CALLISTA CLEAVERAGE GOES HOME.
CALLISTA reached her grandfather's gate when the old man was just finishing that last pipe he loved to smoke in his big hickory arm chair on the porch before he lay down for his night's rest. In the soft, summer night, beginning to be thick with stars, he was aware that whoever the newcomer was, it was someone well known to the dogs, for the chorus of greetings was distinctly friendly. Yet his keen old hunter's ears noticed the surprised yap of a younger hound born since Callista left the farm; and when his granddaughter emerged into the light of the doorway, he was scarcely surprised.
"Good evenin', Gran'pappy. Where's Mother?" Callista greeted him.
Before Ajax could answer her, his daughter-in-law came hurrying out crying,
"Lord love yo' soul, honey! Did you git home at last to see yo' mammy that's—"
Callista silenced her with a raised hand.
"W'y, Callisty honey," ejaculated Mrs. Gentry, examining her anxiously, "is anything the matter with Lance?"
A slight contraction passed across the visitor's face, as they 278 watched it, but she answered coldly, evenly,
"I reckon there's nothing more the matter of Lance Cleaverage than there always has been. I've come home."
Dead silence followed this statement. Then old Ajax knocked the ashes out of his pipe and slowly put it in his pocket.