w he calls himself that. 'Yes wants it,' he says, and
'Take Yes,' and 'Yes is going off now.' His father likes it. He says yes
is everything and no is nothing. I don't think that means much, but we
call him that for fun...." But Mary could not remember what the child's
real name was. What difference did it make? As if she could have a child
meddling round the house while she was sewing. But of course this was
not the real reason. The real reason was that she could not bring up a
child--did she not know that?

"... He's six years old now and Aunt Mary this ain't a place for him.
He's a nice little fellow and I hate for him to get rough and he will if
he stays here...."

She tried to think who else could take him. They had no one. Adam, she
knew, had no one. Some of the neighbours there by the ranch ... it was
absurd to send him that long journey ... so she went through it all,
denying with all the old denials. And all the while the weight in her
body grew and filled her, and she was strangely conscious of her breath.

"What ails me?" she said aloud, and got up to kindle a light. She was
amazed to see that it was seven o'clock, and long past her supper hour.
As she took from the clock shelf the key to the barn, some one rapped at
the back door and came through the cold kitchen with friendly
familiarity. It was Jenny, a shawl over her head, her face glowing with
the cold, and in her mittened hands a flat parcel.

"My hand's most froze," Jenny admitted. "I didn't want to roll this
thing, so I carried it flat out, and it blew consider'ble. It's the
picture."

"Get yourself warm," Mary bade her. "I'll undo it. Who is it of?" she
added, as the papers came away.

"That's what I don't know," said Jenny, "but I've always liked it
around. I thought maybe you'd know."

It was a picture which, in those days, had not before come to Old Trail
Town. The figure was that of a youth, done by a master of the times--the
head and shoulders of a youth who seemed to be looking passionately at
something outside the picture.

"There it is, anyhow," Jenny added. "If you like it enough to hang it
up, hang it up. It's a Christmas present!" Jenny laughed elfishly.

Mary Chavah held the picture out before her.

"I do," she said; "I could take a real fancy to it. I'll have it up on
the wall. Much obliged, I'm sure. Set down a minute."

But Jenny could not do this, and Mary, the key to the barn still in her
hands, followed her out. They we