done nine years ago, I shouldn't
wonder," answered Black Andy, smoothly. These two men knew each other;
they had said hard things to each other for many a year, yet they lived on
together unshaken by each other's moods and bitternesses.

"I'm getting old--I'm seventy-nine--and I ain't for long," urged Aunt
Kate, looking Abel in the eyes. "Some day soon I'll be stepping out and
away. Then things'll go to sixes and sevens, as they did after Sophy died.
Some one ought to be here that's got a right to be here, not a hired
woman."

Suddenly the old man raged out:

"Her--off the stage to look after this! Her, that's kicked up her heels
for a living! It's--no, she's no good. She's common. She's come, and she
can go. I ain't having sweepings from the streets living here as if they
had rights."

Aunt Kate set her lips.

"Sweepings! You've got to take that back, Abel. It's not Christian. You've
got to take that back."

"He'll take it back all right before we've done, I guess," remarked Black
Andy. "He'll take a lot back."

"Truth's truth, and I'll stand by it, and--"

The old man stopped, for there came to them now, clearly, the sound of
sleigh-bells. They all stood still for an instant, silent and attentive,
then Aunt Kate moved toward the door.

"Cassy's come," she said. "Cassy and George's boy've come."

Another instant and the door was opened on the beautiful, white, sparkling
world, and the low sleigh, with its great, warm, buffalo robes, in which
the small figures of a woman and a child were almost lost, stopped at the
door. Two whimsical but tired eyes looked over a rim of fur at the old
woman in the doorway, then Cassy's voice rang out:

"Hello! that's Aunt Kate, I know! Well, here we are, and here's my boy.
Jump, George!"

A moment later and the gaunt old woman folded both mother and son in her
arms and drew them into the room. The door was shut, and they all faced
one another.

The old man and Black Andy did not move, but stood staring at the trim
figure in black, with the plain face, large mouth, and tousled red hair,
and the dreamy-eyed, handsome little boy beside her.

Black Andy stood behind the stove, looking over at the new-comers with
quizzical, almost furtive eyes, and his father remained for a moment with
mouth open, gazing at his dead son's wife and child, as though not quite
comprehending the scene. The sight of the boy had brought back, in some
strange, embarrassing way, a vision of thirty