Millerstown was not entirely deprived of subject-matter by its exhaustion of the Hartman mystery. David Hartman had employed a housekeeper and had opened his great mansion from top to bottom. All Millerstown walked past during the first few days of his occupancy to see whether it was true that there were lights in the parlor and that the squire and the preacher went in and out the front door to visit David. David had been carefully inspecting his orchards and farms, had visited again the land on the mountain-side with its double treasure. David had brought his riding-horse to Millerstown and Millerstown flew once more to doors and windows to see him pass. David consulted with his farmers; David asked a thousand questions of the squire; David was busy from morning till night.
"And David is nice and common," boasted Bevy Schnepp, who behaved as though she were David's mother and grandmother and maiden aunt in one. "He is never proud; you would never know he was so rich and educated."
David had gone himself in midsummer to bring William Koehler home to his house on the mountain-side. William seemed to understand now the startling information brought him by the squire and David. At last he realized who David was, and all the kindliness of his intentions. As he drove up the street, his old neighbors came out with pitying looks to speak to him and at his home his daughter-in-law received him with her placid kindness.
An addition had been built to the little house, but otherwise all was as it had been. The garden had been restored, onions and peas and tomatoes had been planted, though July was at hand, so that William might find immediate occupation. Back in the chicken house were cheerful duckings and crowings, and about the hives the bees buzzed as of old.
At first William tended his garden and sat on the porch in the sunshine and was satisfied and happy. Then he grew restless; the line deepened again in his forehead. It was plainly to be seen that all was not right with William.
But all was made right. One afternoon Sarah Ann Mohr put on her sunbonnet and donned a white apron over her immaculate gingham one and took a basket on her arm and an umbrella in her hand, to be used now for sunshade, now for staff, and climbed the mountain road. She talked with William and gave Essie a little housewifely advice about the making of soap, in which occupation Essie was engaged; she emptied her basket, then she rose to go.
"William," said Sarah Ann, "I have a little plastering that should have been done this long time. I wonder if you would have the time to do it for me?"
It was not every one, Bevy Schnepp said proudly afterwards, who would ride on horseback to Allentown to fetch a mason's white suit and the best kind of trowel, but David had them ready for William in the morning. William accepted them eagerly and began to work at once. Presently he went all about Millerstown. Sometimes he even ventured to the Hartman house to speak to David. David learned after a long while to see him and talk to him without heartache. One day William made in a whisper an astonishing confidence.
"People talk too much about themselves," said William. "I was queer once, out of my head, but I never let on and the people never found it out."
Thus mercifully was the past dulled.