Opposite the spring he drew up, hearing the sound of a hand-organ under the trees. The tall man with a clipped mustache sat up deliberately and looked at him. The leathery ape ceased his funereal capers and also looked at him; then retreated behind the spring. Pietro gazed back and forth between the deacon and the ape, dismissed his professional smile, and followed the ape. The tall man pulled his legs under him and got up. “I reckon it's Bob,” he said. “It's free quarters, Bob. Entrez. Come in. Have a drink.” The deacon's embarrassment, if he had any, only showed itself in an extra stiffening of the back. “The train--I did not suppose--I was going to meet you.” “Just so. I came by way of Wimberton.” The younger brother stretched himself again beside the spring and drew his hat over his eyes. The elder stood up straight and not altogether unimpressive in front of it. Pietro in the rear of the spring reflected at this point that he and the ape could conduct a livelier conversation if it were left to them. Pietro could not imagine a conversation in which it was not desirable to be lively. The silence was long and, Pietro thought, not pleasant. “Bob,” said the apparent sleeper at last, “ever hear of the prodigal son?” The deacon frowned sharply, but said nothing. The other lifted the edge of his hat brim. “Never heard of him? Oh--have I Then I won't tell about him. Too long. That elder brother, now, he had good points;--no doubt of it, eh?” “I confess I don't see your object--” “Don't? Well, I was just saying he had good points. I suppose he and the prodigal had an average good time together, knockin' around, stubbin' their toes, fishin' maybe, gettin' licked at inconvenient times, hookin' apples most anytime. That sort of thing. Just so. He had something of an argument. Now, the prodigal had no end of fun, and the elder brother stayed at home and chopped wood; understood himself to be cultivating the old man. I take it he didn't have a very soft job of it?”--lifting his hat brim once more. The deacon said nothing, but observed the hat brim. “Now I think of it, maybe strenuous sobriety wasn't a thing he naturally liked any more than the prodigal did. I've a notion there was more family likeness between 'em than other folks thought. What might be your idea?” The deacon still stood rigidly with his hands clasped behind him. “I would rather,” he said, “you would explain yourself without parable. You received my letter. It referred to our father's will. I have received a telegram which I take to be threatening.” The other sat up and pulled a large satchel around from behind him.