of the morning nobody had thought of the
chickens, and the eggs had not been gathered.
Going out through the tunnel, I gave the hens
their corn, emptied the ice from their drinking-
pan, and filled it with water. After the cat
had had his milk, I could think of nothing else
to do, and I sat down to get warm. The quiet
was delightful, and the ticking clock was the
most pleasant of companions. I got "Robin-
son Crusoe" and tried to read, but his life on
the island seemed dull compared with ours.
Presently, as I looked with satisfaction about
our comfortable sitting-room, it flashed upon
me that if Mr. Shimerda's soul were lingering
about in this world at all, it would be here, in
our house, which had been more to his liking
than any other in the neighborhood. I remem-
bered his contented face when he was with us
on Christmas Day. If he could have lived
with us, this terrible thing would never have
happened.

I knew it was homesickness that had killed
Mr. Shimerda, and I wondered whether his
released spirit would not eventually find its
way back to his own country. I thought of
how far it was to Chicago, and then to Vir-
ginia, to Baltimore, -- and then the great

[[115]]

p114 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p115w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p116

v?