“Understand it!” shouted his brother, careless of the throng. “Understand it! Of course you can’t. No man with decency in his soul and honesty in his heart could understand it. I tell ye, Phin, I ain’t worth your while to talk to, I had a little hopes of myself, Phin, a few weeks ago. It came over me all of a sudden. I’ve come back to square one end of it.” He glared at the men who were crowding around them. “But our family end, Phin, can never be squared. I’ve travelled five hundred miles in the sun and dust to pay my honest debts. That much I can do. Then for the road again.” He tossed a pathetic gesture at the elephant and the vans. “I did think of sellin’ ’em along with the rest I sold,” he added wistfully. “I had thought perhaps--I didn’t know, but--well, Phin, it’s better to go on, that’s all.” Here and there from gardens, from little shops and from the houses near by, men were issuing; the cobbler with his canvas apron tucked up, the blacksmith spatting his smutty hands together, and the men who had forgotten to lay down their hoes. All were shouting questions to each other and pointing at the procession that had come to town. The Squire eyed the approach of these spectators with some uneasiness, but the glance he turned on his brother was full of kindly emotion. He went along and patted Hiram on his broad back. “There’ll be plenty of time for us to talk it all over, Hime,” he murmured. “I know I shall understand. Let’s go home. I’m still in the old house.” Then with the New England ability to repress emotion he stood back and ran his eye over his brother. “Well, you certainly aren’t ‘Bean-Pole Look’ any longer,” he cried in his usual cheery tones, loud enough for all to hear. “And you’ve stocked up yourself, Phin,” returned his brother, with a rather watery smile. “The Looks usually get pussy after forty.” Uncle Buck was the first of the crowd to stick out his hand. “I’d know you anywhere for Hime Look, in spite of your plug hat and your weepin’ wilier whiskers,” he cried brusquely. “You ain’t been what you’d exactly call neighbourly last twenty or twenty-five years,” he suggested, with a meaning cock of his eyebrow. “I didn’t ask permission of the Palermo Tobacker Chawin’ League to go away, and I ain’t asking its permission to come back!” retorted Hiram, bridling. “Still got your meat-axe temper along, I notice,” said Buck, drily. “See here,” shouted the new arrival, “we won’t start into any of those old rows, good people.”