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 supper Nils heard exactly how much land each of his eight grown brothers farmed, how their crops were coming on, and how much live stock they were feeding. His mother watched him narrowly as she talked. "You've got better looking, Nils," she remarked abruptly, whereupon he grinned and the children giggled. Eric, although he was eighteen and as tall as Nils, was always accounted a child, being the last of so many sons. His face seemed childlike, too, Nils thought, and he had the open, wandering eyes of a little boy. All the others had been men at his age. After supper Nils went out to the front porch and sat down on the step to smoke a pipe. Mrs. Ericson drew a rocking-chair up near him and began to knit busily. It was one of the few old-world customs she had kept up, for she could not bear to sit with idle hands. "Where's little Eric, Mother?" "He's helping Hilda with the dishes. He does it of his own will; I don't like a boy to be too handy about the house." "He seems like a nice kid." "He's very obedient." Nils smiled a little in the dark. It was just as well to shift the line of conversation. "What are you knitting there, Mother?" "Baby stockings. The boys keep me busy." Mrs. Ericson chuckled and clicked her needles. "How many grandchildren have you?" "Only thirty-one now. Olaf lost his three. They were sickly, like their mother." "I supposed he had a second crop by this time!" "His second wife has no children. She's too proud. She tears about on horseback all the time. But she'll get caught up with, yet. She sets herself very high, though nobody knows what for. They were low enough Bohemians she came of. I never thought much of Bohemians; always drinking."