Sanford came home a day earlier than he had planned, and drove in a borrowed cart from the station, furious when an old cottage blazed in the rainy night, just below the white posts marking his heritage, and shrill women screamed invitation at the horse's hoof-beats. He felt the valley smirched, and his father's worn face angered him when they met. "I almost wish you'd not come, Sonny. We're in rotten shape for a hard summer. Go to bed, dear, and get warm." "Got a six-shooter for me?" "You? Who'd touch you? Some one would kill him. I let Bill have a gun, and some other steady heads. You must keep your temper. You always have. Ling Varian got into a splendid row with some hog who called Uncle Jim--the usual name. Ling did him up. Ah, here's Onnie. Onnie, here's--" The cook rushed down the stairs, a fearful and notable bed-gown covering her night-dress, and the rattles chattering loudly. "God's kind to us. See the chest of him! Master San! Master San!" "Good Lord, Onnie. I wasn't dead, you know! Don't _kill_ a fellow!" For the first time her embrace was an embarrassment; her mouth on his cheek made him flush. She loved him so desperately, this poor stupid woman, and he could only be fond of her, give her a sort of tolerant affection. Honesty reddened his face. "Come on and find me a hard-boiled egg, there's a--" "A hard-boiled egg? Listen to that, your Honor! An' it's near the middle of the night! No, I'll not be findin' hard-boiled eggs for you--oh, he's laughin' at me! Now you come into the dinin'-room, an' I'll be hottin' some milk for you, for you're wet as any drowned little cat. An' the mare's fine, an' I've the fishin'-sticks all dusted, an' your new bathin'-tub's to your bath-room, though ill fate follow that English pig Percival that put it in, for he dug holes with his heels! An' would you be wantin' a roast-beef sandwidge?" "She's nearly wild," said Rawling as the pantry door slammed. "You must be careful, San, and not get into any rows. She'd have a fit. What is it?" "What do you do when you can't--care about a person as much as they care about you?" "Put up with it patiently." Rawling shrugged. "What else _can_ you do?" "I'm sixteen. She keeps on as if I were six. S-suppose she fell in love with me? She's not old--very old." "It's another sort of thing, Sonny. Don't worry," said Rawling, gravely, and broke off the subject lest the boy should fret. Late next afternoon Sanford rode down a trail from deep forest, lounging in the saddle, and flicking brush aside with a long dog-whip. There was a rain-storm gathering, and the hot air swayed no leaf. A rabbit, sluggish and impertinent, hopped across his path and wandered up the side trail toward Varian's cottage. Sanford halted the mare and whistled. His father needed cheering, and Ling Varian, if obtainable, would make a third at dinner. His intimate hurtled down the tunnel of mountain ash directly and assented.