Another burly woodsman had lifted little Sue in his arms.
"I'm goin' down the trail to wait fer Silas," said Sinth, brokenly.
She put out her hand to take the satchel.
"We'll carry it an' the childern too," said the woodsman, whose voice, which had been harsh and profane, now had a touch of gentleness. They made their way down the trail in silence.
"He better try t' be a statesman," said one of the escort. "He ain't fit t' be a bullcook."
They passed a second gang with horses and a big jumper bearing supplies for the camp. The Emperor had surrendered; the green hills were taken. Half a mile or so from the camp Sinth halted.
"I'll wait here, thank ye," said she.
With offers of assistance the men left them and returned.
All through the night Sinth had been thinking of their new trouble and was in a way prepared for the worst. But now, as she was leaving forever the old, familiar trees and the still water she sat down for awhile and covered her face. Already the saws had begun their work. She could hear them gnawing and hissing and the shouts and axes of the woodsmen. Socky and Sue came near their aunt and stood looking at her, their cheeks tear-stained, their sympathy now and then shaking them with half-suppressed sobs. The reason for their departure and for the coming of the woodsmen they were not able to understand. Zeb lay lolling on his stomach, bored, but, like his master, hoping for better times.
"Aunt Sinthy—you 'fraid?" Sue ventured to ask, and her doll hung limp from her right hand.