“Now, look here, old son,” Peter Parker grinned at him engagingly, “you know I’ll have a lot better time by myself! I can see all I want to see without troubling you for a minute, and I promise you faithfully not to get caught in the machinery! All I want to do is watch the wheels go round for a little while, and then I’ll call on Mr. Carey, and then I’ll be off again for the great open spaces!” “Oh--then you’re not--not going to make a long stay, Mr. Parker?” “Not if I keep my health and agility,” he looked without pleasure at the scene about him. “I have come, at the earnest request of a very earnest parent, to have a look at my mill, and having had it, will be very swiftly on my way again.” “I see,” said Luke Manders. “Very well, then, sir--if you should want me, I’ll be in the office.” “The possibility is extremely remote,” said the visitor, “but I shall be greatly obliged if you will send the assistant to me at once.” “Who?” “The assistant--your assistant! Our assistant! The girl with the sunset hair, who left us recently, with so much emphasis.” “Glen Darrow?” The dark face of the mountaineer seemed to darken still further as the blood mounted in it. “That is, I believe, her singularly picturesque name. Tell her, if you will be so kind, that I desire her presence immediately.” The superintendent started to speak but changed his mind quite visibly, and said, after an instant’s burdened pause, “All right, Mr. Parker, sir,” and went into his office. Peter Parker renewed his fascinated study of the Tolliver family. “And you,” he addressed the old man, “are what is called a dinner-toter?” The old fellow hung his head. “Jes’ beginning to-day, suh. Super, he ’lows I’m jes’ pintly too old fo’ any good use.” “Well, yo’ air, Pap,” said his daughter. “Yo’ sho’ air, and ef yo’ keep on pestering me with that tarnation tune----” Gloriana-Virginia, her wise little monkey eyes soft with sympathy, patted her grandfather’s sleeve with her sallow claw. “Jes’ think how fine hit’ll be to set in the sun and rest, Gran-pappy!” He brightened. “That’s so, Glory, and jes’ think how much time I’ll git fo’ my practicing!” “Glory, yo’ hesh yo’ clack and _eat_!” her aunt rebuked her. The child picked up a chunk of cold corn pone. “Hit’s quare, M’liss’, some way; I figger and figger ’bout my dinner and how good hit’ll taste, and then, when hit comes, I cain’t eat skurse a bite.” “Hit’s kaze yo’ so plumb full o’ lint,” M’liss’ explained to her indifferently. “Beany, he kin eat what yo’ don’t want.” Young Mr. Parker turned his attention to the very little boy and asked him gravely how he did. “I’m right peart, suh,” the child answered solemnly. “You are? Well, I might state in passing that you hardly look the part, old-timer. You wouldn’t romp home with any blue ribbon from a Better Baby Contest, would you?” “No, suh,” he assured him earnestly. “And what’s your name?” “Henry Clay Bean, suh.”