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“Talk is useless,” says the spokesman of the party; “we have come to put things square. You send that help away; you fetch the old woman home; you make the quarrel up; and for the future, keep her on the farm.”

“ Have you no more commands to lay on me?” asks Vancel, rising in his wrath.

“Yes,” returns the spokesman, who goes on with several things of no great moment, as to what the farmer ought to do.

“Suppose I disobey?”

“ Don't try,” the spokesman snarls; “if you refuse to carry out these orders, we shall hang you like a dog. Beware!”

At once the farmer sends away his hired help, and writes to tell his wife about the strange orders he has got. On all the lesser points, he carries out these orders: but the woman will not come to live with him again. She knows nothing, she alleges, of her champions, and refuses to take advantage of their interference. A few nights after their first visit the band returns, masked as before, to Vancil's farmhouse.

“Where is the wife?” snaps one.

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