There was a long silence. "Whut you goin' to do down thar?" The lad lifted his head fiercely and looked from the woman to the man and back again. "I'm a-goin' to git that land back," he snapped; and as there was no question, no comment, he settled back brooding in his chair. "Hit wasn't right--hit COULDN'T 'a' been right," he muttered, and then as though he were answering his mother's unspoken question: "I don't know HOW I'm goin' to git it back, but if it wasn't right, thar must be some way, an' I'm a-goin' to find out if hit takes me all my life." His mother was still silent, though she had lifted a comer of her apron to her eyes, and the lad rose and without a word of good-night climbed the stairs to go to bed. Then the mother spoke to her husband angrily. "You oughtn't to let the boy put all the blame on me, Steve--you made me sell that land." Steve's answer was another yawn, and he rose to get ready for bed, and Mavis, too, turned indignant eyes on him, for she had heard enough from the two to know that her step-mother spoke the truth. Her father opened the door and she heard the creak of his heavy footsteps across the freezing porch. Her step-mother went into the kitchen and Mavis climbed the stairs softly and opened Jason's door. "Jasie!" she called. "Whut you want?" "Jasie, take me back home with ye, won't you?" A rough denial was on his lips, but her voice broke into a little sob and the boy lay for a moment without answering. "Whut on earth would you do down thar, Mavis?" And then he remembered how he had told her that he would come for her some day, and he remembered the Hawn boast that a Hawn's word was as good as his bond and he added kindly: "Wait till mornin', Mavis. I'll take ye if ye want to go." The door closed instantly and she was gone. When the lad came down before day next morning Mavis had finished tying a few things in a bundle and was pushing it out of sight under a bed, and Jason knew what that meant. "You hain't told 'em?" Mavis shook her head. "Mebbe yo' pap won't let ye." "He ain't hyeh," said the little girl. "Whar is he?" "I don't know." "Mavis," said the boy seriously, "I'm a boy an' hit don't make no difference whar I go, but you're a gal an' hit looks like you ought to stay with yo' daddy." The girl shook her head stubbornly, but he paid no attention. "I tell ye, I'm a-goin' back to that new-fangled school when I git to grandpap's, an' whut'll you do?" "I'll go with ye." "I've thought o' that," said the boy patiently, "but they mought not have room fer neither one of us--an' I can take keer o' myself anywhar." "Yes," said the little girl proudly, "an' I'll trust ye to take keer o' me--anywhar." The boy looked at her long and hard, but there was no feminine cunning in her eyes--nothing but simple trust--and his silence was a despairing assent. From the kitchen his mother called them to breakfast. "Whar's Steve?" asked the boy.