Mrs. Witla was in and out occasionally, looking for things which appertained to her functions as house-mother. The father was not home yet; he would get there by supper-time, having been to some outlying town of the county trying to sell a machine. Eugene was indifferent to his presence or absence. Mr. Witla had a fund of humor which extended to joking with his son and daughters, when he was feeling good, to noting their budding interest in the opposite sex; to predicting some commonplace climax to their one grand passion when it should come. He was fond of telling Myrtle that she would one day marry a horse-doctor. As for Eugene, he predicted a certain Elsa Brown, who, his wife said, had greasy curls. This did not irritate either Myrtle or Eugene. It even brought a wry smile to Eugene's face for he was fond of a jest; but he saw his father pretty clearly even at this age. He saw the smallness of his business, the ridiculousness of any such profession having any claim on him. He never wanted to say anything, but there was in him a burning opposition to the commonplace, a molten pit in a crater of reserve, which smoked ominously now and then for anyone who could have read. Neither his father nor his mother understood him. To them he was a peculiar boy, dreamy, sickly, unwitting, as yet, of what he really wanted. "Oh, here you are!" said Myrtle, when he came in. "Come and sit down." Stella gave him an enticing smile. He walked to the mantel-piece and stood there, posing. He wanted to impress this girl, and he did not quite know how. He was almost lost for anything to say. "You can't guess what we've been doing!" his sister chirped helpfully. "Well--what?" he replied blankly. "You ought to guess. Can't you be nice and guess?" "One guess, anyhow," put in Stella. "Toasting pop-corn," he ventured with a half smile. "You're warm." It was Myrtle speaking. Stella looked at him with round blue eyes. "One more guess," she suggested. "Chestnuts!" he guessed. She nodded her head gaily. "What hair!" he thought. Then--"Where are they?" "Here's one," laughed his new acquaintance, holding out a tiny hand. Under her laughing encouragement he was finding his voice. "Stingy!" he said. "Now isn't that mean," she exclaimed. "I gave him the only one I had. Don't you give him any of yours, Myrtle." "I take it back," he pleaded. "I didn't know." "I won't!" exclaimed Myrtle. "Here, Stella," and she held out the few nuts she had left, "take these, and don't you give him any!" She put them in Stella's eager hands. He saw her meaning. It was an invitation to a contest. She wanted him to try to make her give him some. He fell in with her plan. "Here!" He stretched out his palm. "That's not right!" She shook her head. "One, anyhow," he insisted. Her head moved negatively from side to side slowly. "One," he pleaded, drawing near.