Jed answered.

"'Tis, if you want it," he said.

"Want it? Why, Mamma, it's one of the very best mills! It's a
five dollar one, Mamma!"

Mrs. Armstrong protested. "Oh, I couldn't let you do that, Mr.
Winslow," she declared. "It is much too expensive a present. And
besides--"

She checked herself just in time. It had been on the tip of her
tongue to say that she did not know what they could do with it.
Their rooms at Mrs. Smalley's were not large. It was as if a
dweller in a Harlem flat had been presented with a hippopotamus.

The maker of the mill looked about him, plainly seeking a place to
deposit his burden.

"'Tisn't anything much," he said, hastily. "I--I'm real glad for
you to have it."

He was about to put it on top of the cookstove, in which there was
a roaring fire, but Mrs. Armstrong, by a startled exclamation and a
frantic rush, prevented his doing so. So he put it on the table
instead. Barbara thanked him profusely. She was overjoyed; there
were no comparisons with hippopotami in HER mind. Jed seemed
pleased at her appreciation, but he did not smile. Instead he
sighed.

"I--I just thought I wanted her to have it, ma'am," he said,
turning to Mrs. Armstrong. "'Twould keep her from--from forgettin'
me altogether, maybe. . . . Not that there's any real reason why
she should remember me, of course," he added.

Barbara was hurt and indignant.

"Of COURSE I shan't forget you, Mr. Winslow," she declared.
"Neither will Petunia. And neither will Mamma, I know. She feels
awful bad because you don't want us to live here any longer, and--"

"Hush, Babbie, hush!" commanded her mother. Barbara hushed, but
she had said enough. Jed turned a wondering face in their
direction. He stared without speaking.

Mrs. Armstrong felt that some one must say something.

"You mustn't mind what the child says, Mr. Winslow," she explained,
hurriedly. "Of course I realize perfectly that this house is yours
and you certainly have the right to do what you please with your
own. And I have known all the time that we were here merely on
trial."

Jed lifted a big hand.

"Er--er--just a minute, ma'am, please," he begged. "I--I guess my
wooden head is beginnin' to splinter or somethin'. Please answer
me just this--if--if you'd just as soon: Why are you movin' back to
Luretta's?"

It was her turn to look wonderingly at him. "Why, Mr. Winslow,"
she said, after a moment's hesitation, "isn't that rath