"Yes, Peter. Twombley has," she faltered. "Where is he?" Peter's mouth gaped. "The letter said that when he came back we'd be proud of him and"--Polly choked--"he begged our pardons--for Maclin. He's gone to that war--over there. He said it was all he could do--with himself, to prove against Maclin." A silence fell in the warm, sunny room. Then Polly spoke with a catch in her voice: "Twombley and Peneluna hold that we better not tell Mary-Clare. Better give Larry a chance to do his proving--before we get any hopes or fears to acting up." "I guess that's sensible," Peter nodded, "he mightn't do it, you know." Polly was watching her brother. She saw the dejection dropping from his face like a mask; the hypnotism of fear and repulsion was losing its hold. "It's powerful hot here!" Peter muttered, wiping his face. "And what in thunder ails that dog?" Ginger was certainly acting queer. He was circling around, sniffing, sniffing, his nose in the air, his tail wagging. He edged over to the door and smelt at the crack. "Fits?" Peter looked concerned. But Polly had an inspiration. "I believe, Peter," she said solemnly, "Ginger smells--spring! I thought I did myself as I came along. There were fluffy green edges by the water. I do love edges, Peter! Let's open the door wide, brother. We get so used to winter, and live so close, that sometimes we don't know spring is near. But it is, Peter, it is always on the edge of winter and God has made dogs terrible knowing. See! There, now, Ginger old fellow, what's the matter?" Polly flung the door open and Ginger gave a glad cry and leaped out. A soft breath of air touched the two gentle old people in the doorway and a fragrance of young, edgy things thrilled them. "Peter dear, spring is here!" Polly said this like a prayer. "Spring!" Peter's voice echoed the sound. Then he turned to the closet for his coat and hat. "Where you going, brother?" The big bulky figure, ready for a new adventure, turned at the door. "Just going to the Point and stand by! We must take care of the old doc's leavings. The iron, that boy of his, and--the rest. Come on, Ginger." Polly watched the two pass from sight and then she readjusted her spectacles to the far-off angle. And while this was occurring at the inn there was a tap on the door of the yellow house, and with its welcoming characteristic in full play, the door swung in, leaving a tall woman on the threshold flushed and apologetic. "I never saw such a responsive door!" she said. "I really knocked very gently. Please tell me how far it is to the inn?" Mary-Clare, her little group of children about her, looked up and smiled. The smile and the eyes made the stranger's breath come a bit quicker. "Just three miles to the south." Mary-Clare came close. "You are walking? I will send my little girl with you. Noreen?" But Jan-an was holding Noreen back. "She's one of them other children of Eve!" she cautioned. "Don't forget the other one!"