Chambersburg is a much larger town than Gettysburg, and to Elizabeth, who had bought her supplies there when she and Herbert had arrived in the early spring, it seemed now to promise more patrons. She would still be interested in Gettysburg and wished to learn all she could about the battle, but her relations with the town would henceforth be those of a tourist.

When morning dawned, she began to wonder whether Gettysburg’s rudeness was not a product of her own imagination.

“No town is going to hang out banners because Elizabeth Scott has arrived to sell onions!” said she to herself.

Of the paper found upon the floor she said nothing to Herbert. The whole incident seemed fantastic. It was silly to have been disturbed for an instant. The sign of the skull and cross-bones as an impelling threat had no longer any power, at least it should have none over Elizabeth Scott. It was doubtless the man with the gun who had thus favored her. Besides, she declined to be frightened by any man who spelled apples, “apels.”

The distance to Chambersburg is longer than the distance to Gettysburg and the hills are steep. But the morning sunlight slanted through the trees, the birds sang, laurel bloomed everywhere, and there was a succession of sweet odors, many of which Elizabeth could not identify. The woods were for the most part still virgin and into their depths an occasional road or path invited.

In an open place they passed a park with pavilions and swings, where a queer old ruin which seemed the work of a fire stood against a hillside. It was not the ruin of a house or barn; it was difficult to tell what it was.

“I’m going to find out,” said Elizabeth. “I’m going to learn all about this mountain. Perhaps this place was burned when Chambersburg was burned. That was a year after the battle of Gettysburg—that is, I think it was. It’s hard to realize that there was fighting here or anything else but peace and happiness. As I remember, people had to flee from the fire for their lives. I suppose it’s hard to forgive things like that.”

She drove through the eastern part of the town and into the busy square, then she turned to the right. After she had driven several blocks, she began to offer her wares. As at Gettysburg, the beginning was propitious. The first purchaser asked whether they were newcomers, and Elizabeth told happily their history.

“We lived in the West, but after our mother died, we decided to come back to our grandfather’s place and raise apples. My brother and I are alone.”

“Where is your grandfather’s place?” asked the lady kindly.

“On the road to Gettysburg.”

“What was your grandfather’s name? I know many families on that road.”“His name was John Baring. The house which he built in 1860 is still standing and in good condition and we live there. We—”

The stranger seemed to be indifferent to what Elizabeth had to say further.

“What name did you say?” she asked sharply.

“John Baring.”

The lady’s lips parted and a brilliant red appeared upon her cheeks.

“You would much better have stayed in the West!” said she sharply. “You made a great mistake to come back.”

Elizabeth stared. She had brought the woman’s order in from the wagon in a basket. Now, without taking out the articles, she lifted the basket and started toward the street.

“I didn’t mean that I wouldn’t buy your things this time, especially as I have ordered them!” came a loud protest.

Elizabeth made no answer. She went out of the gate and closed it carefully behind her.“Let us drive on quickly, Herbert!”

“What is the matter?”

“There is a crazy woman in there.”

“What did she say?”

Elizabeth’s hot anger gave place to a keener feeling of alarm.

“Nothing worth repeating.”

“Shall we stop at other places?”

“Certainly.”

Elizabeth now treated her customers with peremptory shortness and the method seemed to pay.

“If you buy, buy quickly, but it really doesn’t make any difference to me whether you buy or not.” Thus said Elizabeth’s bright blue eyes. It seemed that a new Elizabeth had come out from the rude woman’s gate.

But Herbert could not long be kept in ignorance. They turned and drove back, offering the remainder of their wares on the other side of the street. When they reached the house opposite that of the first purchaser, Elizabeth had approached the porch steps before she saw that the woman had crossed the street and sat with her neighbor. The neighbor rose as Elizabeth drew near.

“You ought not to come here,” she declared. “If people knew who you were no one would buy from you.” The voice was not angry; it was earnest and kindly. “Don’t you understand that?”

“Do you need any vegetables?” asked Elizabeth with burning cheeks. Whatever this strange mystery was, she was determined not to have it explained on the public street.

“No, I don’t need any vegetables.”

Elizabeth turned and went out. Herbert looked shrunken.

“Did the woman across the street speak to you like that?”

“Something like that.”

“What do they mean?”

“I have no idea.”

“Is it our name that angers them?”

“I don’t know, Herbert.”“Can you account for it in any way?”

“No.”

“Did mother ever say that anything dreadful had happened in our family?”

“Never.”

“She was a sad sort of woman. Could anything have worried her?”

“I never suspected anything.” When the words were out, Elizabeth remembered long periods of depression.

“She never warned us not to come here?”

“She never thought of our coming.”

“What shall we do now, Elizabeth?”

“I am considering that.”

It was not until they had left Chambersburg far behind and had reached again the little park, that Elizabeth spoke. She lifted her head suddenly.

“Elizabeth, have you a plan?” It was a question often asked by her brother.

“Yes, I have a plan. To-morrow I am going to Gettysburg and I am going to call upon the old gentleman and ask him what is the matter with us.”

“The old gentleman with the book?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you going to ask him?”

“Because he is old and kind and because he probably knows all about the neighborhood. We seem to have some kind of a bar sinister on our escutcheon.”

Herbert looked sidewise at Elizabeth. Thank fortune she could still joke!

“If we committed murder or theft or any other base crime, I want to know it.”

“Elizabeth!” protested Herbert. Then he asked a little faintly, “Don’t you want me to go with you?”

Elizabeth’s eyes hardened. She had thought, of course, that Herbert would go with her.

“No; it isn’t necessary. There is a great deal to be done at home and Joe will travel better with a light load.”

Rising early, she called Herbert. The sun was up; it gilded the boles of the trees and turned the spider’s webs to silver. If the old house had been a beautiful belle, one might have said that the morning was her hour. The sunlight fell upon the fine, severe old faÇade, showing all its sturdy strength of design and workmanship and making glitter each tiny point of quartz in the stone.

But Elizabeth did not think of its beauty. She prepared Herbert’s breakfast and also his lunch, then she climbed once more into the wagon.

She did not remember until she reached the old gentleman’s house that she did not know his name. Fortunately he was on the porch and rose to greet her. He was, as his daughter had said, always finding interesting persons, and he was also frequently disappointed in them. Few young people, he mourned, were willing to put their minds upon anything for any length of time, even upon the history of their own country and neighborhood.

“Good-morning,” he said, recalling at once the blue eyes which he had admired. “Well, did you sell all your wares?”

“Yes,” answered Elizabeth. She proceeded at once to the business in hand. “My name is Elizabeth Scott. I have come to live in this neighborhood and I wished to ask some questions about its history.”

The old gentleman beamed.

“Sit down, sit down! My name is Thomas, and I am a crank about the history of this neighborhood.”

“I heard some one speak on the street about Colonel Thomas—is that you?”

The old gentleman nodded.

“Pennsylvania is the most interesting State in the Union and this is its most interesting county. You will probably be sorry that you ever made my acquaintance, because, once started, I never stop.”

Elizabeth smiled wistfully.

“Oh, no!”

But Colonel Thomas, upon whose lips volumes of information trembled, did not get far into the history of the county. He saw suddenly tears in Elizabeth’s blue eyes.

“What is the matter?” he asked.

“My brother and I have come here to earn our living. We were born in Illinois and there father died when we were children. Our mother lived until a year ago, then she died suddenly. I had expected to teach school, but my brother’s health failed and the doctors thought that an entire change of climate might cure him. Mother still owned her father’s property in this county, so we came here, expecting to plant an orchard. My brother is much better, even in these few months. We have a fine garden and we have tried to sell our things, but wherever I have gone people have insulted me and advised me to leave. I thought that perhaps you could tell me what is the matter with us.”

The old colonel raised both his hands.

“On my life, young lady! I never heard of such a state of affairs. This is a pleasant, hospitable neighborhood. I was born here and have lived here all my life and I know it. What did you say your name is?”

“My name is Elizabeth Scott. But it isn’t my name that excites them apparently; it’s the name of my grandfather.”

“What was his name?”

It seemed to Elizabeth before she answered that the expression of the kindly countenance had changed. A disturbing suspicion seemed to have entered Colonel Thomas’s mind.

“John Baring,” said she.

“John Baring!” repeated Colonel Thomas. “Oh, my dear young lady! John Baring!”

“What did he do?” asked Elizabeth steadily.

“You’ve never heard anything about him?”

“Nothing. My mother was a quiet woman who spoke little about anything, but I am sure that she respected him and loved him. What did he do?”

“Oh, young lady, you have asked me a hard question. I have a friendly feeling for you, I—”“That is the reason I came to you,” explained Elizabeth. “You looked at me in a friendly way.”

“You seem like a young person of excellent common sense and composure. Do you wish me to tell you the whole truth?”

“By all means!”

“Will you come into the house? We might be interrupted here.”

“Yes,” consented Elizabeth.

Colonel Thomas led the way to a library whose walls were lined to the ceiling with books. If she had been less worried, Elizabeth would have exclaimed with delight. As it was, she gave a long sigh.

Colonel Thomas took from a shelf a thick book. Elizabeth could see on its back the title “Recollections of a Confederate General.” Her heart stood still. Was their disgrace printed? What kind of disgrace could it be?

“Sit down.”

Elizabeth obeyed.“I should decline to tell you if it weren’t inevitable that you should know.” Even yet Colonel Thomas hesitated.

“I’d rather know it quickly, sir.”

Colonel Thomas began to speak as rapidly as Elizabeth could wish.

“There was a certain fact long gossiped about in this county. It was said that John Baring had given the Confederates valuable aid when they came here and that he had even guided them a part of the way. Before that his neighbors had never dreamed that he was anything but loyal.”

“Was it just neighborhood gossip?” asked Elizabeth. Her cheeks were pale, but her eyes held the old gentleman’s bravely. “Was it confirmed in any way?”

Colonel Thomas opened his large book.

“Unfortunately a few months ago this book was published, ‘The Recollections and Letters of General Adams,’ a reliable witness. He describes the approach of Lee’s troops to Gettysburg and says this”—Colonel Thomas found the place and read—“‘From John Baring we secured information about roads leading to Gettysburg.’”

“May I see it?” asked Elizabeth.

Colonel Thomas laid the book on Elizabeth’s knee. She read in silence, with bent head.

“You see how the neighbors felt about him. He could not have done much harm, of course, because there were few roads and these were easy to find, and they could have got the information in other ways. He went away with the Confederate army and never came back. He was never seen here again, but it is not impossible that he lived for many years.”

Elizabeth sat motionless.

“I remember now that his wife died after some years and his daughter married a stranger and went away.”

Still Elizabeth did not move.

“It seemed kinder to tell you and prepare you to protect yourself against rudeness. Unfortunately, some local editor read this book and copied this letter and it has revived an old story which had better been forgotten. I fought against the Confederates, but I am willing to forgive. Perhaps there is some other place where you could make a home.”

“Thank you,” said Elizabeth. “You have done me a very great favor.” She rose and handed Colonel Thomas his book.

Colonel Thomas grew more and more disturbed.

“Won’t you partake of some refreshment?” he offered in his old-fashioned way. “I will call my daughter.”

“No, I thank you. I have a long journey and I must start.” She looked up at the old gentleman for a single brave instant; then her eyes dropped.

“We can’t be blamed for the sins and mistakes of our ancestors,” said he unhappily.

“No,” agreed Elizabeth. “That is true.” But she could not fail to see that, consciously or unconsciously, he glanced toward two old swords crossed above his mantelpiece. “Good-bye,” said she.

But her farewell was not final. She had driven only a short distance when she turned old Joe round, facing him the way he had come. Her cheeks burned. Now she looked upon the marauders on her land in a new light.

“They probably think they can do as they please because we are despised!”

Colonel Thomas welcomed her.

“I’ll always be glad to see you.”

“I’ve come back to ask another question, which has to do with the present instead of the past. We have a good deal of woodland back of the house and men prowl about there constantly with guns and dogs.”

“I know them!” said Colonel Thomas excitedly. “They have a settlement up in the woods.”

“I spoke to one of them and told him that we had come to stay, and the next evening I found a scrawled note directing us to leave. It was even decorated with skull and cross-bones!”“There’s only one of ’em can write and he learned in the penitentiary, that’s Sheldon, a tall man with a drooping mustache. Was it he?”

“He’s the one I talked to.”

“They’re a set of miserable rascals!” Colonel Thomas rose and began to walk up and down. “They’ve an interesting origin, but that’s all about ’em that is interesting. They’re descendants of the first squatters. The Colonial Government had a great deal of trouble with them, and since then they’ve been against everything, against the Government, against education, against religion, against law. During the war they were against the North, and the draft couldn’t reach into the mountains far enough to catch ’em. There’s this Sheldon who served a term for arson—I sent him up myself when I was judge—and a heavy, short, black-bearded man named Black Smith—don’t think it’s ‘blacksmith’; there’s nothing so industrious about ’em! They all have pleasant descriptive titles, like ‘Black’ and ‘Bud’ and ‘Bully.’ But there’s one institution they fear and that’s the constabulary.”

“Who are they?”

“They are the State police. If you are annoyed, let me know and there’ll be a settlement. The law will stand behind you there.”

Elizabeth rose once more.

“Thank you.”

Colonel Thomas assured her again vehemently that he and the law and the constabulary would stand by her. “You wouldn’t hesitate to ask me?”

It was evidently a relief to the old gentleman to be able to offer to do something for her.

“No,” promised Elizabeth, “I shouldn’t hesitate.”

Colonel Thomas watched her until she turned at the top of the hill.

“Now she has a row to hoe!” said he aloud.