company at all, Chloe. Father isn't really well
enough to care to talk to people."

"Miss Honey, simlike de house gittin' mighty lonesome nowadays. Taint
like it uster be."

"Do you feel it, Chloe? Do you know I've grown to like it better quiet."
The girl's voice was wistful, she let the batter trickle recklessly
while she gazed off out of the window. Then she sighed and began to beat
the batter very hard.

"Miss Honey-love?"

"Yes, Chloe."

"That tha' Mist' Steerin' aint ben come no mo' fuh gre't while, air he?"

"No."

"Samson he say he gwine ride down by Redbud this evenin'."

"Well, Chloe, I'm sorry that I can't send an invitation to your
favourite, but I'm afraid Father isn't well enough--oh, there's Piney,
Chloe!"

The boy had come up the bridle-path slowly, his mission weighting him
and making him languid. At the latticed porch he jumped to the ground,
turned the pony's nose into the grass and came into the kitchen.

"Howdy, Miss Sally. Hi, Chloe. Cand I have a drink, please'm, Miss
Sally?"

He drank long and greedily from the gourd dipper, so long that Sally
Madeira turned to him laughingly at last. "Well, Piney, son, got Texas
fever?" she began, and then, being quick of wit, saw at once that the
boy's pallor, his thirst, his absorption meant something especial. "I'm
glad you came, Piney," she went on capably, and gave the batter paddle
to Chloe. "I've been wanting to see you all day to have a little talk
with you. Let's go out under the crab-apple tree."

She took off the great apron and led the way from the kitchen, the boy
following her with dragging feet. Under the crab-apple tree she drew him
down upon a bench beside her. The orchard blooms shut them in close. The
stillness was unbroken save for the warm sibilant droning of the insect
life in the air. The shadows on the orchard grass were like lace-work.

"Now, Piney, lad," began Miss Madeira at once, "what's the trouble?" Her
voice sounded strong, maternal, to Piney, who had been wondering how he
was to tell her, calling himself a fool for having undertaken to tell
her, reminding himself that he couldn't for the life of him begin. Here,
suddenly, the girl was making it easier for him, showing him that the
way to begin was to begin.

"I wouldn' tell you the trouble ef I could he'p it, Miss Sally," he said
pleadingly, his hands shut about his knees, his eyes beseeching as a
fawn's. "Ef they wuz inny way to make things come aout rat lessen I