"Why, land's sakes, if it ain't Milt Dale!" she exclaimed,
in welcome.

"Reckon it's me, Mrs. Cass," he replied. "An, I've brought
you a turkey."

"Milt, you're that good boy who never forgits old Widow
Cass. . . . What a gobbler! First one I've seen this fall.
My man Tom used to fetch home gobblers like that. . . . An'
mebbe he'll come home again sometime."

Her husband, Tom Cass, had gone into the forest years before
and had never returned. But the old woman always looked for
him and never gave up hope.

"Men have been lost in the forest an' yet come back,"
replied Dale, as he had said to her many a time.

"Come right in. You air hungry, I know. Now, son, when last
did you eat a fresh egg or a flapjack?"

"You should remember," he answered, laughing, as he followed
her into a small, clean kitchen.

"Laws-a'-me! An' thet's months ago," she replied, shaking
her gray head. "Milt, you should give up that wild life --
an' marry -- an' have a home."

"You always tell me that."