He half expected her to protest. Agnes seemed to be having a good time in Washington; she was very gay and much abroad. Jack Routt had stopped off for three or four days, during his absence from Hardiston, and she and Jack had been constantly together while he was in town. Also, there had been other amiable young men, before and after Jack. So Amos thought Agnes was enjoying herself, and hesitated to suggest her going home. But he made up his mind, before he spoke, that she should go. Amos never got into an argument unless he intended to win. This habit had established for him a certain reputation for infallibility. But--Agnes did not protest. “I’m glad,” she said. “I’m sick of this stupid old place.” Amos, head on one side, squinted at her humorously. “Well, there are some stupid things done here, anyways,” he agreed. “When’ll you put out for Hardiston?” She planned to get some clothes. “I’ll be along in May,” Amos told her. “Guess you and Maria can go it alone till then.” Agnes was sure they could. * * * * * In Hardiston, Wint’s home-going was a nine days’ wonder. People made comments according to their own hearts. Some were glad, some were amused, some were caustic. The only one to whom Wint offered any explanation was old Maria Hale. The old negress loved him like a son; she was sorry to see him go. There were tears in her eyes when she told him so; they ran down her black cheeks, like drops of ink upon that blackness. It is easy to speak openly of simple, human emotions to such folks as old Maria. Wint said to her: “I want to go home to my father and mother. And they want me. I’m going to make it up to them for some of the things I’ve done.” He would not have said as much as that to any other person in the world. But there was no sense of strangeness in saying it to the old colored woman. She bobbed her withered head, and smiled through her tears, and cried: “Da’s right, Miste’ Wint. Yore mammy ’nd pappy shore got to be proud o’ you, boy.” “I hope so, Maria,” he told her, and she patted his shoulder. “‘Deed and dey will.” When he left the house, she came to the door and told him he must come, now and then, and let her cook him a good supper; and he must come and see her. She would be lonely, in that big house, without no white folks around, she said. Wint promised to come; and she waved her blue gingham apron after him as he went down the street. Muldoon was with him, scampering around him and about; and old Maria, watching Wint and the dog, said to herself as they disappeared: “Shore will miss dat boy; but ol’ M’ria ain’t going to pester herself about not seeing dat dog.”