The table cleared, Pippin washed his hands and arms at the sink, and joined Mr. and Mrs. Baxter on the back porch. Soon two pipes were puffing, and three rocking chairs (Buster had unwillingly gone bedward) creaked and whined comfortably. It was a soft, dark night, just cool enough for comfort, Pippin thought, and yet warm enough--well, warm enough for comfort, too. The back porch looked out on a little gully, the bed of a stream that flowed through Kingdom to join the river near at hand. White birches grew on the steep banks--you could see them glimmering through the dark--and the place was full of fireflies; the stream murmured drowsily over its pebbles. "Green grass!" murmured Pippin. "Now wouldn't it give you a pain to think of leavin' this?" They were three tired people--Mrs. Baxter had done a big ironing, and the baker had missed Pippin sorely--and for some time were content to sit silent, rocking softly, breathing tranquilly, "just letting go," as Mrs. Baxter put it. But after a half-hour of this pleasant peace, Pippin sighed, knocked the ashes from his pipe, and sat up straight in his chair. "Now, folks," he said, "I've got to talk." Mrs. Baxter woke out of a comfortable doze; Mr. Baxter straightened himself and knocked out his own ashes. "That's right!" he said. "We'll be pleased to hear you, Pippin. I heard you tellin' Buster, and it sounded real interestin'. Fire away!" "Well!" said Pippin ruefully. "I'm in hopes you won't be any _too_ well pleased, Father Baxter. The heft of what I have to say is in four words: I got to leave!" The rocking chairs creaked with startled emphasis. "You ain't, Pippin!" "You don't mean it, Pippin!" "You're jokin'! He's jokin', mother, can't you see?" "I wish't I was!" sighed Pippin. "I tell you, Mr. and Mrs., I don't want to leave, no way, shape, or manner; but yet I got to. Lemme tell you, and you'll see for yourselves. First place, I got to tell Mis' Baxter about before I come here. Yes, Boss, I just plain _got_ to! I meant all along to tell her before I left, but I've kind of put it off--the further I get from that feller I used to be, the worse I hate him! Well!" Slowly and carefully Pippin rehearsed the familiar story, hiding nothing, glossing nothing over, giving what glory there was to the Lord and Elder Hadley. When he finished this part, the baker was holding one of his hands, his wife the other, both uttering exclamations of pity, sympathy, encouragement. _That_ wouldn't make no difference, the good people assured him, not the least mite. "Why, he told me the very first day, mother! I didn't want to make you nervous, so I kep' it to myself. It don't cut no ice with us, Pippin, not a--" Pippin checked them gently; that was only the first chapter. He went on to tell of his visit to Cyrus Poor Farm (omitting only the episode of Flora May), and of his promises to Old Man Blossom and to Jacob Bailey.