“Amos aims to do right by you,” said Gergue.
“Much obliged.”
“You don’t want to hold this against him.”
Wint smiled slowly. “Good-by,” he said.
Gergue nodded. “By-by,” he responded. “I’ll see you again.”
He turned toward town, and Wint watched him for a moment, and then went on toward his home. Muldoon trotted sedately before him, ranging now and then across the street or into a yard to investigate some affair of his own. Wint walked swiftly, for he had an uneasy feeling of nakedness in the light of open day, as though every one he encountered must see the shame that was torturing him. He came to his home through a short cut that brought him by way of an alley to the kitchen door; and when he opened the door and stepped into the kitchen, he saw Hetty Morfee there. Hetty was rolling biscuits on a board, her sleeves rolled to the elbows on her creamy arms; and she turned at the sound of his entrance and stood with the rolling pin in one hand, brushing back the hair from her eyes with the other, and laughing at him softly.
“Oh, you Wint!” she said.
Wint closed the kitchen door behind him and faced the girl. “Is mother here?” he asked.
“She’s in next door.” She nodded her head reproachfully. “You certainly have started something, Wint.”