that I
set a plate for her at the table, an' put her picture and a curl of her
hair beside it--set the picture up so it was looking at me--an' we had
breakfast together. Look here--"

He moved to the table, with Brokaw watching him like a cat, and brought
something back with him, wrapped in a soft piece of buckskin. He
unfolded the buckskin tenderly, and drew forth a long curl that rippled
a dull red and gold in the lamp-glow, and then he handed a photograph
to Brokaw.

"That's her!" he whispered.

Brokaw turned so that the light fell on the picture. A sweet, girlish
face smiled at him from out of a wealth of flowing, disheveled curls.

"She had it taken that way just for me," explained Billy, with the
enthusiasm of a boy in his voice. "She's always wore her hair in
curls--an' a braid--for me, when we're home. I love it that way. Guess
I may be silly but I'll tell you why. THAT was down in York State, too.
She lived in a cottage, all grown over with honeysuckle an' morning
glory, with green hills and valleys all about it--and the old apple
orchard just behind. That day we were in the orchard, all red an' white
with bloom, and she dared me to a race. I let her beat me, and when I
came up she stood under one of the trees, her cheeks like the pink
blossoms, and her hair all tumbled about her like an armful of gold,
shaking the loose apple blossoms down on her head. I forgot everything
then, and I didn't stop until I had her in my arms, an'--an' she's been
my little pardner ever since. After the baby came we moved up into
Canada, where I had a good chance in a new mining town. An' then--" A
furious blast of the storm sent the overhanging spruce tops smashing
against the top of the cabin. Straight overhead the wind shrieked
almost like human voices, and the one window rattled as though it were
shaken by human hands. The lamp had been burning lower and lower. It
began to flicker now, the quick sputter of the wick lost in the noise
of the gale. Then it went out. Brokaw leaned over and opened the door
of the big box stove, and the red glow of the fire took the place of
the lamplight. He leaned back and relighted his pipe, eyeing Billy. The
sudden blast, the going out of the light, the opening of the stove
door, had all happened in a minute, but the interval was long enough to
bring a change in Billy's voice. It was cold and hard when he
continued. He leaned over toward Brokaw, and the boyishness had gone
from his face.