unk, caught my eye. I crept toward that
shotgun. I trembled with anticipatory pleasure. God, but now I would pay
him back!...

But it was too heavy. I had struggled and brought it up, however, half
to my shoulder, when that uncanny instinct that sometimes comes to
people in mortal danger, came to Uncle Lan. He looked about.

He went as pale as a sheet of paper.

"--God, Johnnie!" he almost screamed my name.

I dropped the gun in the grass, sullenly, never speaking.

"Johnnie, were you--were you?" he faltered, unnerved.

"Yes, I was going to give you both barrels ... and I'm sorry I didn't."

All his desire to whip me had gone up like smoke.

"Yes, and I'll tell you what, you big, dirty ----, I'll kill you yet,
when I grow big."

* * * * *

That night I fainted at supper. When Granma put me to bed she saw how
bruised and wealed I was all over ... for the first time she went after
Uncle Lan--turned into a furious thing.

* * * * *

Shortly after, I was taken sick with typhoid fever. They used the
starvation cure for it, in those days. When they began to give me solid
food, I chased single grains of rice that fell out of the plate, about
the quilt, just as a jeweller would pearls, if a necklace of them broke.

* * * * *

With my recovery came news, after many days, of my father.

The Hunkies were pushing out the Irish from the mills--cheaper labour.
My grandmother could not afford to board the Hunkies, they lived so
cheaply. Renewed poverty was breaking our household up.

My grandmother was about to begin her living about from house to house
with her married sons and daughters.

My father was sending for me to come East. He had a good job there in
the Composite Works at Haberford. He was at last able to take care of
his son--his only child.

* * * * *

My grandmother and my aunt Millie took me to the railroad station. I
tried to be brave and not cry. I succeeded, till the train began to pull
out. Then I cried very much.

The face of my grandmother pulled awry with grief and flowing tears.
Aunt Millie wept, too.

No, I wouldn't leave them. I would stay with them, work till I was rich
and prosperous, never marry, give all my life to taking care of them, to
saving them from the bitter grinding poverty we had shared together.

I ran into the vestibule. But the train was gatherin