"Tell me that. I'd like to hear you tell it." "Oh, it's nothing except what you probably know. It was evening and I'd been riding all day and thinking about--about a hundred things, Lois, and then suddenly I had a sense that some one was sitting across from me, felt that he'd been there for some time, and had a vague idea that he was another traveller. All at once he leaned over toward me and I heard a voice say: 'I want you to be a priest, that's what I want.' Well I jumped up and cried out, 'Oh, my God, not that!'--made an idiot of myself before about twenty people; you see there wasn't any one sitting there at all. A week after that I went to the Jesuit College in Philadelphia and crawled up the last flight of stairs to the rector's office on my hands and knees." There was another silence and Lois saw that her brother's eyes wore a far-away look, that he was staring unseeingly out over the sunny fields. She was stirred by the modulations of his voice and the sudden silence that seemed to flow about him when he finished speaking. She noticed now that his eyes were of the same fibre as hers, with the green left out, and that his mouth was much gentler, really, than in the picture--or was it that the face had grown up to it lately? He was getting a little bald just on top of his head. She wondered if that was from wearing a hat so much. It seemed awful for a man to grow bald and no one to care about it. "Were you--pious when you were young, Kieth?" she asked. "You know what I mean. Were you religious? If you don't mind these personal questions." "Yes," he said with his eyes still far away--and she felt that his intense abstraction was as much a part of his personality as his attention. "Yes, I suppose I was, when I was--sober." Lois thrilled slightly. "Did you drink?" He nodded. "I was on the way to making a bad hash of things." He smiled and, turning his gray eyes on her, changed the subject. "Child, tell me about mother. I know it's been awfully hard for you there, lately. I know you've had to sacrifice a lot and put up with a great deal and I want you to know how fine of you I think it is. I feel, Lois, that you're sort of taking the place of both of us there." Lois thought quickly how little she had sacrificed; how lately she had constantly avoided her nervous, half-invalid mother. "Youth shouldn't be sacrificed to age, Kieth," she said steadily. "I know," he sighed, "and you oughtn't to have the weight on your shoulders, child. I wish I were there to help you." She saw how quickly he had turned her remark and instantly she knew what this quality was that he gave off. He was SWEET. Her thoughts went of on a side-track and then she broke the silence with an odd remark. "Sweetness is hard," she said suddenly. "What?" "Nothing," she denied in confusion. "I didn't mean to speak aloud. I was thinking of something--of a conversation with a man named Freddy Kebble." "Maury Kebble's brother?"