The two girls settled themselves noisily on the upper step. The old man read on and on. The sun sank lower. The hills were red in the west as though a brush fire flamed behind their crests. Abner stole a furtive glance at his companion in misery, and the dolor of Ross’s countenance somewhat assuaged his anguish. The freckle-faced boy was thinking of the village over the hill, a certain pleasant white house set back in a green yard, past whose gate, the two-plank sidewalk ran. He knew lamps were beginning to wink in the windows of the neighbors about, as though the houses said, “Our boys are all at home—but Ross Pryor’s out trying to call on the girls, and can’t get anybody to understand it.” Oh, that he were walking down those two planks, drawing a stick across the pickets, lifting high happy feet which could turn in at that gate! He wouldn’t care what the lamps said then. He wouldn’t even mind if the whole Claiborne family died laughing at him—if only some power would raise him up from this paralyzing spot and put him behind the safe barriers of his own home! The old man’s voice lapsed into silence; the light was becoming too dim for his reading. Aunt Missouri turned and called over her shoulder into the shadows of the big hall: “You Babe! Go put two extra plates on the supper-table.” The boys grew red from the tips of their ears, and as far as any one could see under their wilting collars. Abner felt the lump of gum come loose and slip down a cold spine. Had their intentions but been known, this inferential invitation would have been most welcome. It was but to rise up and thunder out, “We came to call on the young ladies.” They did not rise. They did not thunder out anything. Babe brought a lamp and set it inside the window, and Mr. Claiborne resumed his reading. Champe giggled and said that Alicia made her. Alcia drew her skirts about her, sniffed, and looked virtuous, and said she didn’t see anything funny to laugh at. The supper-bell rang. The family, evidently taking it for granted that the boys would follow, went in. Alone for the first time, Abner gave up. “This ain’t any use,” he complained. “We ain’t calling on anybody.” “Why didn’t you lay on the card?” demanded Ross, fiercely. “Why didn’t you say: ‘‘We’ve-just-dropped-into-call-on-Miss-Champe. It’s-a-pleasant-evening. We-feel-we-must-be-going,’ like you said you would? Then we could have lifted our hats and got away decently.” Abner showed no resentment. “Oh, if it’s so easy, why didn’t you do it yourself?” he groaned. “Somebody’s coming,” Ross muttered, hoarsely. “Say it now. Say it quick.”