ate," Hugh cried as John came from the bedroom, fresh and
well groomed as if he had not done barn chores a few minutes before.

The reading was part of John Hunter's play world. John was not a man of
scholarly tastes, but reading, like the use of the hairbrush he had just
laid down, was good form: they were both part of the world to which John
wished to belong. A book might or might not relate to that world, but it
was a book and seemed to do so, and while John Hunter might or might not
get much intellectual advancement out of a book, he got advancement out of
sitting in Hugh Noland's presence and opening his heart to the love and
respect Hugh commanded from him. John did not close himself off from
Hugh's influence as he did from Elizabeth's, and the things he refused to
take from her he adopted and readily set into action at Hugh's
suggestion.

It was destined to be the last night in which John was to be permitted the
comfort of this new feature of home life, however. As they were gathered
about the breakfast table a man rode into the lane and called John Hunter
to the door without getting off his horse.

"Doc Morgan was goin' past my house this mornin' an' asked me if I'd bring
this over t' you. 'E said it came after you left town, an' th' agent
didn't know how t' git over t' you 'thout he was comin' this way this
mornin'. Hope it ain't no bad news."

He waited to see John tear open the envelope and read the telegram.

"My mother's sick," was John's hurried statement as he turned toward the
house.

Hugh drove John Hunter to the station. The sun was hot and he had read
till nearly midnight the night before, and, busy season though it was, he
thought it best not to start home till toward night. Doctor Morgan had
returned home and Hugh, as was his custom, went to the office for a chat.
It was one of the chief delights of both to have an hour together.

"Do they get along well together--Hunter and his wife?" Doctor Morgan
asked after he had taken Hugh's health into account.

"You'd think so if you'd heard the directions I received for her care just
now," Hugh answered with a laugh.

"Well, I don't care--I couldn't make him understand about her when she was
sick. He let that squalling brat crawl over her, and let her do baking and
things she wasn't fit to do till she was worn out," the old doctor said
resentfully. Then added as an afterthought, "Say! You're not letting him
run you into debt, are you?"

"No debts