* * * * * When their business was done, and Wint had gone, Amos sat quietly upon the porch for a while. Then, without moving from his chair, he turned his head and called toward the open door: “Agnes!” She answered, from inside. He said: “Come here.” And she appeared in the doorway. He bade her come out and sit down. She chose the hammock, lay back indolently. Amos filled his pipe with slow care and lighted it. His head was on one side, his eyes squinted thoughtfully. If there had been more light, Agnes could have seen that he was sorely troubled. But she could not see. So she thought him merely angry; and grew angry herself at the thought. He asked at last: “You offered Wint booze?” “Just some lemonade,” she said stiffly. “Booze in it,” he reminded her. “Don’t you do that any more, Agnes.” “I guess a little brandy won’t hurt Wint Chase,” she told him. “Don’t you do it any more,” he repeated, finality in his tones. She said nothing; and after a little he asked, looking toward her wistfully in the shadows of the porch: “What did you do it for, Agnes? What did you do it for, anyway?” She shrugged impatiently. “Oh, I don’t know.” “What did you do it for?” he insisted. There was an implacable strength in Amos; she knew she could not escape answering. Nevertheless, she evaded again. “Oh, no reason.” “What did you do it for?” he asked, mildly, for the third time; and Agnes stamped to her feet. When she answered, her voice was harsh and hard and indescribably bitter. “Because I wanted to get him drunk,” she said. “He’s so funny when he’s that way. That’s why.” She stared down at him defiantly; and Amos saw hard lines form about her mouth. Before he could speak, she was gone indoors. Amos sat there for a long while, after that, thinking.... His thoughts ran back; he remembered Agnes as a baby, as a schoolgirl. She was a young woman, now. He thought to himself, a curiously helpless feeling oppressing him: “I wish her mother hadn’t’ve died.” CHAPTER IX A WORD FROM JOAN Wint found himself unable to put Hetty out of his mind, next day. He had overslept, was late for breakfast, and ate it alone with Hetty serving him. When she came into the dining room, he said: “Good morning.” Hetty nodded, without answering. And he asked cheerfully: “Well, how’s the world this morning?” She said the world was all right; and she went out into the kitchen again before he could ask her anything more. Wint, over his toast and coffee, wondered. He was beginning to have some suspicion as to what was wrong with Hetty. But--he could not believe it. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.