nce don't put on any airs at all, so why in the name of heaven you
all--"

"Well, well, don't get all excited, Belle. But if education was
ketching, a lot of the boys would be rollin' their beds. I'm going to
town. Anything yuh want brought out?"

Belle did not answer. She went away to the house with her hatful of
chicks, and put them into a box close to the stove until the mother
hen made sure whether the four other eggs were anything more than just
stale eggs. It would have been hard for Belle to explain just what the
heaviness in her heart portended. Certainly it was not in her nature
to worry over trifles,--yet these were apparent trifles that worried
her. On the surface of the Devil's Tooth life only faint ripples
stirred, but Belle felt somehow as though she were floating in a frail
boat over a quiet pool from whose depths some unspeakable monster
might presently thrust an ominous head and drag her under.

In the crude yet wholly adequate bathroom she heard a great splashing,
and guessed that it was Lance, refreshing himself after his trip.
That, she supposed, was another point that set him apart from the
other boys. From June to September, whenever any of the male
inhabitants of the Devil's Tooth felt the need of ablutions beyond the
scope of a blue enamel wash basin, he took a limp towel and rode down
across the pasture to the creek, and swam for half an hour or so in a
certain deep pool. Sometimes all of the boys went, at sundown, and
filled the pool with their splashings. Only Lance availed himself of
tub and soap and clean towels, and shaved every morning before
breakfast.

She heard him moving about in his room, heard him go into the kitchen
and ask Riley what the chances were for something to eat. She did not
follow him, but she waited, expecting that he would come into the
living room afterwards. She went to the piano and drummed a few bars
of a new dance hit Lance had brought home for her, and with her head
turned sidewise listened to the sound of his footsteps in the next
room, his occasional, pleasantly throaty tones answering Riley's
high-pitched, nasal twang.

Her eyes blurred with unreasoning tears. He was her youngest. He was
so big, so handsome, so like Tom,--yet so different! She did not
believe that Tom could really see anything to cavil at in Lance's
presence, in his changed personality. Tom, she thought, was secretly
as proud of Lance as she was, and only pretended to sneer at him to
hid