“I tried to slip out from Viny the last time, an’ let Lonie stay with her, but it wuzn’t more’n two er three minutes ’fore Lonie come runnin’ out cryin’, an’ showed me her wrist bleedin’ where Viny bit her. Viny cried awful about it when she come to, but Lonie won’t try it any more, so I’ll jest keep at it. I ain’t got to come over an’ hep you any ’bout milkin’ an’ makin’ fires, but you see how it is, an’ I reckon you don’t blame me. I’m studyin’ out how I’ll pay you some time.” “Don’t speak of it again, Serena,” I replied, thankful to have escaped the degradation of lying in bed and letting her come around the curve in the freezing weather to milk for me. A month, perhaps, went by, and the influenza began to climb the mountain. As it drew nearer, I thought of Len’s household, with two invalids already in the crowded cabin, and the prospect took my breath. One morning about daylight I heard Len’s voice calling me, and hurried down the stairs to hear the worst. “Reenie wuz took last night. Looks like she’s goin’ to git bad off. An’ I’ve come to ast you whatever’ll I do about Viny?” “Is this her bad day, Len?” “No, that thing don’t tech her till to-morr’.” I knew what he was expecting me to say, but I launched a surprise that astounded him. “Then hitch up as quickly as you can, put her things in the wagon, and take her back to her father.” His lips made two or three quivering attempts at speech. “I thought maybe you’d----” “No, Len. I can’t take care of Viny. I _won’t_ take care of Viny. And the only thing you can do about it is to take her back to her father.” “I reckon I’ll have to,” he said, in dazed dejection. “How long will it take you to get off?” He glanced at the first rays of the sun, then said: “Two hours’ll do.” “Then in two hours I will be over to say good-by to Viny and take care of Serena until you get back.” He went, his long, stooped back plainly telling me that I had been weighed in the balance and struck the beam of heaven. For about two weeks I was kept in close attendance on Serena and the children. Just as they were getting up, it came my turn to go down. Neighbors, far and near, were ready with kind help, but it was not until Serena walked in, a little pale yet from her own convalescence, and looked down at me with her blue eyes almost hazel dark with feeling, that the temperature of the pillow under my head dropped to a hopeful point. The bland movements of her hands seemed to be fulfilling an old desire. Behind her was the generation of Uncle Lish, who could sit and sing till the fire was out; and hovering with her presence was the never-defined equation that rescues from loneliness the edge of the grave. It did not trouble me to know that on my recovery I was going to be as foolish about Serena as Len and her children.