As mid-day drew near he began to feel hungry, and more than once paused in his work to go to the edge of the clearing, to see if there were any signs of an approaching dinner.
"I hope Esther hasn't forgotten me to-day," he thought, after doing this for the third time to no result. "It's not like her to do it."
The great golden sun moved steadily on to the zenith, and then inclined westward, but still no messenger appeared bearing the needed refreshment.
Mr. Hazen felt strongly tempted to shoulder his axe and go home. But the day was so favourable to his work that, after a good deal of grumbling at what he supposed to be his wife's neglect, he decided not to quit it. So, tightening his belt, he grasped his axe anew and strove to forget his hunger in the ardour of his toil.
He did not, however, work as late as common that day, for in addition to his hunger, there grew upon him a feeling of uneasiness, which at length became so disturbing that he could not endure it. Accordingly, fully an hour before his usual time, he shouldered his axe and strode off homeward, saying to himself,—
"I hope nothing's gone wrong; but I don't know what gives me such an apprehensive feeling."
When he approached the farmhouse, he caught sight of his wife coming up the road that led to the nearest neighbour, about half-a-mile away.
Hurrying on to meet her, he asked in a tone not altogether free from irritation at his needless fears,—
"Why, Esther, where have you been? And where is Edie?"
"I ran over to neighbour Hewett's for the paper," Mrs. Hazen responded. "But"—and her face filled with sudden alarm—"Edie? Wasn't Edie with you?"