He started toward the kitchen, then halted. For the windows were lighted; and at one of them Hetty Morfee appeared. She was wiping dishes, and when she came to the window she held a plate, gripped in a dishcloth, in her left hand, and shaded her eyes with her right as she tried to peer out into the night.
Muldoon’s close-cropped head appeared beside her at the window for an instant, and he barked again. Wint shrank back into the shadow. He did not wish to be discovered and he was unwilling to risk encountering his father or his mother by going to the house. He shrank back into the darkness; but he whistled again, and this time Hetty left the window and opened the door, and Muldoon came out like a projectile, and found Wint under the cherry tree, and slavered over him.
Wint was so absorbed in the dog that he did not see, until too late, that Hetty had followed Muldoon. She came on him, under the tree, laughing softly. “It’s you, is it?” she called.
“Yes.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I came for Muldoon. He’s mine.”
She chuckled lightly. “You’re the original Mister Trouble, Wint. Your paw says he never wants to see you again, and your maw’s gone over to tell the neighbors all about it.”
“Where’s father?”
“He stomped off uptown after supper.”
Wint fumbled with the dog’s head. “Thanks for letting Muldoon out,” he said.