She stood beside him on the porch and looked up into his face. He could see she was shivering a little. "Not to amount to anything," she said. "Aunt Susie has 'em periodically. She'll be all right in a day or two." Joe stood in indecision. There had come a high-pitched, nervous tension into her tone, an eagerness that he did not like. The other thing had vanished. "Won't you sit down?" said Mary Louise. "I'd ask you in, but Aunt Susie's asleep and the sound of our voices might disturb her. She hasn't had much sleep the last few nights." Joe fingered his hat. "Aren't you going to stay and tell me about yourself?" she urged. "It's been ages since we had a talk. Let's go down to the summerhouse." He felt doubtful. Already a chill was gathering in the air, and he fancied she spoke through set teeth. The charm was melting away and the moon, rising above the tops of the maples, seemed cheerless and cold. But he could not be unfriendly; she had had a lot to upset her. He had read about Claybrook in the paper and while the news had caused him no discomfort--if anything quite the contrary--still, it was different now. She was alone in that bleak, staring house, alone with a sick woman. So he followed her awkwardly across the grass that was already gathering dew. They sat facing each other in the summerhouse, sat on the edges of the chairs, bending slightly forward. Mary Louise was softly chafing her hands. "So you've really come back," she began. "Well, three miles from 'back,'" he replied. She was making a pretty brave show; her voice sounded bright and cheery. If only she would stop rubbing her hands together--be still for a moment. "I expect we're meant for this place, Joe." "Yes? How do you mean?" "Oh, if you bend a twig young enough, the tree will grow that way." She laughed softly and he gave her a quick look. For a few moments they sat in silence. "How did you happen to make another change, Joe?" she asked at length, very quietly. He paused before replying. "Well," he began, "you see I've never had any real preparation for anything I was doin'. I never could have got anywhere. Those jobs I had in town--I just drifted into 'em. Anybody could have filled 'em. I--what was the use of 'em?" He paused and was silent. She nodded slowly. "I think you said something like that once before. I begin to see where you were right." He made no reply. Why did she want to talk about such things? He hoped she wouldn't bring in Claybrook and her relations with him. He did not feel in the mood for raking over ashes. "Has Miss Susie been in bed?" He carefully headed on another tack. "Oh, up and down. She's always that way. You cannot imagine how surprised I was to see you with that road gang. I was riding along with Zeke, all wrapped up in my thoughts, and suddenly I looked up and saw you there----" She trailed off and sat thinking.