“She was in the woods with Frank Washburn. I ran onto them. They were having quite a time.” His father was not looking at him. “What were they doing?” “I didn’t stay to find out.” “Tell me what they were doing.” “I don’t know,” his father said. “I just heard them threshing around.” “How did you know it was them?” “I saw them.” “I thought you said you didn’t see them.” “Oh, yes, I saw them.” “Who was it with her?” Nick asked. “Frank Washburn.” “Were they—were they——” “Were they what?” “Were they happy?” “I guess so.” His father got up from the table and went out the kitchen screen door. When he came back Nick was looking at his plate. He had been crying. “Have some more?” His father picked up the knife to cut the pie. “No,” said Nick. “You better have another piece.” “No, I don’t want any.” His father cleared off the table. “Where were they in the woods?” Nick asked. “Up back of the camp.” Nick looked at his plate. His father said, “You better go to bed, Nick.” “All right.” Nick went into his room, undressed, and got into bed. He heard his father moving around in the living-room. Nick lay in the bed with his face in the pillow. “My heart’s broken,” he thought. “If I feel this way my heart must be broken.” After a while he heard his father blow out the lamp and go into his own room. He heard a wind come up in the trees outside and felt it come in cool through the screen. He lay for a long time with his face in the pillow, and after a while he forgot to think about Prudence and finally he went to sleep. When he awoke in the night he heard the wind in the hemlock trees outside the cottage and the waves of the lake coming in on the shore, and he went back to sleep. In the morning there was a big wind blowing and the waves were running high up on the beach and he was awake a long time before he remembered that his heart was broken. A CANARY FOR ONE THE train passed very quickly a long, red stone house with a garden and four thick palm-trees with tables under them in the shade. On the other side was the sea. Then there was a cutting through red stone and clay, and the sea was only occasionally and far below against rocks. “I bought him in Palermo,” the American lady said. “We only had an hour ashore and it was Sunday morning. The man wanted to be paid in dollars and I gave him a dollar and a half. He really sings very beautifully.” It was very hot in the train and it was very hot in the _lit salon_ compartment. There was no breeze came through the open window. The American lady pulled the window-blind down and there was no more sea, even occasionally. On the other side there was glass, then the corridor, then an open window, and outside the window were dusty trees and an oiled road and flat fields of grapes, with gray-stone hills behind them.