Within the house, Azalea was lying on the settle in his mother’s clean kitchen. She looked small and white-faced, and her large eyes, which followed Ma McBirney everywhere, were more than ever like “Job’s tears.” She came to the table when Ma McBirney called her, but she could eat nothing—only drink a little of the warm milk, and her hand trembled so that she could hardly hold the cup to her lips. And neither was Ma McBirney eating. Her face was white, too, and her eyes full of trouble. Jim knew very well what the matter was. She couldn’t bear to have this nice little girl go away in the company of “bad folks”—for that was how Mary McBirney would call the show people. Almost nothing was said while they were at the table, but when supper was over Pa McBirney remarked: “Me and you’ll wash up the dishes to-night, Jim.” “Ain’t ma well?” Jim asked. “Ma’s well enough, but she’s got something better to do,” was all the answer he got. Pa began washing the dishes, and Jim wondered why it was that he made such a noise about it. Jim was told to build up more fire, too, which seemed strange, for the room was quite warm enough. But he did as he was told. The door stood open onto the porch-like room, but no one could see in unless he came up on the porch, for the solid wooden window shutters had been closed. The fire set up a great crackling, and that and the rattling of the dishes made it seem as if a great deal was going on there in the room. But, really, not very much was going on, for Ma McBirney and Azalea had slipped out of the back door and had not come back again. Outside, the voices of the men and the stamping of the horses could be heard, and by and by some one called: “Hulloa there! Hulloa, I say!” “Hulloa!” answered Jim’s father. “We’re ready to go,” called the other voice. “All right,” answered Pa McBirney. “I wish you luck.” One of the show women came up on the porch and looked in the door. “We’ll take that girl off your hands now,” she said, “and thank you for your trouble.” “No trouble at all, ma’am,” said pa politely. “A pleasure, ma’am.” “If you’ll just tell me where she is,” Betty Bowen went on, looking into the room and seeing no one there but Jim and his father, “I’ll go for her.” “It’s my impression,” said pa slowly, “that my wife and the girl walked on down the mountain a piece. If you’ll follow the road maybe you’ll catch up with ’em. Maybe.” “See here!” said Mrs. Bowen angrily. “I want that there girl and I want her quick.” “It don’t seem as if we did anything very quick up here,” said pa gently. “It’s our way to take our time about things.” The woman looked at pa and her face turned red. Then she said some things that Jim wondered at, and after that she went for the men. They came storming back, and Sisson wedged himself in the doorway. “Where’s that girl, McBirney?” he demanded. “I don’t seem to rightly know,” said pa, with his slowest drawl. “Where’s your old woman, then?”