d,
doubtful an' beseechin', like a dog on a clean kitchen floor. I marked
in a sidelong glance, too, when I begun t' toot again, that his wee
face was all in a pucker o' bewilderment, as he listened t' the sad
strains o' Toby Farr's music, jus' as though he knowed he wasn't able
t' rede the riddles of his life, jus' yet awhile, but would be able t'
rede them, by an' by, when he growed up, an' expected t' find hisself
in a pother o' trouble when he mastered the answers. I didn't know his
name, then, t' be sure; had I knowed it, as know it I did, afore the
night was over, I might have put down my flute, in amazement, an'
stared an' said, "Well, well, well!" jus' as everybody did, no doubt,
when they clapped eyes on that lad for the first time an' was told
whose son he was.

"What's that wee thing you're blowin'?" says he.

"This here small contrivance, my son," says I, "is called a flute."

The lad scowled.

"Is she?" says he.

"Ay," says I, wonderin' wherein I had offended the wee feller; "that's
the name she goes by in the parts she hails from."

"Hm-m," says he.

I seed that he wasn't thinkin' about the flute--that he was broodin'.
All at once, then, I learned what 'twas about.

"I isn't your son," says he.

"That's true," says I. "What about it?"

"Well, you called me your son, didn't you?"

"Oh, well," says I, "I didn't mean----"

"What you do it for?"

'Twas a demand. The wee lad was stirred an' earnest. An' why? I was
troubled. 'Twas a queer thing altogether. I seed that a man must walk
warily in answer lest he bruise a wound. 'Twas plain that there was a
deal o' delicate mystery beneath an' beyond.

"Answer me fair," says I, in banter; "wouldn't a man like me make a
fair-t'-middlin' pa for a lad like you?"

That startled un.

"I'd wager no fish on it, sir," says he, "afore I learned more o' your
quality."

"Well, then," says I, "you've but a dull outfit o' manners."

He flashed a saucy grin at me. 'Twas agreeable enough. I deserved it.
An' 'twas made mild with a twinkle o' humor.

"I've pricked your pride, sir," says he. "I'm sorry."

"Answer me, then, in a mannerly way," says I, "Come now! Would I pass
muster as a pa for a lad like you?"

He turned solemn an' earnest.

"You wish you was my pa?" says he.

"'Tis a sudden question," says I, "an' a poser."

"You doesn't, then?"

"I didn't say that," says I. "What you wishin' yourself?"

"I isn't wishin' nothin' at all about it," sa