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He kissed her with a bright smile, nodded at Laura the young wife, and tossed the baby, all in a breath, and with the manner, as he himself saw, of the returned captain in the war dramas of the day.

"Been to breakfast?" He frowned reproachfully. "Why didn’t you call me? I wanted to get up, just as I used to, at sunrise. "

"We thought you was tired, and so we didn’t–"

"Tired! Just wait till you see me help Grant pitch hay or something. Hasn’t finished his haying, has he?"

‘No, I guess not. He will today if it don’t rain again. "

"Well, breakfast is all ready–Howard," said Laura, hesitating a little on his name. –

"Good! I am ready for it. Bacon and eggs, as I’m a jay! Just what I was wanting. I was saying to myself.’Now if they’ll only get bacon and eggs and hot biscuits and honey–‘ Oh, say, mother, I heard the bees humming this morning; same noise they used to make when I was a boy, exactly. must be the same bees. Hey, you young rascal! come here and have some breakfast with your uncle. "

"I never saw her take to anyone so quick," Laura smiled. Howard noticed her in particular for the first time. She had on a clean calico dress and a gingham apron, and she looked strong and fresh and handsome. Her head was intellectual, her eyes full of power. She seemed anxious to remove the impression of her unpleasant looks and words the night before. Indeed, it would have been hard to resist Howard’s sunny good nature.

The baby laughed and crowed. The old mother could not take her dim eyes off the face of her son, but sat smiling at him as he ate and rattled on. When he rose from the table at last, after eating heartily and praising it all, he said with a smile:

"Well, now I’ll just telephone down to the express and have my trunk brought up. I’ve got a few little things in there you’ll enjoy seeing. But this fellow," indicating the baby, "I didn’t take into account. But never mind; Uncle Howard make that all right. "

"You ain’t goin’ to lay it up agin Grant, be you, my son?" Mrs. McLane faltered as they went out into the best room.

"Of course not! He didn’t mean it. Now, can’t you send word down and have my trunk brought up? Or shall I have to walk down?"

"I guess I’ll see somebody goin’ down," said Laura.

"All right. Now for the hayfield," he
smiled and went out into the glorious morning.

The circling hills the same, yet not the same as at night. A cooler, tenderer, more subdued cloak of color upon them. Far down the valley a cool, deep, impalpable, blue mist lay, under which one divined the river Ian, under its elms and basswoods and wild grapevines. On the shaven slopes of the hills cattle and sheep were feeding, their cries and bells coming to the ear with a sweet suggestiveness. There was something immemorial in the sunny slopes dotted with red and brown and gray cattle.

Walking toward the haymakers, Howard felt a twinge of pain and distrust. Would he ignore it all and smile?

He stopped short. He had not seen Grant smile in so long–he couldn’t quite see him smiling. He had been cold and bitter for years. When he came up to them, Grant was pitching on; the old man was loading, and the boy was raking after.

"Good morning," Howard cried cheerily. The old man nodded, the boy stared. Grant growled something, without looking up. These " finical" things of saying good morning and good night are not much practiced in such homes as Grant McLane’s.