They looked sharply and furtively to see if Sylvia had a light in her best room, and if Richard Alger’s head was visible through the window, if Barney Thayer had gone home and yielded to his mother’s commands, if any more work had been done on the new house, and if he perchance had gone a-courting Charlotte again.

But they never saw Richard Alger’s face in poor Sylvia’s best room, although her candle was always lit, they never saw Barney at his old home, the new house advanced not a step beyond its incompleteness, and Barney never was seen at Charlotte Barnard’s on a Sabbath night.  Once, indeed, there was a rumor to that effect.  A man’s smooth dark head was visible at one of the front-room windows opposite Charlotte’s fair one, and everybody took it for Barney’s.

The next morning Barney’s mother came to the door of the new house.  “I want to know if it’s true that you went over there last night,” she said; her voice was harsh, but her mouth was yielding.

“No, I didn’t,” said Barney, shortly, and Deborah went away with a harsh exclamation.  Before long she knew and everybody else knew that the man who had been seen at Charlotte’s window was not Barney, but Thomas Payne.

Presently Ephraim came slowly across to the garden-patch where Barney was planting.  He was breathing heavily, and grinning.  When he reached Barney he stood still watching him, and the grin deepened.  “Say, Barney,” he panted at length.

“Well, what is it?”

“You’ve lost your girl; did you know it, Barney?”

Barney muttered something unintelligible; it sounded like the growl of a dog, but Ephraim was not intimidated.  He chuckled with delight and spoke again.  “Say, Barney, Thomas Payne’s got your girl; did you know it, Barney?”

Barney turned threateningly, but he was helpless before his brother’s sickly face, and Ephraim knew it.  That purple hue and that panting breath had gained an armistice for him on many a battle-field, and he had a certain triumph in it.  It was power of a lugubrious sort, certainly, but still it was power, and so to be enjoyed.

“Thomas Payne’s got your girl,” he repeated; “he was over there a-courtin’ of her last night; a-settin’ up along of her.”

Barney took a step forward, and Ephraim fell back a little, still grinning imperturbably.  “You mind your own business,” Barney said, between his teeth; and right upon his words followed Ephraim’s hoarse chuckle and his “Thomas Payne’s got your girl.”

Barney turned about and went on with his planting.  Ephraim, standing a little aloof, somewhat warily since his brother’s threatening advance, kept repeating his one remark, as mocking as the snarl of a mosquito.  “Thomas Payne’s got your girl, Barney.  Say, did you know it?  Thomas Payne’s got your girl.”

Finally Ephraim stepped close to Barney and shouted it into his ear:  “Say, Barney, Barney Thayer, be you deaf?  Thomas Payne has got—­your—­girl!" But Barney planted on; his nerves were quivering, the impetus to strike out was so strong in his arms that it seemed as if it must by sheer mental force affect his teasing brother, but he made no sign, and said not another word.