ted by the thought of his mother, alone
in that big house that had sent forth so many men. Her unkindness
now seemed so little, and her loneliness so great. He remembered
everything she had ever done for him: how frightened she had been
when he tore his hand in the corn-sheller, and how she wouldn't let
Olaf scold him. When Nils went away he didn't leave his mother all
alone, or he would never have gone. Eric felt sure of that.

The train whistled. The conductor came in, smiling not unkindly.
"Well, young man, what are you going to do? We stop at Red Oak in
three minutes."

"Yes, thank you. I'll let you know." The conductor went out, and the
boy doubled up with misery. He couldn't let his one chance go like
this. He felt for his breast pocket and crackled Nils' kind letter
to give him courage. He didn't want Nils to be ashamed of him. The
train stopped. Suddenly he remembered his brother's kind, twinkling
eyes, that always looked at you as if from far away. The lump in his
throat softened. "Ah, but Nils, Nils would _understand_!" he
thought. "That's just it about Nils; he always understands."

A lank, pale boy with a canvas telescope stumbled off the train to
the Red Oak siding, just as the conductor called, "All aboard!"

* * * * *

The next night Mrs. Ericson was sitting alone in her wooden
rocking-chair on the front porch. Little Hilda had been sent to bed
and had cried herself to sleep. The old woman's knitting was in her
lap, but her hands lay motionless on top of it. For more than an
hour she had not moved a muscle. She simply sat, as only the
Ericsons and the mountains can sit. The house was dark, and there
was no sound but the croaking of the frogs down in the pond of the
little pasture.

Eric did not come home by the road, but across the fields, where no
one could see him. He set his telescope down softly in the kitchen
shed, and slipped noiselessly along the path to the front porch. He
sat down on the step without saying anything. Mrs. Ericson made no
sign, and the frogs croaked on. At last the boy spoke timidly.

"I've come back, Mother."

"Very well," said Mrs. Ericson.

Eric leaned over and picked up a little stick out of the grass.

"How about the milking?" he faltered.

"That's been done, hours ago."

"Who did you get?"

"Get? I did it myself. I can milk as good as any of you."

Eric slid along the step nearer to her. "Oh, Mother, why did you?"
he asked so