAPTER XII THE UNWELCOME GUEST