It was of this Bill was thinking as he went along. He had been sent to get the mail and to meet the morning train from San Francisco for the purpose of enticing a few boarders to the Jones establishment if possible. He should have been home hours ago with the mail, and there were some odd jobs awaiting him, but he had dallied in the little local town. This was his usual habit, for, like a good many lonely souls, Bill was also a social one. People liked to buy Bill drinks and cigars in the tavern and listen to his yarns. But to-day Bill was lingering intentionally; he knew that his wife and Millie expected to take him into consultation this afternoon in regard to the critical state of the family affairs. Naturally Bill dreaded such a proceeding, but there was something more than that to it to-day. His old heart, usually full of happy-go-lucky sunshine, was harboring shadows, for he knew that he ought to help and wanted to. But how? As he had turned slowly homeward, Lightnin' hadn't the faintest idea. Then suddenly, when about a mile from the house, Bill paused in the middle of the trail, chuckled, and then sat down on a fallen tree. He pushed back his battered old hat, drew a bag of tobacco and a Manila paper from his pocket, and rolled himself a cigarette. All signs and manifestations indicated that Bill Jones was overwhelmed by an idea. He sat puffing the cigarette and grinning to himself for a few minutes; then he arose slowly and ambled on; but now the amble was not so aimless. It had a suggestion of the walk of a man with a purpose, and there was a gleam of satisfaction and humorous self-importance in his half-shut eyes. Nearing the house, he observed his wife sitting on the broad veranda, rocking to and fro, obviously on the watch for him. From force of habit, Bill tried to make a detour with the intent of entering unseen through the back door; but, knowing his ways, Mrs. Jones was too quick for him. She called to him, and, with the air of one who had no intention whatever of entering by the back door, he came up on the porch and dropped into a chair beside her. "Well, mother," he said, amiably, "you look all tuckered out. Glad to see you restin'." "Where you been all day?" she asked, ignoring his remark. Her tone was none too tender, but there was a gentle gleam in her motherly, tired eyes as they sought her husband's, sheepishly hiding behind half-closed lids. "Just takin' a look at town," Bill drawled. "Just takin' a look." He settled himself comfortably in his chair and rolled a cigarette. "Don't you know there's some new boarders come?" "Sure," said Bill, easily. "I sent 'em, didn't I? Told 'em you was the best cook in two states, mother. Guess I ought to know." Millie, an apron over her neat and simple house dress, came out and drew a chair between her foster-parents. She glanced quickly from one to the other, and then her gentle brown eyes came to rest lovingly on old Bill. He returned her smile.