f him, but
that's him."

Mrs. Egg fell back against the ice chest and squeaked: "You mean you
know this----"

"Hush up, Mamma!"

"But he walked part the way from San Antonio. He----"

"He ain't your father," said Adam, "so don't cry. Is there any maple
sugar? The grub on the train was fierce."

Mrs. Egg brought him the tin case of maple sugar. Adam selected a
chunk of the brown stuff and bit a lobe of it. He was silent. Mrs. Egg
marvelled at him. His sisters had hinted that he wasn't clever. She
stood in awe, although her legs ached. Adam finished the lump of maple
sugar and rose. He leaned on the shelves with his narrow waist curved
against them and studied a row of quince-preserve jars. His nose
wrinkled.

He asked, "You been fumigatin'?"

"Fumigatin'! Why, Dammy, there ain't been a disease in the house since
you had whoopin' cough."

"Sulphur," Adam drawled.

"Why, Dammy Egg! I never used sulphur for nothin' in my life!"

He took a jar of preserves and ripped off the paraffin wafer that
covered the top. Then he set the jar aside and sat down on the floor.
Mrs. Egg watched him unlace his shoes.

He commanded, "You sit still, Mamma. Be back in a minute."

"Dammy, don't you go near that heathen!"

"I ain't."

He swung across the kitchen floor in two strides and bumped his head
on the top of the door. Mrs. Egg winced, but all her body seemed to
move after the boy. Shiverings tossed her. She lifted her skirts and
stepped after him. The veranda was empty. Adam had vanished, although
the moon covered the dooryard with silver. The woman stared and shook.
Then something slid down the nearest pillar and dropped like a black
column to the grass. Adam came up the steps and shoved Mrs. Egg back
to the pantry.

He spread some quince preserve on a slab of bread and stated, "He's
sittin' up readin' a lot of old copybooks, kind of. Got oil all over
his head. It's hair remover. Sulphur in it."

"How could you ever smell that far, Dammy?"

"I wonder what's in those books?" Adam pondered. He sat cross-legged
on the ice chest and ate slowly for a time, then remarked, "You didn't
put up these quinces, Mamma."

"No; they're Sadie's. Think of your noticin'!"

"You got to teach Edie cookin'," he said. "She can't cook fit for a
Cuban. Lots of time, though. Now, Mamma, we can't let this goof stay
here all night. I guess he's a thief. I ain't goin' to let the folks
have a laugh on you. Didn't your father always keep a