ht here at home. I suppose
it's a feeling like that I always had that makes me want to be a farmer
and live close to the ground--that and wanting to earn a living," he
concluded, smiling. He was astonished at his own speech, which had
expressed ideas that had never crystallized in his mind before.

"That," said Phil, "is what poetry is--feeling like that."

"I suppose it is," Fred assented.

The waiters were relieving the guests of their burdens, and carrying
out the tables, and there was a stir through the house as the musicians
took their places. Phil rose and nodded to a young gentleman who sought
her for the next dance.

"I've got to go," said Fred. "I'll just about catch my last car. It's
been fine to be here. And I've enjoyed talking to you. It was mighty
kind of you to sit up here with me. I shall always remember it."

Phil was drawing on her gloves, looking down upon the hall through which
the guests from the other rooms were now passing.

At this moment the outer hall door opened cautiously and a man stepped
inside, closed it noisily, and placed his back against it with an air of
defiance. He stood blinking in the strong light, moving his head from
side to side as though in the effort to summon speech. The waiter who
had been stationed at the door was helping to clear away the tables, but
he hurried forward and began directing this latest guest where to leave
his wraps. The stranger shook his head protestingly. It was quite
evident that he was intoxicated. He wore a long overcoat spattered with
mud, and there was a dent in the derby hat he removed with elaborate
care and then swung at arm's length. The doorways filled. Something not
down in the programme was occurring. A sudden hush fell upon the house;
whispered inquiries as to the identity of the stranger, who stood
drunkenly turning his gaze from left to right, passed guardedly from lip
to lip. Amzi, Kirkwood, and the Bartletts remained near where they had
risen from their table, sharing the general consternation. Amzi was the
first to recover; he took a step toward the door, but paused as the man
began to speak slowly and drunkenly. He seemed annoyed by his inability
to control his tongue and his voice rose raspingly.

"'M looking for my bruf--my bruf--my brother. Tole me 'tis h-h--'tis
house he was 't Amzi's to party. Holtons and Mungummer--Montgomerys all
good fr'ens now. Bes' ole fam'lies in town. 'Pologize for coming s'
late; no time change my cl