't see how you did it, Nils. Not many fellows could." Eric
rubbed his shoulder against his brother's knee.

"The hard thing was leaving home--you and father. It was easy
enough, once I got beyond Chicago. Of course I got awful homesick;
used to cry myself to sleep. But I'd burned my bridges."

"You had always wanted to go, hadn't you?"

"Always. Do you still sleep in our little room? Is that cottonwood
still by the window?"

Eric nodded eagerly and smiled up at his brother in the gray
darkness.

"You remember how we always said the leaves were whispering when
they rustled at night? Well, they always whispered to me about the
sea. Sometimes they said names out of the geography books. In a high
wind they had a desperate sound, like something trying to tear
loose."

"How funny, Nils," said Eric dreamily, resting his chin on his hand.
"That tree still talks like that, and 'most always it talks to me
about you."

They sat a while longer, watching the stars. At last Eric whispered
anxiously: "Hadn't we better go back now? Mother will get tired
waiting for us." They rose and took a short cut home, through the
pasture.

II

The next morning Nils woke with the first flood of light that came
with dawn. The white-plastered walls of his room reflected the glare
that shone through the thin window-shades, and he found it
impossible to sleep. He dressed hurriedly and slipped down the hall
and up the back stairs to the half-story room which he used to share
with his little brother. Eric, in a skimpy night-shirt, was sitting
on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes, his pale yellow hair
standing up in tufts all over his head. When he saw Nils, he
murmured something confusedly and hustled his long legs into his
trousers. "I didn't expect you'd be up so early, Nils," he said, as
his head emerged from his blue shirt.

"Oh, you thought I was a dude, did you?" Nils gave him a playful tap
which bent the tall boy up like a clasp-knife. "See here; I must
teach you to box." Nils thrust his hands into his pockets and walked
about. "You haven't changed things much up here. Got most of my old
traps, haven't you?"

He took down a bent, withered piece of sapling that hung over the
dresser. "If this isn't the stick Lou Sandberg killed himself with!"

The boy looked up from his shoe-lacing.

"Yes; you never used to let me play with that. Just how did he do
it, Nils? You were with father when he found Lou, weren't you?"

"Yes. Fat