"An' so we've got to take a chance if we're goin' to harvest two thousand acres of wheat?"
"I reckon, boss."
"Any reports from Ruxton way?"
"Wal, yes. But I reckon you'd better git your supper 'fore I tell you, boss."
"Jake, you said nothin' had come off."
"Wal, nawthin' has around here. Come on now, boss. Miss Lenore says I was to keep my mouth shut."
"Jake, who's your boss? Me or Lenore?"
"Wal, you air. But I ain't disobeyin' Miss Lenore."
Anderson walked the rest of the way up the shady path to the house without saying any more to Jake. The beautiful white house stood clear of the grove, bright in the rays of the setting sun. A barking of dogs greeted Anderson, and then the pattering of feet. His daughters appeared on the porch. Kathleen, who was ten, made a dive for him, and Rose, who was fourteen, came flying after her. Both girls were screaming joyously. Their sunny hair danced. Lenore waited for him at the step, and as he mounted the porch, burdened by the three girls, his anxious, sadly smiling wife came out to make perfect the welcome home. No—not perfect, for Anderson's joy held a bitter drop, the absence of his only son!
"Oh, dad, what-all did you fetch me?" cried Kathleen, and she deserted her father for the bundle-laden Jake.