don't suppose it's possible for Westerners to have any idea how
precious family ideals are to Easterners. Of course we're probably
silly about them, and it's splendid, your wheat-lands, and not caring
who your grandfather was; but to make up for those things we do have
to protect what we have gained through the generations."

Carl longed to stand up, to defy them all, to cry: "If you mean that
you think Ruth has to be protected against me, have the decency to say
so." Yet he kept his voice gentle:

"But why be narrowed to just a few families in one's interests? Now
this settlement----"

"One isn't narrowed. There are plenty of _good_ families for Ruth to
consider when it comes time for my little girl to consider alliances
at all!" Aunt Emma coldly stated.

"I _will_ shut up!" he told himself. "I will shut up. I'll see this
dinner through, and then never come near this house again." He tried
to look casual, as though the conversation was safely finished. But
Aunt Emma was waiting for him to go on. In the general stillness her
corsets creaked with belligerent attention. He played with his fork in
a "Well, if that's how you feel about it, perhaps it would be better
not to discuss it any further, my dear madam," manner, growing every
second more flushed, embarrassed, sick, angry; trying harder every
second to look unconcerned.

Aunt Emma hawked a delicate and ladylike hawk in her patrician throat,
prefatory to a new attack. Carl knew he would be tempted to retort
brutally.

Then from the door of the dining-room whimpered the high voice of an
excited child:

"Oh, mamma, oh, Cousin Ruthie, nurse says Hawk Ericson is here! I want
to see him!"

Every one turned toward a boy of five or six, round as a baby chicken,
in his fuzzy miniature pajamas, protectingly holding a cotton monkey
under his arm, sturdy and shy and defiant.

"Why, Arthur!" "Why, my son!" "Oh, the darling baby!" from the table.

"Come here, Arthur, and let's hear your troubles before nurse nabs
you, old son," said Phil, not at all condescendingly, rising from the
table, holding out his arms.

"No, no! You just let me go! I want to see Hawk Ericson. Is that Hawk
Ericson?" demanded the son of Aunt Emma, pointing at Carl.

"Yes, sweetheart," said Ruth, softly, proudly.

Running madly about the end of the table, Arthur jumped at Carl's lap.

Carl swung him up and inquired, "What is it, old man?"

"Are you Hawk Ericson?"

"At your commands, cap'n