Luke King was hot, damp with perspiration, and covered with the red dust of the mountain road when he reached the four-roomed cabin of his step-father among the stunted pines and gnarled wild cedars. Old Mark Bruce sat out in front of the door. He wore no shoes nor coat, and his hickory shirt and trousers had been patched many times. His gray hair was long, sunburned, and dyed with the soil, and the corrugated skin of his cheeks and neck was covered with long hairs. As his step-son came into view from behind the pine-pole pig-pen, the old man uttered a grunt of surprise that brought to the doorway two young women in unadorned home-spun dresses, and a tall, lank young man in his shirt-sleeves. It was growing dark, and they all failed to recognize the new-comer. "I suppose you have forgotten me," King said, as he put his valise on a wash-bench by a tub of suds and a piggin of lye-soap. "By Jacks, it’s Luke King!" After that ejaculation of the old man he and the others stared speechlessly. "Yes, that’s who I am," continued King. "How do you do, Jake?" (to the tall young man in the doorway). "We might as well shake hands for the sake of old times. You girls have grown into women since I left. I’ve stayed away a long time and seen a lot of the world, but I’ve always wanted to get back. Where is mother?" Neither of the girls could summon up the courage to answer, and, as they gave him their stiff hands, they seemed under stress of great embarrassment. "She’s poorly," said the old man, inhospitably keeping his seat. "She’s had a hurtin’ in ’er side from usin’ that thar battlin’ stick too much on dirty clothes, hoein’ corn an’ one thing an’ another, an’ a cold settled on her chest. Mary, go tell yore ma her son’s turned up at last. Huh, all of us, except her, thought you was dead an’ under ground! She’s always contended you was alive an’ had a job somers that was payin’ enough to feed an’ clothe you. How’s times been a-servin’ you?" "Pretty well." King removed his valise from the bench and took its place wearily. "Is that so? Things is worse than ever here. Whar have you been hangin’ out?" "Seattle was the last place," King answered. "I’ve worked in several towns since I left here." "Huh, about as I expected! An’ I reckon you hain’t got much to show fer it except what you got on yore back an’ in that carpet-bag." "That’s about all." "What you been followin’?" "Doing newspaper work," replied the young man, coloring. "I ’lowed you might keep at that. You used to git a dollar a day at Canton, I remember. Married?" "No." "Hain’t able to support a woman, I reckon. Well, you’ve showed a great lot o’ good sense thar; a feller of the wishy-washy, drift-about sort, like you, can sorter manage to shift fer hisself ef he hain’t hampered by a pack o’ children an’ a sick woman." At this juncture Mary returned. She flushed as she caught King’s expectant glance. She spoke to her father. "She said tell ’im to come in thar."