n
since he sold that little house of his that he built all by himself,
working nights, with nothing but an old saw and a second-hand hammer.
His wife was left a fortune right after and made Curley sell and build
her a cement block villa over on Broadway. She won't even let Curley
walk down this way, though they say he hates her villa and just hankers
for this little bit of a home he built himself here ten years ago.

"Well--by the holy smoke--look yonder! I'm seeing things to-day. Why
there's Dudley Rivers and James D. Austin, that holy man, and he's
actually bowing to me. Now what do you know about that? What's going
on in this town to-day, anyhow? It must be something unusual to bring
out a crowd like that."

Frank's lower jaw suddenly dropped. Sudden suspicion leaped into his
gray-blue eyes. He turned to the man who all afternoon had been
helping him build his chicken house.

"Say--who in hell--are you anyhow?"

And Cynthia's son mopped his thick hair and looked as suddenly
dumfounded. After that he grinned.

"For pity sakes--don't you know me? Why, you were pointed out to me
the very second week I came as the town atheist. I supposed of course
I had been pointed out to you. I'm Cynthia Churchill's son. I buried
father and mother in India and then came home, as they wanted me to.
And I'm glad I came. It's home and these Green Valley folks are my
people. They have made me feel welcome. I supposed everybody knew me
from seeing me about town."

For a long while Frank said nothing. With the explanation his
momentary anger and amazement died away. He was remembering,
remembering Cynthia Churchill. Why, he remembered as though it was
yesterday that when she was twenty he was ten. And he had loved her
because she had once helped him to tie up his pet chicken's broken leg.

And so this tall big chap with the glad eyes was Cynthia's son! Years
ago the mother had tied up his pet hen's leg. And to-day her son had
helped him build his most pretentious hen house.

"No," said Frank at last, "I didn't know you were the chap from India.
I thought you belonged up in one of those new bungalows. Of course,
that accounts for the crowd. Why, we've been making history here in
this back yard this afternoon. The atheist and the preacher building a
chicken coop! Oh, say, John, Green Valley will be talking about this
fifty years from now. Let's have some buttermilk. This thing has just
about knocked me ov