"I'll see you again," said Waring. And he stepped to the street, humming his song of "Sonora and the Silver Strings."
Mrs. Adams put her arm about her son's shoulders. "Your father is a hard man," she told him.
"Was he mean to you, mother?"
"No—never that."
"Well, I don't understand it. He looks like a real man to me. Why did he come back?"
"He said he came back to see you."
"Well, he's my father, anyway," said Lorry.
Chapter VIII
Lorry
In the low hills west of Stacey, Lorry was looking for strays. He worked alone, whistling as he rode, swinging his glasses on this and that arroyo and singling out the infrequent clumps of greasewood for a touch of brighter color in their shadows. He urged his pony from crest to crest, carelessly easy in the saddle, alive to his work, and quietly happy in the lone freedom of thought and action.