Right then I seen a car come in right fast and pull up at the sidewalk about halfway between our house and the Wisners'. Someone got out of the car and come running up our walk. I could see it was a woman. Not wishing no one to be bothered then, I went down to meet her. It was Bonnie Bell! She'd come home then. I run down the walk to meet her and pushed her away. I knew it wouldn't do for them two to meet now. But she run up and put her arms around my neck. She was alone, though there was someone in the car that hadn't got out. "Curly!" says she, "Curly! I saw you standing there and I came in. Where is he, Curly?" I nods behind me. "In there," says I. "Don't go in--you mustn't." "I must, sometime. Let me go now." "No you don't," says I. "You can't. It's too late." "Too late? Too late? Why, what do you mean, Curly? I've--I've come back! I want to see my dad! I've got to see my dad. There's lots I must tell him. He don't know--I didn't know." "You can't see your dad no more, kid," says I. "That time has went by. I'm foreman here till midnight of today; and while I am there ain't nobody going to bother him. He's had trouble enough already." She stood sort of shaking. I had her wrists in my hands now. "When it's all over," says I--"meaning a few things we're going to settle tonight--I'll come out to you in Wyoming. I won't be foreman here no more. I'm going to go and throw in with you, even against the old man." She begun to cry now. "What are you talking about? I want him!" says she. "I want to see my dad. I need him--and he needs me!" "Yes; he does need you," says I. "He's needed you for a long time. But you wouldn't like to see him now; he's changed a heap. He ain't got a friend left on earth except me, and that ends at midnight. He's had it pretty rough, when you come to think it all over," says I. "I must go in, Curly," says she. "No; you can't," says I. "I'm foreman and I won't let you. He wouldn't want it; he's marked you off his books--we just been doing that today, with a lawyer and a barber." "But, Curly, he doesn't know----" "Huh!" says I. "Well, he thinks he does. He figures you're the same as if you was dead." "Curly!" she cries now hard. "Curly, it mustn't be! It's all a mistake; it's all been a mistake. I've come back----" "Yes," says I; "it was a mistake. It ain't been nothing but a mistake all down the line. But, as far as it can be squared, the old man and me we've set out to square it tonight. Him and me is going to call on Old Man Wisner this evening," says I. "We're going over as soon as Old Man Wisner gets home. I'm going with your pa, Bonnie. You know me and I reckon you know him too. I reckon there may be some plain conversation." "I've got to see him!" says she over and over again.