"I'll have a good time, Mother," Peter said. He thought: why shouldn't I have a good time. Maxine probably lets half the boys in Brailsford Junction kiss her. "We haven't had a good rabbit stew all season," Sarah said. She thought: I used to tell him stories about every piece in the quilt. What dress it came from and where I wore it. This piece is out of the brown silk I took along on my honeymoon. I wore it that night we rowed out on Lake Mendota and saw the dome of the capitol at Madison shining in the moonlight. I wonder if Stanley remembers. "That's a pretty quilt," Peter said. He thought: she used to tell me stories about the pieces she was sewing. I wish she would again. "See, it's a flower design," she said. She thought: he's grown up now. He wouldn't want to listen. "I got the drawings for my camp trailer done, Ma," he said. He thought: I'll do something great for Mother when I'm rich. "I'm sure Mr. O'Casey will build one," she said. She thought: then he'll be gone forever. "I'm not so sure," Peter said. He thought: if the "Trailer" shuts down I'll probably have to come back to the farm and be glad of the chance. Sarah thought: I want to know every little thing about his life--how he gets on at the factory, how Temperance Crandall takes care of him, whether he smokes or drinks, whether he's a good boy and goes to church, or whether he hangs around the pool hall. I want to know about Maxine Larabee. But I don't dare ask. It would frighten him still farther away. The needle clicked against the thimble. The silk rustled in Sarah's hands. Coal crackled in the stove and the wind whispered at the corners of the house. After a while the smell of roasting chicken drifted in from the kitchen. "You're getting to be a big boy," she said. She thought: I wanted him to stay little forever. I wanted to keep him close to me, but he's grown so far away. "I'm more than six feet," the boy said. He thought: it's beautiful with Maxine. I can't get along without her any more. I'm a man now and know all there is to know about women. Sarah was startled looking into his face. She thought: why, he isn't my little boy. He's a stranger. 2 That night at supper--chicken, dressing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, giblet gravy, hot mince pie and coffee--Stud waved a drumstick while orating just what he would do if Joe Valentine came across the Brailsford line again. Still grasping the drumstick he assumed a fighting pose which would have startled John L. Sullivan, the strong boy from Boston. "I can't sleep nights for thinking of that terrible man," Sarah confessed. "Why don't we chase him off the Point?" Peter asked. "Or have the law on him?" suggested Gus. "I'll shoot him if I ever get a chance," Early Ann cried passionately.