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 “What’s got into him?” wondered the older man.

“Angus is goin’ away…. He’s goin’ away from us. What’s a-goin’ to become of us now?” Tears stood in Bishwhang’s pale eyes.

“I’m a-goin’ to find what he’s up to now,” said Jake, as he thrust on a disreputable hat and started for the door. “I’m goin’ to foller him. No tellin’ what he’s took into his head.”

Angus plodded across the bridge and up the hill. Jake Schwartz followed unseen.

“She'll know,” Angus said over and over again as his eyes sought the Canfield residence, scanning its porches and yard for the spot of animated color which would denote Lydia’s presence. “If she hain’t outdoors I’ll set—sit—down and wait.”

Presently, from the rear of the house Lydia went dancing across the lawn and out of the gate, a tiny basket over her arm, and skipped off briskly toward the fields and wood which lay beyond. Angus got up slowly and followed doggedly, moving fast enough to keep her in view. For perhaps a mile he plodded on behind; then, where the road ran between wheatfield and woodlot, Lydia threw herself down on the grass to rest. Propping her face on her hand she reclined, her face away from Angus.

He accelerated his step and stood awkwardly,