"That fellah," said Mr. Wesson solemnly to his immortal soul, "is a damn bounder. _And_ cad," he added after a moment's reflection. The fowls lived in a little world of noise and smells at the back of the stables. The first half of the journey thither was performed in silence. Molly's cheerful little face was set in what she probably imagined to be a forbidding scowl. The tilt of her chin spoke of displeasure. "If a penny would be any use to you," said Jimmy, breaking the tension. "I'm not at all pleased with you," said Molly severely. "How _can_ you say such savage things! And me an orphan, too! What's the trouble? What have I done?" "You know perfectly well. Making fun of father like that." "My dear girl, he loved it. Brainy badinage of that sort is exchanged every day in the best society. You should hear dukes and earls! The wit! the _esprit_! The flow of soul! Mine is nothing to it. What's this in the iron pot? Is this what you feed them? Queer birds, hens--I wouldn't touch the stuff for a fortune. It looks perfectly poisonous. Flock around, you pullets. Come in your thousands. All bad nuts returned, and a souvenir goes with every corpse. A little more of this putrescent mixture for you, sir. Certainly, pick up your dead, pick up your dead." An unwilling dimple appeared on Molly's chin, like a sunbeam through clouds. "All the same," she said, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Jimmy." "I haven't time when I find myself stopping in the same house with a girl I've been looking for for three years." Molly looked away. There was silence for a moment. "Used you ever to think of me?" she said quietly. That curious constraint which had fallen upon Jimmy in the road came to him again, now, as sobering as a blow. Something which he could not define had changed the atmosphere. Suddenly in an instant, like a shallow stream that runs babbling over the stones into some broad, still pool, the note of their talk had deepened. "Yes," he said simply. He could find no words for what he wished to say. "I've thought of you--often," said Molly. He took a step toward her. But the moment had passed. Her mood had changed in a flash, or seemed to have changed. The stream babbled on over the stones again. "Be careful, Jimmy! You nearly touched me with the spoon. I don't want to be covered with that horrible stuff. Look at that poor, little chicken out there in the cold. It hasn't had a morsel." Jimmy responded to her lead. There was nothing else for him to do. "It's in luck," he said. "Give it a spoonful." "It can have one if it likes. But it's taking big risks. Here you are, Hercules. Pitch in." He scraped the last spoonful out of the iron pot, and they began to walk back to the house. "You're very quiet, Jimmy," said Molly. "I was thinking." "What about?" "Lots of things." "New York?" "That among others."