She had breakfast hot upon the stove. The elder Chase had gone downtown as soon as it was day, to try to locate Wint. They ate together; and after that first moment in the hall, they did not speak of what had happened at all. When breakfast was done, Wint went into the kitchen with his mother to help with the dishes. She tied an apron around him, and laughed at him with a sob in her voice; and Wint laughed with her, and joked her, till the sob disappeared. His father looked in on them once or twice, then left them alone together. Once, Wint broke a little silence by saying, his arm around her shoulders: “Mother!” She looked up at him with quick anxiety; and he said: “I’m sorry, for your sakes.” She said: “You didn’t lie, Wint. Anyway, you didn’t lie. There, dry that plate. So....” He smiled a little whimsically. After all, he had lied. But they did not care whether it was true or false; these two. He was their son. The thought was glorious. He nursed it, treasured it. When the work was done, and the dishes were being put away, they heard a step on the porch outside the kitchen. They both looked that way; and through the window saw Hetty. She passed the window, knocked on the door. Wint looked toward his mother; and he saw that she was white as death. But even while he looked at her, she touched her mouth with her hand, and steadied herself, and went to the door and opened. “Hetty!” she said pleasantly, gently. “Hetty! Well, come in.” The girl came into the kitchen. She was pale, but she seemed very sure of herself. She looked from Mrs. Chase to Wint. “I want to talk to Wint,” she said gently. Mrs. Chase nodded. “You wait here.” She went quickly out into the dining room. They heard her speak to her husband. She was back, almost at once. “Go into the sitting room,” she said. “There’s no one there.” Hetty went toward the door; but Wint at first did not stir. He was curiously ashamed to face Hetty. She stopped in the doorway, and looked back at him; and he pulled himself together, and untied his apron and followed her. In the sitting room, she sat down on the couch, and Wint sat by the table. She looked at him steadily, smiled a little. He said: “Well, Hetty.” She laughed at him in a tender way. “Oh, you Wint!” she exclaimed, in a fashion that reminded him of the old, careless Hetty. He shifted uneasily. He felt as though he were guilty toward her. But there was no accusation in her voice. She shook a forefinger at him. “What got into you?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell them to go to the devil?” There was no way to put it into words. He shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s all right.” “You knocked us flat; the lot of us,” she said. “Wint, you pretty near killed me. You darned, decent kid.” Wint stirred uneasily. “I thought I’d die,” she said. Her voice shook, though she was smiling. “I....” She laughed. “You ought to have seen the others.” He asked awkwardly: “What happened? I haven’t heard.” “Didn’t your father--”