He intended to return through the woods but a man in a buckboard with a load of clanking milk cans gave him a lift and set him down at the crossroads near the farm. He cut up through the orchard because he had a queer feeling that he did not want any one to see him coming. It seemed very quiet about the farm; he had an odd feeling that he was seeing it during his own absence. It looked strange to see his aunt stringing beans on the little porch outside the kitchen and Ira sitting with his legs stretched along the lowest step. His back was against the house and he was smoking his pipe. The homely, familiar scene made Westy homesick for the farm. “Mercy on us, what you doin’ here?” Aunt Mira gasped. “Westy! You near skeered the life out of me!” [Illustration: “MERCY ON US, WHAT YOU DOIN’ HERE?” GASPED AUNT MIRA.] Ira removed his atrocious pipe from his mouth long enough to inquire without the least sign of shock. “What’s the matter, kid? Get lost in the woods and missed your train?” “No, I didn’t get lost in the woods,” said Westy, with a touch of testiness. “Land’s sake, Iry, why can’t you never stop plaguin’ the boy,” said Aunt Mira. “I came back,” said Westy rather clumsily. “I came back to tell you something. I’ve got something I want to tell you because I—because I want to be the one to tell you——” “You lost your money,” interrupted Aunt Mira. “I told your uncle he should have made you a check.” “Scouts and them kind don’t carry no checks,” said Ira. “I came back,” said Westy, “because I want to tell you that I shot a deer in the woods and killed him. It’s true so you needn’t ask me any questions about it because—because I shot him because I had good reasons—anyway, because I wanted to, so there’s no good talking about it.” Aunt Mira laid down her work and stared at Westy. Ira removed his pipe and looked at him keenly yet somewhat amusedly. Aunt Mira’s look was one of blank incredulity. Ira could not be so easily jarred out of his accustomed calm. “Where’d yer shoot ’im?” he asked. “In the woods,” said Westy; “in—in—do you mean where—what part of him? In his head.” “Plunked ’im good, huh? Ye’ll have Terry after you, then you’ll have ter give ’im ten bucks to hush the matter up. Just couldn’t resist, huh?” “Ira, you keep still,” commanded Aunt Mira, concentrating her attention on Westy. “What do you mean tellin’ such nonsense?” she questioned. “I mean just that,” said Westy; “that I killed a deer and I did it because I wanted to. Then I went through the woods to Barrett’s because I decided to go to Chandler that way, and while I was talking to a man there the game warden and another man came along because they must have been—they must have known about it or something.