“Glad you’ve moved to Athens, Mr. Atkins.” Athens was the name of our town. “We’ve seen quite a little of Catty, and we hope you’re both going to stay here.” “Um!...” says Mr. Atkins. “Catty’s been mentionin’ it.” “Haven’t reached a decision?” “Catty hain’t sure he wants to stay.” “If he were sure, and wanted to stay very much, what would you do?” “Stay,” says Mr. Atkins, very short and prompt. “Why?” “Because I hain’t got nothin’ to do in this world but look after Catty and kind of make him glad he’s alive. Folks ought to be glad they’re alive. I be. I don’t want Catty to grow up and think that I ever denied him anythin’ that I could give to him that wasn’t harmful. Yes, if Catty says stay, why, we stay.” “And what _do_ you say, Catty?” “I don’t say nothin’ yet. I hain’t ready to say. I got to think about a lot of things, and make up my mind what we’d do if we was to stay, and if Dad could be happy stayin’ instead of movin’ around. If Dad wouldn’t be happy I wouldn’t ever stay, even if I wanted to so bad I couldn’t stand it.” “I like to hear you say that,” says Dad. “If you won’t figger it’s bad manners,” says Catty, “I want to go off alone and kind of wander around and figger things out. I don’t want nobody with me—not even Dad. As soon’s I know what’s best I’ll come and let you know about it.” “Go ahead,” says Dad. “That’s the way to go after things. Reason them out. Don’t take anybody’s word for it, but make sure yourself.” “I’m a-goin’ to,” says Catty, and off he went. Dad and I stayed there and talked to Mr. Atkins. It was mighty interesting, for he had been so many places and he had a funny kind of a way to tell about them, and then he had some notions that was funny, too. We had a good time, and when we started home Dad and Mr. Atkins shook hands again, and Dad said that he hoped Mr. Atkins would live there, because he liked to talk to him, and Mr. Atkins said that if he _did_ come to live there Dad would make it a heap easier. It was about nine o’clock that night when somebody rang our bell and Dad went to the door. It was Catty, because I heard his voice. He didn’t say good evening, or anything else but jest one sentence: “We’re a-goin’ to stay.” “Good for you,” says Dad, and held out his hand. Catty shook it a minute, and then, without a word, he turned and ran down the steps and disappeared into the dark. I was glad he was going to stay, because I liked him and I liked his Dad. My Dad was glad, too. Mother says: “I hope it’s best. They’ll have some hard things to put up with—especially the boy.” “I’m not worrying about the boy,” says Dad, “now that his mind is made up.” Somehow I didn’t worry about Catty, either. CHAPTER IV