Nancy rested her elbows on the table, and looked across at him anxiously.
"It must be a mistake, Robert. I never said anything to them except that we'd like to have more time."
He went over the paper again carefully.
"It reads very plain," he said. Then he fixed his sunken eyes on her thoughtfully. "Do you suppose, Nancy, it could be on account of what you done?"
"Me!" The woman stared at him in astonishment.
Suddenly Robert turned his eyes toward the ceiling, with a new light in his thin face.
"Listen!" he exclaimed breathlessly, "it's raining!"
There was a swift patter of heralding drops, and then a steady, rhythmical drumming on the shake roof. The man smiled, with that ineffable delight in the music which no one really knows but the tiller of the soil.
Nancy opened the kitchen door and looked out into the night.
"Yes," she said, keeping something out of her voice; "the wind's strong from the southeast, and it's raining steady."