So, on this day, he spoke well of Hetty; and because Mrs. Chase was always the loyal mirror of her husband’s opinions, she also ceased to criticize the girl. Wint had heard the conversation, but it made little impression on him. He was thinking of other things; wondering, for example, when Kite would make the first move in the conflict that was sure to come. He had heard, that day--Gergue told him--that Routt was thinking of running for Mayor against him in the fall. Wint was having difficulty in understanding that. He knew Routt was his friend; and, of course, political opponents might still be personal friends. Nevertheless.... The thing puzzled him. It did not jibe with his opinion of Routt. After supper that night, the elder Chase went downtown. Wint had some writing to do, and went upstairs to his room to do it. Mrs. Chase had a caller, Mrs. Hullis, from next door. They were sewing and talking together in the sitting room. Wint could hear the murmur of his mother’s voice, steady and persistent. Mrs. Hullis was a good listener. About an hour after supper, Wint realized that he wanted a drink of water. There was water in the bathroom; but there was a filter on the faucet in the kitchen, and Hardiston water needed filtering. It was pure enough, clean enough, but there was a proportion of iron in it that sometimes gave the water a slightly rusty color. So Wint went down by the back stairs, in order not to disturb his mother, into the kitchen. He found Hetty sitting in a kitchen chair with her arms hanging limply and her feet outstretched before her. The girl’s whole body was slumped down, as though she had fainted; and at first Wint thought this was what had happened, for Hetty’s eyes were closed. He cried out: “Why, Hetty? What’s the matter? Are you sick?” And he went quickly toward her across the kitchen. But when he spoke, Hetty opened her eyes and looked at him, and shook her head. “No,” she said, in the sullen tone that had become habitual to her. “No, I’m all right.” “You are not,” Wint protested. “You’re as white as a rag.” He saw the dishes piled in the sink. “You’ve not cleaned up after supper. How long have you been this way?” Hetty closed her eyes wearily, and opened them again, and managed a smile. “Oh, I’m all right, Wint,” she said. “You’re a nice boy. Run along. Don’t bother about me.” Wint laughed. “I’m not bothering. I want to help. What happened?” “I--just felt terribly tired--all of a sudden,” she said. There was a suggestion of surrender in her voice; as though the barriers of reserve were breaking down. “That’s all, Wint; I’m just tired.” “You need a rest,” Wint agreed. “You’ve been plugging away, taking care of us, for a long time, now. Come in and lie down on the couch in the dining room.” Hetty shook her head in a frightened little way; the bravado was going out of her. She seemed very helpless and feminine. “No, no,” she protested. “I’ll be all right as soon as I rest a little. Do run along, Wint.”