amp. "You must be Nils. You don't look
very different, anyway."

"Nor you, Mother. You hold your own. Don't you wear glasses yet?"

"Only to read by. Where's your trunk, Nils?"

"Oh, I left that in town. I thought it might not be convenient for
you to have company so near threshing-time."

"Don't be foolish, Nils." Mrs. Ericson turned back to the stove. "I
don't thresh now. I hitched the wheat land onto the next farm and
have a tenant. Hilda, take some hot water up to the company room,
and go call little Eric."

The tow-haired child, who had been standing in mute amazement, took
up the tea-kettle and withdrew, giving Nils a long, admiring look
from the door of the kitchen stairs.

"Who's the youngster?" Nils asked, dropping down on the bench behind
the kitchen stove.

"One of your Cousin Henrik's."

"How long has Cousin Henrik been dead?"

"Six years. There are two boys. One stays with Peter and one with
Anders. Olaf is their guardeen."

There was a clatter of pails on the porch, and a tall, lanky boy
peered wonderingly in through the screen door. He had a fair, gentle
face and big gray eyes, and wisps of soft yellow hair hung down
under his cap. Nils sprang up and pulled him into the kitchen,
hugging him and slapping him on the shoulders. "Well, if it isn't my
kid! Look at the size of him! Don't you know me, Eric?"

The boy reddened under his sunburn and freckles, and hung his head.
"I guess it's Nils," he said shyly.

"You're a good guesser," laughed Nils, giving the lad's hand a
swing. To himself he was thinking: "That's why the little girl
looked so friendly. He's taught her to like me. He was only six when
I went away, and he's remembered for twelve years."

Eric stood fumbling with his cap and smiling. "You look just like I
thought you would," he ventured.

"Go wash your hands, Eric," called Mrs. Ericson. "I've got cob corn
for supper, Nils. You used to like it. I guess you don't get much of
that in the old country. Here's Hilda; she'll take you up to your
room. You'll want to get the dust off you before you eat."

Mrs. Ericson went into the dining-room to lay another plate, and the
little girl came up and nodded to Nils as if to let him know that
his room was ready. He put out his hand and she took it, with a
startled glance up at his face. Little Eric dropped his towel, threw
an arm about Nils and one about Hilda, gave them a clumsy squeeze,
and then stumbled out to the porch.

During suppe