"'Bye. We'll bring you back something nice."
"Just bring yourselves back safely, and have a good time."
They left the house, and when Shep fell in beside them, Gramps did not order him back. Bud said nothing. He had learned long ago why Shep scared trout, for the smallest shadow that fell across their pool would send trout scurrying for the shelter of overhanging banks or into crannies beneath rocks. It stood to reason that Shep would also frighten grouse, but that was a different matter. When Bud and Gramps approached, the grouse were sure to be frightened anyway and a dog prowling about was as likely to offer shots by sending grouse rocketing skyward as he was to frighten them out of range.
Bud stole a sidewise glance at Gramps and saw nothing amiss. But he was troubled by Gramps' silence until the old man spoke,
"When'd it happen, Bud?"
"When did what happen?"
"You called Mother 'Gram.' You kissed her when we left."
"Well," Bud said, and then he came out with it, "I've wanted to do it for a long time."
"A body ought to do what he wants more often," Gramps said. "Maybe it'd make a heap of people feel a heap better a lot sooner. Do you like it here with us?"
"Oh, yes!"