Luke saw him first--heard him, rather; for Nat came up the lane--oh, miraculous!--driving a motor car. It was not a car like Uncle Clem's--not even a stepbrother to it. It was low and almost noiseless, and shaped like one of those queer torpedoes they were fighting with across the water. It was colored a soft dust-gray and trimmed with nickel; and, huge and powerful though it was, it swung to a mere touch of Nat's hand. Nat stood before them, clad in black leather Norfolk and visored cap and leggings. "Look like a fancy brand of chauffeur, don't I?" he laughed, with the easy resumption of a long-broken relation that was so characteristically Nat. But Nat was not a chauffeur. Something much bigger and grander. The news he brought them on top of it all took their breaths away. Nat was a special demonstrator, out on a brand-new high-class job for a house handling a special line of high-priced goods. And he was to go to Europe in another week--did they get it straight? Europe! Jiminy! He and another fellow were taking cars over to France and England. No; they didn't quite get it. They could not grasp its significance, but clung humbly, instead, to the mere glorious fact of his presence. He stayed two days and a night; and summer was never lovelier. Maw was like a girl, and there was such a killing of pullets and extravagance with new-laid eggs as they had never known before. At the last he gave them all presents. "Tell the truth," he laughed, "I'm stony broke. 'Tisn't mine, all this stuff you see. I got some kale in advance--not much, but enough to swing me; but of course, the outfit's the company's. But I'll tell you one thing: I'm going to bring some long green home with me, you can bet! And when I do"--Nat had given Maw a prodigious nudge in the ribs--"when I do--I ain't goin' to stay an old bachelor forever! Do you get that?" Maw's smile had faded for a moment. But the presents were fine--a new knife for Tom, a book for Luke, and twenty whole round dollars for Maw, enough to pay that old grocery bill down at Beckonridge's and Paw's new invoice of patent medicine. They all stood on the porch and watched him as far they could see; and Maw's black mood didn't return for a whole week. Evenings now they had something different to talk about--journeys in seagoing craft; foreign countries and the progress of the "Ee-ropean" war, and Nat's likelihood--he had laughed at this--of touching even its fringe. They worked it all up from the boiler-plate war news in the _Bi-weekly_ and Luke's school geography. Yes; for a little space the blackness was lifted. Then came the August morning when Paw died. This was an unexpected and unsettling contingency. One doesn't look for a "chronic's" doing anything so unscheduled and foreign to routine; but Paw spoiled all precedent. They found him that morning with his heart quite still, and Luke knew they stood in the presence of imminent tragedy.