He looked toward the biscuit board. “Are those for lunch?” “Uh-huh.” “How soon will they be ready?” “Half an hour. You hungry?” She studied him, solicitude lurking in her eyes. “Yes. I didn’t have any breakfast.” The girl moved toward him with the quick instinct of woman. “You poor kid! I’ll get you something now.” He lifted his hand impatiently. “Never mind. Or--just a glass of milk.” She laughed, crossing the room toward the pantry. “You just sit down and see.” And while he still stood irresolutely in the middle of the floor, she was back with bread and butter and a glass of jelly and a bowl of milk. She spread these things upon the table, and cut the bread for him, and made him sit down and eat while she hovered over him, her eyes never leaving the brown head as he bent above his plate. Now and then she laughed softly, and more than once she repeated: “You surely have started something this time.” He ate ravenously. He had not realized his own hunger. But after the second slice, she stopped him. “Now that’s enough,” she declared. “You’ll spoil your dinner.” He laughed, the first time he had laughed that day. “I guess not,” he declared. “I could eat a house.” She smiled, carrying the viands back to their places. “Where was you last night?” she asked curiously. He looked up at her, half resentful, half glad of her friendship and understanding. “Weaver House,” he said. She made a little grimace. “Golly! You must’ve been pie-eyed for fair.” He flushed, but he nodded. “Yes.” “And look what they’ve done to you. It don’t pay, does it, Wint?” He laughed. “I suppose not.” “What are you going to do?” “I don’t know.” “Your paw’s awful mad.” He got up stiffly. “I suppose so. Well--he’s been mad before.” “And your maw’s upset.” “I’ll be up in my room,” he said. “Call me when dinner’s ready.” She was back at her biscuits, laying them delicately in the pan. “Sure. Go ahead.” The door closed behind him. When she heard the click of a latch, the girl stopped her work for an instant, and looked over her shoulder at the closed door. She remained thus for a space; then brushed her arm across her forehead as though a lock of hair distressed her, and went on with her task. Wint went to his room, and threw aside his soiled garments, and bathed and was half dressed when Hetty called up the stairs that dinner was ready. He came down into the hall as his mother entered the front door. When she saw him, she lifted her hands, and ran at him, and poured out upon him a torrent of querulous complaint. “Wint, where have you been all this time? Your father is so mad. He’s terrible mad at you. I never saw your father so worked up, Wint. I don’t see what you had to go and do a thing like that for anyhow, Wint. I told Mrs. Hullis this morning I just couldn’t see how you could do it. Your father was so set on getting elected, and everything; and he’d made so many plans, and when he came home last night I said to him--”