to the near-by county seat.

It was a weird, sad Easter Monday. Even nature seemed to feel the
pressure of the brooding horror, for heavy clouds piled up towards
noon and a chill wind blew fitfully from the north, bending the
young corn and the creaking tree-tops, and moaning about the
straw-covered roofs. Then an icy cold rain descended on the village,
sending the children, the only humans still unconscious of the fear
that had come on them all, into the houses to play quietly in the
corner by the hearth.

There was nothing else spoken of wherever two or three met together
throughout the village except this dreadful, unexplainable thing
that had happened in the rectory. The little village inn was full
to overflowing and the hum of voices within was like the noise of
an excited beehive. Everyone had some new explanation, some new
guess, and it was not until the notary arrived, looking even more
important than usual, that silence fell upon the excited throng.
But the expectations aroused by his coming were not fulfilled. The
notary knew no more than the others although he had been one of the
searchers in the rectory. But he was in no haste to disclose his
ignorance, and sat wrapped in a dignified silence until some one
found courage to question him.

"Was there nothing stolen?" he was asked.

"No, nothing as far as we can tell yet. But if it was the gypsies
--as may be likely--they are content with so little that it would
not be noticed."