Amos shut the door behind him and went back to the fire. He sat there for a while, considering. Then he went out into the hall and called Agnes. She was in her room; and she came running down, very gay and pretty in a blue-flowered kimono, her hair down her back in a golden braid. Amos looked at her thoughtfully. There was always a wistful question in his eyes when he looked at Agnes. He met her at the foot of the stairs, and he asked: “Agnes, how’d you like to go to Washington?” Now the girl had gone to Washington one winter with Amos. And she had not liked it. Amos was just a small-town Congressman, one of scores. And his daughter was just a pretty girl, and nothing more. Amos was a small toad in that big puddle; Agnes had found herself not even a tadpole. And--that did not please Agnes. Here in Hardiston, she was the daughter of the biggest man in town; and she was the prettiest girl in town, some said. At least, they told her so. Jack Routt, and some of the other boys. “I wouldn’t like it at all, dad,” she told Amos laughingly. “Washington is a dead old place beside Hardiston.” “I’m thinking of taking you,” Amos said, watching her with something like sorrow in his eyes. “I haven’t any clothes,” she protested. “I’m not ready, at all. I’d rather not go, dad.” “I’d rather you would,” he repeated gently. She pouted. “Why? You’re always away. I’d never see you. I’d have nothing to do at all. I--” “I’d rather not leave you and Wint alone here. Wouldn’t be just the thing,” her father insisted gently. She laughed. “You funny old daddy. We’d have Maria for chaperon.” “Wouldn’t be just the thing,” Amos said again. “I’m not going to eat Wint,” she protested, half angry. “We get along beautifully.” “Guess you’d better go along with me,” Amos told her. She stamped her foot. “Dad, I don’t want to.” Amos jerked a forefinger up the stair, head on one side, eyes steady. “Run along and pack, Agnes,” he said. “Won’t be much time in the morning.” Agnes began to cry. Amos watched her for a moment, watched her bowed head, and a load seemed to settle on the man’s big shoulders. He turned back to the sitting room without a word. After a while, he heard her run up the stairs, every pound of her little feet scolding him, as a bird scolds. Amos filled his pipe and began to smoke again. * * * * * Jack Routt came late. While he waited, Amos had smoked two pipes to the last bubble. When Jack knocked, he got up lumberingly and went to the door to let the young man in. “Come in,” he said curtly. “Hang up your things.” He went back and sat down before the fire, and Jack Routt joined him there. Amos looked up at him sidewise. “Sit down, Routt,” he said. “Take a chair. Any chair.” Routt sat down. “Gergue said you wanted to see me,” he reminded Amos. “Yes,” Amos agreed. “I told him to tell you.” “Came as soon as I could,” said Routt.