Katy at home went on with her accustomed tasks. She was silent; she avoided her aunt and uncle, since any sudden, gentle address made her certain that she was going to cry. She put little Adam down whenever he wished to climb up beside her on the settle; she was to every one a trying puzzle. In her nervousness she had often a desire to stand still and scream.
One evening the squire came into the Gaumer kitchen. Edwin lay on the settle asleep, his wife sat by the table sewing, little Adam was long since in bed. Katy, too, had gone upstairs. Forgetting now that she had announced her intention of going to bed immediately, she left her place by the window to go down for a drink, and came face to face with the squire who was entering. The squire looked grave; he seated himself in Grandfather Gaumer's armchair as though he meant to hold court. In a flash Katy knew what he had come to say. Uncle Edwin sat up blinking, Aunt Sally dropped her sewing into her lap. The squire did not often pay calls so late in the evening.
"Katy," began the squire in a stern voice, "what is this I hear about you?"
Katy's hand was still upon the latch of the stairway door; she grasped it for support. She had thought that she was prepared for the coming interview, but she was now badly frightened. Never before had the squire spoken to her with anything but gentleness and affection.
"What do you hear about me?"
"Benner came in just now on his way from Cassie Hartman's. He had been trying to find a girl for her. She said that now she would not need one, that you were going to hire out to her in September."
Uncle Edwin blinked more rapidly. Aunt Sally's lips parted.
"Well?" said Katy.
"Is this thing so?"
"Yes," answered Katy, bravely. "There is nothing wrong in it. It is honest."