all, roots and all, of its own
weight. If I go and live there and just am one more person who respects
them when they deserve it, it'll help _that_ much, maybe, don't you
think?"

Paul had understood more what Mr. Welles' face and voice said to him
than the words. He kept on looking into the old man's eyes. Something
deep inside Paul said "yes" to what Mr. Welles' eyes were asking him.

"How about it, Paul?" asked the old man.

The child gave a start, climbed up beside him, and took hold of his
hand. "How about it? How about it?" asked Mr. Welles in a very low tone.

The little boy nodded. "Maybe," he said briefly. His lips shook.
Presently he sniffed and drew his sleeve across his nose. He held the
old hand tightly.

"Oh dear!" he said again, in a small, miserable voice.

The old man made no answer.

The two sat motionless, leaning against each other. A ray of sun found
the newly opened spot in the roof of the woods, and it seemed to Paul it
pointed a long steady finger down on the fallen beech.

At first Paul's throat ached, and his eyes smarted. He felt heavy and
sore, as though he hadn't eaten the right thing for lunch.

But by and by this went away. A quiet came all over him, so that he was
better than happy. He laid his head against Mr. Welles' shoulder and
looked up into the worn, pale old face, which was now also very quiet
and still as though he too were better than happy.

He held Paul close to him.

Paul had a great many mixed-up thoughts. But there was one that was
clear. He said to himself solemnly, "I guess I know who I want to be
like when I grow up."

* * * * *

By and by, he stirred and said, "Well, I guess I better start to pack
up. Don't you bother. I'll pack the things away. Mother showed me how to
clean the frying-pan with sand and moss."

CHAPTER XIV

BESIDE THE ONION-BED

July 10.

Marise pulled nervously and rapidly at the weeds among the onions, and
wiped away with her sleeve the drops that ran down her hot, red face.
She was not rebellious at the dusty, tiresome task, nor aware of the
merciless heat of the early-summer sun. She was not indeed thinking at
all of what she was doing, except that the physical effort of stooping
and reaching and pulling was a relief to her, made slightly less
oppressive the thunder-heavy moral atmosphere she breathed. She was
trying to think, but the different impressions came rushing into her
mind with s