“For this is he that was spoken of by the prophet Esaias, saying, The voice of one crying in the wilderness, prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”

“Is not this it?” cried Elizabeth.  “If I do my part —­ all I can —­ is not that preparing the way for him to do what I cannot do?”

She thought so, at any rate, and it comforted her.

“Miss ’Lizabeth,” said Clam, just behind her, “Karen wants to know what time you’ll have dinner?”

“I don’t care.”

“That’s ‘zackly Karen’s time o’ day,” said Clam discontentedly.

“I don’t care at all, Clam.”

“And she says, what ’ll you have?”

“Nothing —­ or anything.  Don’t talk to me about it.”

“Ain’t much good in choosing,” said Clam, “when there ain’t three things to choose from.  How long can you live on pork, Miss ’Lizabeth?”

Elizabeth looked up impatiently.

“Longer than you can.  Clam! —­”

“Ma’am?”

“Let me alone.  I don’t care about anything.”

Clam went off; but ten minutes had not gone when she was back again.

“Miss Lizzie, —­ Anderese wants to know if he’ll go on cuttin’ wood just as he’s a mind to?”

“Anderese? —­ who’s he?”

“Karen and him used to be brother and sister when they was little.”

“What does he want?”

“Wants to know if he shall go on cuttin’ wood just as ever.”

“Cutting wood! —­ what wood?”

“I s’pect it’s your trees.”

“Mine!  What trees?”

“Why the trees in the woods, Miss Lizzie.  As long as they was nobody’s, Anderese used to cut ’em for the fire; now they’re yourn, he wants to know what he shall do with ’em.”

“Let ’em alone, certainly!  Don’t let him cut any more.”

“Then the next question is, where’ll he go for something to make a fire?”

“To make a fire!”

“Yes, Miss Lizzie —­ unless no time ’ll do for dinner as well as any time.  Can’t cook pork without a fire.  And then you’d want the kettle boiled for tea, I reckon.”

“Can’t he get wood anywhere, Clam? without cutting down trees.”

“There ain’t none to sell anywheres —­ he says.”

“What trees has he been cutting?” said Elizabeth, rousing herself in despair.

“Any that come handy, I s’pose, Miss Lizzie —­ they’ll all burn, once get ’em in the chimney.”

“He mustn’t do that.  Tell him —­ but you can’t tell him—­ and I can’t. —­”

She hesitated, between the intense desire to bid him cut whatever he had a mind, and the notion of attending to all her duties, which was strong upon her.

“Tell him to cut anything he pleases, for to-day —­ I’ll see about it myself the next time.”

Two minutes’ peace; and then Clam was at her back again.

“Miss Lizzie, he don’t know nothin’ and he wants to know a heap.  Do you want him to cut down a cedar, he says, or an oak, or somethin’ else.  There’s the most cedars, he says; but Karen says they snap all to pieces.”