wife shivered. "It's cold enough to freeze the horns off a mooley-cow," she said. She glanced about at the snow-drifted little trees and clutched her black cloak tighter. "I'm feared, Stoltz. There's naught about us now but snow and black heathen."

"It's fear that is the heathen," Aaron said. "By the word of the Lord were the heavens made; and the host of them by the breath of His mouth." He kissed her. "I welcome you to our new homeland, wife," he said.

Behind them Wutzchen—"piglet"—grunted. Martha smiled back at the giant porker, perched amongst the cases and bags and household goods like the victim of some bawdy chiavari. "I've never heard a pig mutter so," she said.

"If he knew that his business here was to flatter the local lady-pigs with farrow, Wutzchen would hop out and run," Aaron said.

"Dummel dich, Stoltz," Martha said. "I've got to make your supper yet, and we don't have so much as a stove lit in our tent."

Stoltzfoos slapped the team back into motion. "What we need for our journey home are a few of the altie lieder," he said, reaching back in the wagon for his scarred guitar. He strummed and hummed, then began singing in his clear baritone: "In da guut alt Suumer-zeit ...

"... In da guut alt Suumer-zeit," Martha's voice joined him. As they jolted along the path through the pine trees, heading toward Datura-village, near which their homestead stood, they sang the other homey songs to the music of the old guitar. "Drawk Mich Zrick zu Alt Virginye," nostalgic for the black-garbed Plain-Folk left at home. Then Aaron's fingers danced a livelier tune on the strings: "Ich fang 'n neie Fashun aw," he crowed, and Martha joined in:

"A new fashion I'll begin," they sang,

"The hay I'll cut in the winter;

"When the sun-heat beats, I'll loaf in the shade.

"And feast on cherry-pie.

"I'll get us a white, smearkase cow,

"And a yard full of guinea-hen geese;

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