fishing: the searcher expects each moment to find it. And so he
groped, and ran breathlessly, furiously, back and forth, and at last
kicked away the clod that covered it, and hurried, hot and dusty,
cursing his stupidity, back to the team.

It was ten o'clock as he climbed again into the buggy and started
his team on a swift trot down the road. What would she think? He
saw her now with tearful eyes and pouting lips. She was sitting at
the window, with hat and gloves on; the rest had gone, and she was
waiting for him.

But she'd know something had happened, because he had promised
to be there at eight. He had told her what team he'd have. (He had
forgotten at this moment the doubt and distrust he had given her on
Monday.) She'd know he'd surely come.

But there was no smiling or tearful face watching at the window as
he came down the lane at a tearing pace and turned into the yard.
The house was silent and the curtains down. The silence sent a
chill to his heart. Something rose up in his throat to choke him.

"Agnes!" he called. "Hello! I'm here at last!"

There was no reply. As he sat there, the part he had played on
Monday came back to him. She may be sick! he thought with a
cold thrill of fear.

An old man came around the corner of the house with a potato
fork in his hands, his teeth displayed in a grin.