“Let’s see,” he began, a keen glint in his movable eye, “isn’t there a cheap lawyer in this place named Phineas Look?” The movable eye fell upon Squire Phin. It glittered for an instant more brightly. The muscles of the hard face seemed to twitch a little. But he said no more, and with a curious intentness awaited a reply. The Squire had started at the sound of the stranger’s voice. Then he shoved his hands deep into his trousers pockets and stared hard at the man, his brows knotting slowly, as though he were endeavouring to recall something. “I don’t know who you be, nor where you come from, nor I don’t care,” snapped Amazeen; “but I want to say to you, mister, that you’d better call the leadin’ man in P’lermo by a different name, ’specially when he’s standin’ here in hearin’!” He shook an indignant cane at the man and swung and pointed it at Phineas. At this instant a raucous voice squalled a long, loud “Yah-h-h!” A cage was hung to one of the figures of the big waggon, whose seats showed a former use as a band chariot. A ragged, gray parrot was in the cage. He clutched a bar in his warty claws, rapped his bill violently and yelled: “Crack ’em down, gents! It’s the old army game!” The Squire took a quick step forward, halted and stared again. “Twenty can play as well as one!” the parrot squawked. The stranger began to clamber down from the seat and stood revealed as a tall man when he stood upright. The knots smoothed out of the Squire’s brow. The two men walked slowly toward one another, each with hand outstretched, and they met half way. Hand clutched hand in a grip that made the cords ridge the skin. They gazed for a long time with moistening eyes. “Hime!” choked out the Squire. “You poor little cuss, Phin,” the other gulped, as he reached his arm over the Squire’s shoulder and patted his back. There was rough affection in the gesture, but there was constraint in the stranger’s mien. He displayed the nervous bravado of one who is ashamed and feels that the shame is a weakness. “I ain’t come home expectin’ that you’re goin’ to treat me anyways like a brother, Phin,” he muttered brokenly. “I ain’t ever been any good to the family. I----” “Don’t say that, brother Hiram! Don’t!” pleaded the Squire. “But it’s the God’s truth, Phin. I don’t even know whether father’s--whether he’s----” He stood back and raised entreating eyes to his brother’s face. “You needn’t say it, Phin, boy,” he went on mournfully. “All I can do is thank God that father had one boy that he didn’t have to be ashamed of. I don’t ask you to overlook it--any of it, Phin. I don’t expect you to do it. I ain’t come back for it.” The old men had been slowly straggling down from the platform, still busied with their survey of this amazing new arrival. The Squire glanced around at them and spoke guardedly. His tone was gently reproachful. “Not a word from you or of you for twenty-five years! Hime, I never understood that. Father didn’t understand it!”