“Miss Stewart—­where is she? You know.”

“Miss Stewart?” said the woman, sinking down into a chair and looking greatly disturbed.  “Miss Stewart’s gone to live with the Shakers.  My husband drove her over with his team—­her and her trunk.”

“Why, where was her aunt?  Did Mrs. Sloman know?  Why isn’t Miss Bessie with her?”

“Miss’ Sloman said all she could—­afterward I guess,” said the woman, wiping her eyes, “but ‘twan’t no use then.  You see, Miss’ Sloman had jined a party that was goin’ to Minnesota—­while she was in Philadelfy, that was—­and Miss Stewart she wasn’t goin’.  She reckoned she’d spend the winter here in the house.  Miss’ Sloman’s maid—­that’s Mary—­was goin’ with her to the West, and I was to hire my sister-in-law to take charge of things here, so that Miss Bessie could have her mind free-like to come and go.  But afore ever Mary Jane—­that’s my sister-in-law—­could come over from Lee, where she was livin’ out, Miss Bessie comes up and opens the house.  She stayed there about a week, and she had lots of company while she was here.  I think she got tired.  They was people that was just goin’ to sail for Europe, and as soon as they went she just shut up and told me to send for Mary Jane to take care of things.  So Mary Jane never see her, and perhaps she giv’ you a crooked answer, sir, if you was inquirin’ of her over to the cottage.”

“Where’s Hiram? where’s your husband?  Can I have his team this morning?”

“I guess so,” said the sympathetic Mrs. Splinter.  “He’ll show you the very house he druv’ her to.”

Hiram was hunted for and found; and an hour later I was bowling along the Lebanon road behind the bay team he was so proud of.  I had concluded to take him with me, as he could identify places and people, and I knew well what castles the Shaker houses are for the world’s people outside.  Hiram was full of talk going over.  He seemed to have been bottling it up, and I was the first auditor for his wrath.  “I know ‘m,” he said, cracking his whip over his horses’ heads.  “They be sharp at a bargain, they be.  If they’ve contrived to get a hold on Bessie Stewart, property and all, it’ll go hard on ’em to give her up.”

“A hold on Bessie!” What dreadful words!  I bade him sharply hold his tongue and mind his horses, but he went on muttering in an undertone, “Yo’ll see, yo’ll see!  You’re druv’ pretty hard, young man, I expect, so I won’t think nothing of your ha’sh words, and we’ll get her out, for all Elder Nebson.”

So Hiram, looked out along the road from under his huge fur-cap, and up hill and down.  The miles shortened, until at last the fair houses and barns of the Shaker village came in sight.  A sleeping village, one would have thought.  Nobody in the road save one old man, who eyed us suspiciously through the back of a chair he was carrying.

“It must be dinner-time, I think,” said Hiram as he drove cautiously along.  Stopping at a house near the bridge:  “Now this is the very house.  Just you go right up and knock at that ’ere door.”