“Lived here eighteen years. Came here ’n I was married, raised four children in this house. Yes, _sir_. I know this old fellow.” He struck the door-post with the flat of his hand. “I know every leak in her roof and every loose board in her old floor.” Abercrombie had been good to look at for so many years that he knew if he kept a certain attentive expression on his face his companion would continue to talk--indefinitely. “You from up north?” inquired Hemmick politely, choosing with habituated precision the one spot where the anæmic wooden railing would support his weight. “I thought so,” he resumed at Abercrombie’s nod. “Don’t take long to tell a Yankee.” “I’m from New York.” “So?” The man shook his head with inappropriate gravity. “Never have got up there, myself. Started to go a couple of times, before I was married, but never did get to go.” He made a second excursion with his finger and handkerchief and then, as though having come suddenly to a cordial decision, he replaced the handkerchief in one of his bumpy pockets and extended the hand toward his companion. “My name’s Hemmick.” “Glad to know you.” Abercrombie took the hand without rising. “Abercrombie’s mine.” “I’m mighty glad to know you, Mr. Abercrombie.” Then for a moment they both hesitated, their two faces assumed oddly similar expressions, their eyebrows drew together, their eyes looked far away. Each was straining to force into activity some minute cell long sealed and forgotten in his brain. Each made a little noise in his throat, looked away, looked back, laughed. Abercrombie spoke first. “We’ve met.” “I know,” agreed Hemmick, “but whereabouts? That’s what’s got me. You from New York, you say?” “Yes, but I was born and raised in this town. Lived in this house till I left here when I was about seventeen. As a matter of fact, I remember you--you were a couple of years older.” Again Hemmick considered. “Well,” he said vaguely, “I sort of remember, too. I _begin_ to remember--I got your name all right and I guess maybe it was your daddy had this house before I rented it. But all I can recollect about you is, that there was a boy named Abercrombie and he went away.” In a few moments they were talking easily. It amused them both to have come from the same house--amused Abercrombie especially, for he was a vain man, rather absorbed that evening in his own early poverty. Though he was not given to immature impulses he found it necessary somehow to make it clear in a few sentences that five years after he had gone away from the house and the town he had been able to send for his father and mother to join him in New York.