Nils watched them until they had shrunk to a mere moving
speck against the sky, then he crossed the sand creek and climbed
the hill. When he reached the gate the front of the house was
dark, but a light was shining from the side windows. The pigs
were squealing in the hog corral, and Nils could see a tall boy,
who carried two big wooden buckets, moving about among them.
Halfway between the barn and the house, the windmill wheezed
lazily. Following the path that ran around to the back porch,
Nils stopped to look through the screen door into the lamplit
kitchen. The kitchen was the largest room in the house; Nils
remembered that his older brothers used to give dances there when
he was a boy. Beside the stove stood a little girl with two
light yellow braids and a broad, flushed face, peering
anxiously into a frying pan. In the dining-room beyond, a large,
broad-shouldered woman was moving about the table. She walked
with an active, springy step. Her face was heavy and florid,
almost without wrinkles, and her hair was black at 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,