The midday meal was a little late, so that Seth's shoulder might be properly dressed. And when at last the family sat down to it, it threatened to be more than usually silent. All were weary, and the women overwrought. Ma was the only one who made any attempt to rouse the drooping spirits about her. The men knew that they were confronted with no ordinary Indian rising. There was something far more threatening to them personally. As the meal dragged on Ma abandoned her efforts entirely, and a long silence ensued. Finally Rube pushed back his chair and rose from the table. Then it was that Seth spoke for the first time. He looked from Rube to Ma. He was trying to look unconcerned, and even smiled. "Say," he observed, "guess I was fergittin'. I got a bit of a letter from--England." Rube dropped back into his chair, and his eyes were questioning. Ma was staring through her spectacles at her boy. She, too, was asking a mute question. But hers was merely a quiet curiosity, while Rube's, slow old Rube's, was prompted by Seth's manner, which, instinctively, he knew to be a false one. Rosebud was patting General's head as he sat at her side. She continued her caressing, but her eyes, swift and eager but tenderly grave, watched Seth as he drew out the letter from his pocket and smoothed it upon the table. There was just the slightest tremor in her hand as it rested on the dog's head. "Yup," Seth went on, with a great assumption of unconcern which deceived nobody. "It's a feller--jest one o' them law fellers. He's comin' right along to the farm. I 'low he must be nigh here now. He was goin' to git here Tuesday the 16th--that's to-day." He was intent on the letter. Nor did he once raise his eyes while he was speaking. Now he turned the paper as though in search of some detail of interest. "Ah," he went on. "Here it is. Says he's hit the trail o' some gal as was lost. Guesses he'd like to see--Rosebud, an' ask a few questions." "Seth!" Ma had risen, and somehow her chair overturned behind her. Her exclamation was a gasp. Rube stared; he had no words just then. Rosebud continued to caress the dog, who whined his pleasure at the unusual attention. At last she turned. For an instant her eyes met Seth's. "May I read that letter, Seth?" she asked quietly. "Sure." Seth rose from the table. "Rube," he said, "I'd take it friendly if you'd fill my pipe." Then he moved across to the window. Rosebud looked up from reading the letter. She came round to him and handed it back. "So my name's Marjorie Raynor?" she said with a queer smile. Seth nodded. "And all this money is what you once spoke about?" Again came Seth's affirmation. "And how long have you known--that I'm not Rosebud?" "Got that bit of a letter Saturday." "But you guessed it long before that--when we were out at the slough?" "I'd a notion."