“What do the marks stand for, Hans Peter? I hope they do not mean anything uncomplimentary.” The simple one said that he did not understand, and Everett explained. “This meaneth that the stranger in Zanah bringeth trouble,” the village fool answered. Everett paced up and down the sanded floor for a few moments. “You are not a prophet, Hans Peter,” he said, stopping to pull the village fool’s ear. “Have I done any harm in Zanah?” “Thou hast sown some seeds of discord.” “Cannot you forgive me for the Bible episode? You know I have done my best to make amends. You will not always blame me for your suffering in the stocks, I hope.” The simple one put the gourd he had been examining into one of his deep pockets. “Thou knowest the stocks were but the penalty of mine own deed,” he said. “There are other things that even a fool can see and hear. Thou hast a soft voice when thou speakest to the prophetess of Zanah. Thine eyes watch her always when she is near thee.” Hans Peter folded his arms in imitation of Everett and stared at him with unblinking eyes. “You are observant, Hans Peter. As I have often told you, every day I am more and more convinced you are the wisest man in Zanah.” Everett flicked the ashes from the cigar he was smoking and smiled down at the queer little figure. “What conclusions do you draw from your two discoveries?” “It seemeth that thine actions are like Joseph Hoff’s, and the people of Zanah say that he hath earthly love in his heart.” “If my memory serves me right, it was you who aided Joseph Hoff to send messages to the one he loves,” said Everett. “She was not a prophetess,” the fool declared. Hans Peter had selected a second gourd from the shelf, and had fled from the room before Everett could sound him on the subject of acting as errand-boy. Still the rain poured down. Everett chafed under his enforced inactivity, for he felt that every hour meant much to him. Presently, because he had nothing better to do, he took down from its place beside Hans Peter’s gourds the old tinder-box, and lighted the wood that was piled in the fireplace. He lounged upon the settle and idly watched the flames creep along the logs. His thoughts flew out to Walda. He wondered what she was doing. He felt a disgust for the fanaticism of the colony, and he tried to think of some way of claiming the woman he loved. He was ready to carry her off without any ado, but he knew that as long as her father lived he could not persuade her to go away. Although he had not yet made her realize she loved him, he would not harbor the thought that he could lose her—and yet his suit appeared hopeless. His reflections were disturbed by the voice of Mother Werther raised in indignant remonstrance. She was in the next room, and he heard her say: “Diedrich, thou dost vex me much lately. And now thou dost tell me thou likest to gaze through the car-windows to behold the women of the world as they pass by Zanah.”