They trotted down the long hill, the wagon jolting. At the farmhouse everybody got down. Mrs. Garner unlocked the door, went inside, and came out with a lamp in her hand. Carl and Nick unloaded the things from the back of the wagon. Frank sat on the front seat to drive to the barn and put up the horses. Nick went up the steps and opened the kitchen door. Mrs. Garner was building a fire in the stove. She turned from pouring kerosene on the wood. “Good-by, Mrs. Garner,” Nick said. “Thanks for taking me.” “Oh shucks, Nickie.” “I had a wonderful time.” “We like to have you. Won’t you stay and eat some supper?” “I better go. I think Dad probably waited for me.” “Well, get along then. Send Carl up to the house, will you?” “All right.” “Good-night, Nickie.” “Good-night, Mrs. Garner.” Nick went out the farmyard and down to the barn. Joe and Frank were milking. “Good-night,” Nick said. “I had a swell time.” “Good-night, Nick,” Joe Garner called. “Aren’t you going to stay and eat?” “No, I can’t. Will you tell Carl his mother wants him?” “All right. Good-night, Nickie.” Nick walked barefoot along the path through the meadow below the barn. The path was smooth and the dew was cool on his bare feet. He climbed a fence at the end of the meadow, went down through a ravine, his feet wet in the swamp mud, and then climbed up through the dry beech woods until he saw the lights of the cottage. He climbed over the fence and walked around to the front porch. Through the window he saw his father sitting by the table, reading in the light from the big lamp. Nick opened the door and went in. “Well, Nickie,” his father said, “was it a good day?” “I had a swell time, Dad. It was a swell Fourth of July.” “Are you hungry?” “You bet.” “What did you do with your shoes?” “I left them in the wagon at Garner’s.” “Come on out to the kitchen.” Nick’s father went ahead with the lamp. He stopped and lifted the lid of the ice-box. Nick went on into the kitchen. His father brought in a piece of cold chicken on a plate and a pitcher of milk and put them on the table before Nick. He put down the lamp. “There’s some pie too,” he said. “Will that hold you?” “It’s grand.” His father sat down in a chair beside the oilcloth-covered table. He made a big shadow on the kitchen wall. “Who won the ball game?” “Petoskey. Five to three.” His father sat watching him eat and filled his glass from the milk-pitcher. Nick drank and wiped his mouth on his napkin. His father reached over to the shelf for the pie. He cut Nick a big piece. It was huckleberry pie. “What did you do, Dad?” “I went out fishing in the morning.” “What did you get?” “Only perch.” His father sat watching Nick eat the pie. “What did you do this afternoon?” Nick asked. “I went for a walk up by the Indian camp.” “Did you see anybody?” “The Indians were all in town getting drunk.” “Didn’t you see anybody at all?” “I saw your friend, Prudie.” “Where was she?”