No one answered. For a few moments the wheels whirred again, and not a word disturbed the pleasant hum of industry. Presently Walda’s voice rose in a minor hymn. The deep, rich cadences swelled above the sound of the wheels. It was a weird, plaintive tune to which she sang German words which breathed a prayer for light upon the way that led through the sin-encompassed world. She paused after the first verse. Appearing to forget her work, she clasped her hands in her lap and sang again with such sweetness and such pathos that Mother Werther wiped her eyes. The singing had brought some one to the porch outside, but Walda appeared not to hear the footstep. She sang on and on, and when the last verse died upon her lips she sat very still, as if her soul had gone out with the strange melody. Everett, who had come to the window, looking through the blinds, beheld the prophetess. For the moment the woman was lost, and he felt an overwhelming sense of her aloofness from him. There came to him a full realization of the gulf between him and this woman of Zanah, who belonged so little to the world and so much to heaven. For several minutes he stood fascinated as he gazed upon her, but, summoning all his will-power, he turned away lest he should be discovered spying upon the women of Zanah. As he walked towards the bluffs he met Hans Peter moving along in a leisurely manner. The witchery of Walda’s song was still upon him, and he would have passed the simple one without a greeting, but Hans Peter stepped directly in his path. “Thou hast made trouble in Zanah,” said the simple one, staring at him with unblinking eyes and doubling up one fat fist. “The day that thou goest hence to the wicked world where thou belongest will be a happy one.” “You speak with but scant respect for the stranger within your gates,” said Everett, who was amused by the vehemence of the village fool. Hans Peter removed his ragged cap. “Thou hast brought sorrow to Gerson Brandt,” he continued, “for thou wouldst have taken the Bible that he was making beautiful for Walda Kellar.” Everett studied the odd little figure before him for a moment. It was the first time that Hans Peter had betrayed, in manner or countenance, the least trace of emotion. Even now, as the simple one stood blinking his eyes, the man of the world could not comprehend his motive in making the unexpected accusation. “You seem almost excited, Hans Peter,” said Everett, presently, when the boy had begun to show that the silence was uncomfortable. “And why are you concerned about the Bible?” “The school-master setteth great store on the Sacred Book,” replied the simple one. “He hath been kind to me, and I like not to see him troubled.” “And is not every one kind to you, Hans Peter?” The simple one thrust his hand into his deep pocket and hung his head.