ed to his brother-in-law, Larry
Kildene, and it would have been cut up and used for lighting fires.
But it had been many years since the Elder had laid eyes on that
knobbed and sturdy stick, which Larry had treasured as a rare thing in
the new world, and a fine antique specimen of a genuine blackthorn. It
had belonged to his great-grandfather in Ireland, and no doubt had
done its part in cracking crowns.

Betty, kneading bread at a table before the kitchen window, spied
Peter Junior limping wearily up the walk without his crutch, and ran
to him, dusting the flour from her hands as she came.

"Lean on me. I won't get flour on your coat. What did you go without
your crutch for? It's very silly of you."

He essayed a laugh, but it was a self-conscious one. "I'm not going to
use a crutch all my lifetime; don't you think it. I'm very well off
without, and almost myself again. I don't need to lean on you--but I
will--just for fun." He put his arm about her and drew her to him.

"Stop, Peter Junior. Don't you see you're getting flour all over your
clothes?"

"I like flour on my clothes. It will do for stiffening." He raised her
hand and kissed her wrist where there was no flour.

"You're not leaning on me. You're just acting silly, and you can
hardly walk, you're so tired! Coming all this way without your crutch.
I think you're foolish."

"If you say anything more about that crutch, I'll throw away my cane
too." He dropped down on the piazza and drew her to the step beside
him.

"I must finish kneading the bread; I can't sit here. You rest in the
rocker awhile before you go up to the studio. Father's up there. He
came home late last night after we were all in bed." She returned to
her work, and after a moment called to him through the open window.
"There's going to be a nutting party to-morrow, and we want you to go.
We're going out to Carter's grove; we've got permission. Every one's
going."

Peter Junior rubbed the moisture from his hair and shook his head. He
must get nearer her, but it was always the same thing; just a happy
game, with no touch of sentiment--no more, he thought gloomily, than
if she were his sister.

"What are you all going there for?"

"Why, nuts, goosey; didn't I say we were going nutting?"

"I don't happen to want nuts." No, he wanted her to urge and coax him
to go for her sake, but what could he say?

He left his seat, took the side path around to the kitchen door, and
drew up a chair