and--"

"You do, too! Ros, do YOU intend to get down on your knees to them
Coltons?"

I laughed and went on without replying. I left the store and strolled
across the road to the bank, intending to make a short call on George
Taylor, the cashier, my most intimate acquaintance and the one person in
Denboro who came nearest to being my friend.

But George was busy in the directors' room, and, after waiting a few
moments in conversation with Henry Small, the bookkeeper, I gave it up
and walked home, across the fields this time; I had no desire to meet
more automobilists.

Dorinda had finished dusting the dining room and was busy upstairs.
I could hear the swish-swish of her broom overhead. I opened the door
leading to Mother's bedroom and entered, closing the door behind me.

The curtains were drawn, as they always were on sunny days, and the room
was in deep shadow. Mother had been asleep, I think, but she heard my
step and recognized it.

"Is that you, Boy?" she asked. If I had been fifty, instead of
thirty-one, Mother would have called me "Boy" just the same.

"Yes, Mother," I said.

"Where have you been? For a walk? It is a beautiful morning, isn't it."