“Are you cal'latin' to live on grass?” Leander drawled with cutting irony. “Gettin' tired of the old woman's cooking? Well, she ain't much of a cook!” Uncle John remained silent, working at his hands. His mouth, trembled under his thin straggling beard. “I never was better treated in my life, and you know it. It ain't handsome of you, Lewis, to talk that way!” “He don't mean nothing, Uncle John! What makes you so foolish, Looander! He just wants you to know there's no begrudgers around here. You're welcome, and more than welcome, to settle down and camp right along with us.” “Winter and summer!” Leander put in, “if you're satisfied. There's nobody in a hurry to see the last of ye.” Uncle John's mild but determined resistance was a keen disappointment to his friends. Leander thought himself offended. “What fly's stung you, anyhow! Heard from any of your folks lately?” The old man smiled. “Got any money salted down that needs turning?” “Looander! Quit teasing of him!” “Let him have his fun, ma'am. It's all he's likely to get out of me. I have got a little money,” he pursued. “'T would be an insult to name it in the same breath with what you've done for me. I'd like to leave it here, though. You could pass it on. You'll have chances enough. 'T ain't likely I'll be the last one you'll take in and do for, and never git nothing out of it in return.” There was a mild sensation, as the speaker, fumbling in his loose trousers, appeared to be seeking for that money. Aunt Polly's eyes flamed indignation behind her tears. She was a foolish, warm-hearted creature, and her eyes watered on the least excuse. “Looander, you shouldn't have taunted him,” she admonished her husband, who felt he had been a little rough. “Look here, Uncle John, d'you ever know anybody who wasn't by way of needing help some time in their lives? We don't ask any one who comes here”-- “He didn't come!” Aunt Polly corrected. “Well, who was brought, then! We don't ask for their character, nor their private history, nor their bank account. I don't know but you're the first one for years I've ever took a real personal shine to, and we've h'isted a good many up them stairs that wasn't able to walk much further. I'd like you to stay as a favor to us, dang it!” Leander delivered this invitation as if it were a threat. His straight-cut mustache stiffened and projected itself by the pressure of his big lips; his dark red throat showed as many obstinate creases as an old snapping-turtle's. “I'm much obliged to you both. I want you to remember that. We--I--I'll talk with ye in the morning.” “That means he's going all the same,” said Leander, after Uncle John had closed the outside door.