M’rye swiftly wiped her hands on her apron and glided rather than walked toward the forward end of the barn. Janey Wilcox and I followed close upon her heels, dodging together under the wagon-pole, and emerging, breathless and wild with curiosity, on the fringe of an excited group. In the centre of this group, standing with a satisfied smile on his face, his general appearance considerably the worse for wear, but in demeanor, to quote M’rye’s subsequent phrase, “as cool as Cuffy,” was Ni Hagadorn. CHAPTER XIV--FINIS HE’S all right; you can look for him here right along now, any day; he _was_ hurt a leetle, but he’s as peart an’ chipper now as a blue-jay on a hick’ry limb; yes, he’s a-comin’ right smack home!” This was the gist of the assurances which Ni vouchsafed to the first rush of eager questions--to his sister, and M’rye, and Janey Wilcox. Abner had held a little aloof, to give the weaker sex a chance. Now he reasserted himself once more: “Stan’ back, now, and give the young man breathin’ room. Janey, hand a chair for’ard--that’s it. Now set ye down, Ni, an’ take your own time, an’ tell us all about it. So you reely found him, eh?” “Pshaw! there ain’t anything to that,” expostulated Ni, seating himself with nonchalance, and tilting back his chair. “_That_ was easy as rollin’ off a log. But what’s the matter _here?_ That’s what knocks me. We--that is to say, I--come up on a freight train to a ways beyond Juno Junction, an’ got the conductor to slow up and let me drop off, an’ footed it over the hill. It was jest about broad daylight when I turned the divide. Then I began lookin’ for your house, an’ I’m lookin’ for it still. There’s a hole out there, full o’ snow an’ smoke, but nary a house. How’d it happen?” “‘Lection bonfire--high wind--woodshed must ‘a’ caught,” replied Abner, sententiously. “So you reely got down South, eh?” “An’ Siss here, too,” commented Ni, with provoking disregard for the farmer’s suggestions; “a reg’lar family party. An’, hello!” His roving eye had fallen upon the recumbent form on the made-up bed, under the muffling blankets, and he lifted his sandy wisps of eyebrows in inquiry. “Sh! It’s father,” explained Esther. “He isn’t feeling very well. I think he’s asleep.” The boy’s freckled, whimsical face melted upon reflection into a distinct grin. “Why,” he said, “you’ve been havin’ a reg’lar old love-feast up here. I guess it was _that_ that set the house on fire! An’ speakin’ o’ feasts, if you’ve got a mouthful o’ somethin’ to eat handy--” The women were off like a shot to the impromptu larder at the far end of the barn. “Well, thin,” put in Hurley, taking advantage of their absence, “an’ had ye the luck to see anny rale fightin’?” “Never mind that,” said Abner; “when he gits around to it he’ll tell us everything. But, fust of all--why, he knows what I want to hear about.” “Why, the last time I talked with you, Abner--” Ni began, squinting up one of his eyes and giving a quaint drawl to his words.