He smiled tolerantly upon her.

"Something has occurred to make you bitter, Nan. You're not like the
girl I used to know before I went away to school. If it will help to
restore me to your previous good opinion, however, please believe that
when I waved at you last night, simultaneously I made up my mind to
make an early visit to the Sawdust Pile. The discovery that these
cattle have intruded upon you and your old father, because you were
unable to defend yourselves and no one in Port Agnew would defend you,
merely hastened my visit. I couldn't in decency come any earlier;
could I, Nan? It's just half after eight. And if you're going to keep
me standing at the gate, as if I were a sewing-machine agent instead
of a very old friend, I _may_ conclude to take offense and regret that
I called."

"Oh, I'm sorry! Please forgive me, Donald. I'm so much alone--so very
lonely--I suppose I grow suspicious of people and their motives."

"Say no more about it, Nan. May I come in, then, to greet Caleb and
your husband?"

"Father is in the house. I'll call him out, Donald. As for my
husband--" She hesitated, glanced out across the bight, and then
resolutely faced him. "You cannot have heard all of the town gossip,
then?"

"I hadn't even heard of your marriage. The first I knew of it was when
his little nibs here hailed me, and asked me if I was his father.
Then he informed me he was your boy. He's a lovely child, Nan, and I
have been the recipient of some of his extremely moist kisses."

She realized that he was too courteous to ask whether her husband was
dead or if there had been a divorce.

"I'm rather glad you haven't heard, Donald," she replied evenly. "I
much prefer to tell you myself; then you will understand why I cannot
invite you into our house, and why you must not be seen talking to me
here at the gate. I am not married. I have never been married. My
baby's name is--Brent, and I call him Donald, after the only male
human being that has ever been truly kind to my father and me."

"Ah," said Donald quietly, "so that's why he misses his father and
appears to want one so very much."

She gazed forlornly out to sea and answered with a brief nod.
Seemingly she had long since ceased to be tragic over her pitiful
tragedy.

"Well," he replied philosophically, "life is quite filled with a
number of things, and some of them make for great unhappiness." He
stooped and lifted the baby in his great arms. "You're named after