Jot's face twisted oddly.

"Yes," Old Tilly answered, subduedly, "we've been to church."

"I thought so--I thought so. Now come in an' see pa--poor pa' He was
took again yesterday. He's frettin' dretfully about the hay. Pa--"

Her voice went on ahead and heralded their coming. "Here's three boys
come to stop over night with us--three, pa. You're glad there's three
of 'em, ain't you? I knew you'd be. When I'd counted 'em up, I didn't
hesitate any longer! The littlest one looks a little mite like our Joey,
pa--only Joey was handsome," she added innocently.

Kent nudged Jot delightedly. They were entering a quaint, old-fashioned
room, and at the further end on a hair-cloth settle lay a withered
morsel of an old man. His sun-browned face made a shriveled spot of
color against the pillows.

"That's pa," the little old lady said, by way of introduction. "He was
took yesterday, out in the field. It was dretful hot--an' the hay 'most
in, too. He's frettin' because he couldn't 've waited a little mite
longer, ain't you, pa? I tell him if the boys was here--" She broke
off with a quiver in her thin, clear voice. Pa, on the couch, put out
his hand feebly and smoothed her skirt.

"We had three boys--ma an' me," he explained quietly. "That's why ma was
so quick to take you in, I guess. They was all little shavers like you
be."