"No? Well, that's unfortunate." Donald stooped and lifted the tike to his shoulder, marveling the while that such a cherub could be the product of any of the denizens of the Sawdust Pile. At once, the boy's arms went round his neck and a velvet cheek was laid close to his. "You're an affectionate little snooks, aren't you?" Donald commented. "Do you live here?" "Yes, sir." "Somebody's been teaching you manners. Whose little boy are you?" "Muvver's." "And who might mother be?" "Nan Brent." "Yo-ho! So you're Nan Brent's boy! What's your name?" "Donald Brent." "No; that isn't it, son. Brent is your mother's name. Tell me your father's name." "Ain't got no farver." "Well then, run along to your mother." He kissed the child and set him down just as a young woman came down the sadly neglected shell walk from Caleb Brent's little white house. Donald opened the gate and advanced to meet her. "I'm sure you must be Nan," he said, "although I can't be certain. I haven't seen Nan in six years." She extended her hand "Yes; I'm Nan," she replied, "and you're Donald McKaye. You're a man now, but somehow you haven't changed greatly." "It's fine to meet you again, Nan." He shook her hand enthusiastically. She smiled a little sadly. "I saw you at colors last night, Donald. When your flag came down and the gun was fired, I knew you'd remembered." "Were you glad?" he demanded, and immediately wondered why he had asked such a childish question. "Yes, I was, Donald. It has been a long time since--since--the gun has been fired--for me. So long since we were children, Donald." "You weren't at the barbecue yesterday. I missed you and Caleb. You two are very old friends of mine, Nan. Was it quite loyal of you to stay home?" "You're the only person that missed us, Donald," she answered, with just the suspicion of a tremor in her sweet voice. "But, then, we are accustomed to being left out of things." He made no effort to formulate an answer to this. Truth does not require an answer. Yet he was sensible of a distinct feeling of sympathy for her, and, manlike, he decided to change the topic of conversation. "You have neighbors on the Sawdust Pile, Nan." "Yes. They came when The Laird was in Europe." "They would never have dared it had he been in Port Agnew. I'm surprised that Andrew Daney permitted it. I had thought of him as a man of courage, but, strange to say, these people outgamed him." "They didn't outgame him, Donald. He just didn't care. I--I--fancy he concluded they would make agreeable neighbors--for me." "I'm sorry, Nan. However, I'm the new laird of Tyee, and I've come down to stage an eviction. I didn't know of this state of affairs until this morning." She smiled a little wistfully and bitterly.