seventy.
Nils felt proud of her as he watched her deliberate activity; never a
momentary hesitation, or a movement that did not tell. He waited until
she came out into the kitchen and, brushing the child aside, took her
place at the stove. Then he tapped on the screen door and entered.

"It's nobody but Nils, Mother. I expect you weren't looking for me."

Mrs. Ericson turned away from the stove and stood staring at him. "Bring
the lamp, Hilda, and let me look."

Nils laughed and unslung his valise. "What's the matter, Mother? Don't
you know me?"

Mrs. Ericson put down the lamp. "You must be Nils. You don't look very
different, anyway."

"Nor you, Mother. You hold your own. Don't you wear glasses yet?"

"Only to read by. Where's your trunk, Nils?"

"Oh, I left that in town. I thought it might not be convenient for you
to have company so near threshing-time."

"Don't be foolish, Nils." Mrs. Ericson turned back to the stove. "I
don't thresh now. I hitched the wheat land onto the next farm and have
a tenant. Hilda, take some hot water up to the company room, and go call
little Eric."

The tow-haired child, who had been standing in mute amazement, took up
the tea-kettle and withdrew, giving Nils a long, admiring look from the
door of the kitchen stairs.

"Who's the youngster?" Nils asked, dropping down on the bench behind the
kitchen stove.

"One of your Cousin Henrik's."

"How long has Cousin Henrik been dead?"

"Six years. There are two boys. One stays with Peter and one with
Anders. Olaf is their guardeen."

There was a clatter of pails on the porch, and a tall, lanky boy peered
wonderingly in through the screen door. He had a fair, gentle face and
big grey eyes, and wisps of soft yellow hair hung down under his cap.
Nils sprang up and pulled him into the kitchen, hugging him and slapping
him on the shoulders. "Well, if it isn't my kid! Look at the size of
him! Don't you know me, Eric?"

The boy reddened tinder his sunburn and freckles, and hung his head. "I
guess it's Nils," he said shyly.

"You're a good guesser," laughed Nils giving the lad's hand a swing. To
himself he was thinking: "That's why the little girl looked so friendly.
He's taught her to like me. He was only six when I went away, and he's
remembered for twelve years."

Eric stood fumbling with his cap and smiling. "You look just like I
thought you would," he ventured.

"Go wash your hands, Eric," called Mrs. Ericson. "I've got cob co