The phaeton returned from the village. Cato drove the horses into the stable-yard and put them into their stalls, whistling as he fed them and rubbed them down. The twilight was thickening over the fields and meadows. The dew was falling. The nearest hills were no longer observable. Jack, still in his father's arms on the veranda, was asleep; the touch of the child's breath on the man's cheek was a subtle, fragrant thing that conveyed vague delight to his consciousness. Henry rode up to the stable, turned his horse over to Cato, and came toward the house. He was, indeed, like his father in shape, build, and movement. He paused at the foot of the steps, glanced indifferently at Hoag and said: “I passed Sid Trawley back on the mountain-road. He said, tell you he wanted to see you to-night without fail; he said, tell you not to leave till he got here.” “Oh, all right,” Hoag said, with a steady, interested stare at his son, who now stood beside him. “I'll be here.” His voice waked the sleeping child. Jack sat up, rubbed his eyes, and then put a little hand on his father's face. “Dack hungry; Dack want his supper,” he lisped. Hoag-swung him gently to and fro like a woman rocking an infant to sleep. “Hold on!” He was speaking to Henry, and his tone was harsh and abrupt. “Did you water that horse?” Henry leaned in the doorway, idly lashing his legs with his riding-whip. “No; the branch was a quarter of a mile out of the way. Cato will lead him to the well.” “You know better than that,” Hoag growled. “You didn't even tell Cato the horse hadn't been watered. He would let him stay in the lot all night without a drop, hot as he is. Go water 'im now. _Go_, I tell you! You are getting so triflin' you ain't fit to live.” Henry stared, and his stare kindled into a resentful glare. His whip hung steadily by his side. It was as if he were about to retort, but kept silence. “Go 'tend to that horse,” Hoag repeated, “an' don't you ever do a thing like that again. You are none too good to do work o' that sort; I did plenty of it at your age. I had to work like a nigger an' I'm none the worse for it.” Henry stood still. He had his father's temper, and it was being roughly handled. Jack, now thoroughly awake, put both his hands on his father's face and stroked his cheeks soothingly, as if conscious of the storm that was about to break. Then, slowly and with inarticulate mutterings, Henry turned and retraced his steps down the path to the stable. Hoag leaned over till Jack had to clutch the lapels of his coat to keep from falling. “An' don't you raise a row with that nigger, neither,” Hoag called out. “I won't have it. You are not boss about this place.” Henry paused in the path, turned a defiant face toward his father, and stood still for several seconds, then slowly went on to the stable. “Dack want his supper, daddy,” Jack murmured.