It was a rainy day in Zanah. Early in the morning, when Everett looked out of the diamond-paned window of his bedroom, he saw that the trees and vines in the garden were dripping. The night-wind had beaten off many of the leaves, which had grown yellow in the long drought and the dying summer. The distant bluffs were hidden behind a curtain of mist. Two village “mothers” passed, their shawls drawn over their heads and their feet dragging slowly in their clumsy, wooden shoes. Everett dressed quickly, for his room was dark, and the silence of the village oppressed him. When he went out to his breakfast in the long, bare dining-room, Mother Werther served him in silence. He wondered at her unusual taciturnity, and he tried to start a cheerful conversation. She replied to him in monosyllables. The entrance of a boy whom he remembered seeing at the learning-school temporarily diverted Mother Werther from her unpleasant thoughts.
“This is my son Johann,” she said, pushing the lad forward.
The boy hung his head, and Everett inquired why Johann was never at home.
“It is not wise that he should be kept at the gasthaus,” Mother Werther explained, as she fixed a place for Johann at the distant end of the table.
“Does some unusual occurrence bring him here to-day?” Everett inquired, with a show of interest.
“It is the Day of Warning, and families hold communion before they go to the meeting-house,” Mother Werther explained. “It is the last Sabbath before the Untersuchung, and we make ready for the annual accounting of our faults and follies.”
The woman’s words brought uppermost in his mind the thought that had harassed him in the hours of the night. The time of Walda’s ordination as prophetess was very near. He rose from the table. He heard the rain falling upon the slate roof of the side porch upon which the dining-room opened. Lifting the heavy latch, he pushed the door slightly ajar. The downpour was steady.
“Does your prophetess take any special part in to-day’s ceremonies?” Everett asked, because he felt that he must contrive to see Walda.
“Nay, she will be present at the meeting, that is all,” said Mother Werther, bustling out into the back kitchen.
Everett sauntered into the office, which was occupied by Hans Peter. The simple one had placed upon the mantel-shelf above the fireplace half a dozen of his marked gourds, and he was studying them intently. He did not pay any attention to Everett, who stepped up beside him.