"It ain't no use puttin' it off, Bill," she said, wearily. "We got to do somethin'. Mr. Townsend was here this afternoon."
"What o' that?" asked Bill.
"Well, he's pretty shrewd, you know, an' he's thinkin' about us, Bill. He seen how much of the timber's gone. He knows we sold another strip o' land last month for next to nothin'—"
"What's that to him?" Bill queried, rolling another cigarette and apparently completely absorbed in the operation.
"He—he's just worried about us, an' it's nice of him, Bill, him knowin' us all these years. He—he thinks as we might move into—into one o' them little cabins down the trail an'—"
"Lem Townsend's all right," Bill cut in, lazily, "but we ain't goin' to move, mother. An' it ain't nobody's business, neither—not even Lem Townsend's. I hope you told him that."
"Why, Bill!" Mrs. Jones exclaimed, sharply. "I told him no such thing! An' I ain't so sure but what I ain't goin' to take his advice!"
Bill looked at her, a hidden smile in his eyes. "It's your property, mother," he said, quietly.
Tears sprang into the woman's eyes and she made an impulsive gesture.
"You mustn't think that way, Bill!" she cried. "I know you deeded the whole place over to me when we were married—and it was all you had! I wasn't thinkin' o' that—'ceptin' as I always think. You must say our place, Bill. It's yours an' mine an' Millie's. We'll stick together. But we got to do somethin'."