There was a ranch below him whose acres stretched like a patterned cloth along the hill's slant. The house, white-painted, stood in the midst of cultivated land which he would have to cross to reach it. But driven by hunger he stole down, his way marked by a swaying in the close-packed foliage. He could see the smoke rising in a blue skein from its chimney and at night its windows break out in bright squares. He drew close enough to watch the men go off to their work and the women move, sunbonneted, about the yard. The second day, faint and desperate, he ventured; it was midmorning, the men away in the fields till noon. There was not a sound when he reached the house, skirted the rear, and walked round to the side where a balcony ran the length of the building. Chairs stood here and evidences of sewing, work baskets, spools and scissors, and a tumbled heap of material. On the step lay a newspaper and he was stretching his hand for it when he heard the voices of women. Through an open door he saw them--two--standing in front of a mirror, one with her back toward him, in a blouse of pink that she was pulling into a waistband. The other watched her, pins in her mouth, a tape measure over her arm. Both were absorbed, the one in her reflection in the glass, the other in the pink blouse. He trod on the step with a heavy foot and muttered a gruff "Say, lady." The women flashed round and he saw them to be middle-aged and young--a mother and daughter evidently. The elder with a quick, defensive movement walked to the doorway and stood there, blocking it. He heard the younger exclaim, "A tramp!" and then she came forward, squeezing in beside her mother. Hostility and apprehension were on both their faces. "What do you want here?" said the elder sharply. "Somethin' to eat," he answered, trying to make his hoarse tones mild; "I bin on the tramp for days." "No, no, go off," she cried, waving him away. "I'm starved," he pleaded. "Any bones or scraps'll do me." They eyed him, still apprehensive, but evidently impressed by his appearance. "Honest to God it's true," he said, snatching at his advantage. "Can't you see it by the looks of me?" The girl, thrusting her hand through her mother's arm and drawing her back, answered, "All right. Go round to the kitchen." With the words she banged the door and he heard the click of the lock, then their scurrying steps, bangs of other doors and their receding voices. In a twinkling he grabbed the paper, thrust it into his coat pocket, and slouched round to the kitchen door. "Stay out there," called the mother from within. "I'll give you food, but I don't want no tramp tracking up my kitchen."