George came at last. He looked thin and worn and he seated himself quietly with none of his old-time gaiety. "Well, Rosie," he began, "how does it seem to be back?" Rosie sighed. "I had a beautiful time in the country, Jarge, but I'm glad to be back--honest I am." "But don't you miss the quiet of the country? I don't believe you'll be able to sleep tonight with all the noise." Rosie laughed. "Jarge, you're like all country people. You think the country's quiet and it's not at all. It's fearfully noisy! It's like living on a railroad track! Why, do you know, the first night I was there, I was hours and hours in going to sleep--I was so scared!" "Scared, Rosie? What were you scared about?" "The racket that was going on. I didn't know what it was at first. Then Grandpa Riley came out and told me it was only the locusts and the tree-toads and the frogs. For a long time, though, I didn't see how it could be." George lay back and laughed with something of his old abandon. "If that don't beat all! So they scared you, Rosie?" "And chickens, Jarge! Why, chickens are the noisiest things! If they are not squabbling with each other, they're talking to themselves! And ducks--ducks are even worse! Jarge, do you know, I call a street like this quiet compared to the country!" George's laugh grew heartier. "If that ain't the funniest thing I ever heard!" "It's true, Jarge!" Rosie was very serious but her seriousness only added to George's mirth. "All right, kid, have it your own way. But it's kind of a new idea: the city's quiet and the country's noisy, is that it?" "Oh, I don't say the city's exactly quiet." Rosie picked her words carefully. "All I mean is, you don't notice the noises in the city like you do the noises in the country. The city noises are not such strange noises." "Oh! That's it, is it? I see!" and George slapped his knee in lusty amusement. "Jarge," Rosie began slowly, "there's something I want to talk to you about." "Well, here I am. There'll never be a better time." "It's about Ellen, Jarge." George's laugh stopped abruptly. "I don't like to say anything about her, Jarge, because she's my own sister...." Rosie paused and sighed. "You're in love with her, Jarge, aren't you?" "Yes, Rosie, I'm afraid I am. And I'm afraid I've got it bad, too." "Jarge dear, tell me one thing: why are you in love with her?" George shook his head. "Search me. I don't know." "But, Jarge, she ain't the kind of girl you ought to be in love with." "That so?" George's voice showed very little interest. "Why, you ought to be in love with a nice girl, Jarge--I mean a girl that would love you and pet you and save your money and take good care of you. That's the kind of girl you want, Jarge." "Is it?" George's tone was still apathetic.