Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/waldanovel00kinkiala Transcriber’s note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). A Novel by MARY HOLLAND KINKAID [Illustration] New York and London Harper & Brothers Publishers ∴ MCMIII Copyright, 1903, by Harper & Brothers. All rights reserved. Published March, 1903. PUBLISHERS’ NOTE For obvious reasons, the real name of the community described herein is withheld; but the scenes are pictured with almost photographic fidelity, and the life portrayed is the life actually led to-day by a religious co-operative community in a Western State. WALDA “So that is Zanah there at the foot of the hill? It is a pretty village, Hans Peter. Step more quickly with my bag. You are slow, my boy. Remember there is a quarter of a dollar for you in my pocket.” The tall, broad-shouldered man who spoke took a few strides along the plank walk that led from the railway station to the village of Zanah, half a mile away. Then he stopped to light a cigar while he waited for the fat, short-legged figure that was bending under the weight of a large valise to overtake him. The man was in the early prime of life. When he took off the soft felt travelling-hat he wore, a strongly modelled head was silhouetted against the sky. He looked across the field of purple cabbages to the village that lay in the hush of the summer evening. The gabled roofs of the houses were half hidden by trees, but on a rise of ground the porch and belfry of a little church were plainly visible. Hans Peter dropped his burden and, imitating the stranger, removed from a shock of straw-colored hair a cap mended with red yarn. The boy wore baggy trousers of blue denim buttoned to a blouse of the same material. The man smiled as he looked at the odd figure. “Do you hear me, Hans Peter? There is a quarter in my pocket for you. I will find two quarters if you walk faster. Do you know what I say to you?” The boy replaced his cap, nodded his head, and answered, with a German accent: “Thou art talking to the simple one, the village fool, sir. But Hans Peter knows thou wouldst give him silver.” It was the first time that the boy had spoken since the station agent had called him by name and told him to show the stranger to the inn in the village of Zanah, just across the hill. The man gave his guide a sharp look. Hans Peter had a round face that was as blank as if no human emotion had ever been written upon it. His pale eyes had a sleepy look, and yet there was nothing in their expression to indicate lack of intelligence. “The village fool—nonsense,” said the stranger. “Here is one piece of silver. See if it can’t loosen your tongue.” “Thy money belongs to Zanah, where no man is richer than another,” said Hans Peter. “I will give it to the Herr Doktor.”