CHAPTER IV
BLACK CATTLE
Later that evening Stephen Brice was sitting by the open windows in his mother's room, looking on the street-lights below.
"Well, my dear," asked the lady, at length, "what do you think of it all?"
"They are kind people," he said.
"Yes, they are kind," she assented, with a sigh. "But they are not—they are not from among our friends, Stephen."
"I thought that one of our reasons for coming West, mother," answered
Stephen.
His mother looked pained.
"Stephen, how can you! We came West in order that you might have more chance for the career to which you are entitled. Our friends in Boston were more than good."
He left the window and came and stood behind her chair, his hands clasped playfully beneath her chin.